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1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th
And who shall care for that o'er which you weep
Or share the burden of this world's foredoom
Seen starkly? Behold, a haunting specter creeps
Among the binding fates spun on life's loom.
You’ll wake them not to that great misery
Which emptiness of pride has reckless wove
But pluck the web for loss and trembling
Of idols in the soul for which they strove.
Put off your glossy youth and early oaths
Devout nativity; raise up your cup
To ***** Lethe and thunder with the strokes
Of fury, treading out the ripened sup!
They will not bear to flay their sacred cows
But shades of death endure and prostrate bow.

Ages in their veins, more raging, whirl
As titanic potentials’ dreadful might
Turns girl to boy, conversely boy to girl
Unlimbing reason for unreason's fright.
That once gone right, here deftly ventures left
As self-conception staggers to its doom
Bursting the bonds of day and night, distressed
With desperate grasping measures, late and soon.
So set on generation's awesome curve
Of ageless heart and mind, how shall they bear
The die they cast at first when madly swerved
Into contesting congresses of care?
Dividing parts, dissolving in the same
The common wealth, no part the whole maintains.

Boast of the times and gilded privilege
Are these pretended guardians of State
Whose politics of power have sought to bank
Their future 'gainst dissenting arguments.
With rhetoric to foist a brave new age
They come as chaos mages on the brink
Of all disposing will, all ends betrayed
To serve their corporations’ nod and wink.
Auctioning the world, their goods are sold
Commercially with avaricious might
That sanctions lust, in quest of pyrite gold
And pirate earnings, staked upon deceit.
At last, the men of mock integrity
Luring the world to covert slavery!

Hurrah, the master men and lords of time-
From time brought forth, they are the world's latest
Whose overweening strut is in the best
Of culminating age, the mind refined!
Now to and fro they go, their lists increased
With every tally; line for line computes
Their beads of enterprise, the while relieved
Of tribulation, fate of hapless dupes.
Learning is theirs, precepts are theirs to bend;
Lawyers, clerics, politicians rest
Upon this pillar; they can split or mend
The finest lines; no guile their thoughts distress.
Step by step they round the universe
And finite lies to infinite converse!

What pride of theirs that strains for fleeting fame
Seeking to wrest from time the wasting plaque
Of recognition, host to every hack
That postures on the stage of the obscene!
Pretending worth, their practiced scripts dispose
In mocking light an empty dignity
While darkening intents; witless disclosed
On lips and brow their self-important glee.
As if full-wrought by truth's heroic wing
Their pride aspires; on vain conceits they soar
Up through the mist while private songs they sing
In self-made praise for deeds of phantom lore.
From belfries of the schools, in broken flight
They shriek away, hell's banshees of the night!

These timely wise, entranced of mind, decree-
Hear all you simple what we shall disclose
Which craft of our discernment is repose
Of wealth in understanding mastery.
A gift to all, these rich-invested beings
Pretending to resolve profundities
Decoct the world with learned fluency
Of torture ways, all gnostic knots untied.
A flair for comedy, their gelded self
Mounts every snorting bore of certainty
Then armchair resting, pants to yet indulge
Another ******* idol’s reckless scheme.
Some stowaways upon the open seas
And polished sextants of academe!

Here is their derogation, born from creeds
Of judgment in self-righteous confidence
That proves for nothing to the innocent
But swamps life's refugees with cruel conceit.
With ages they have built the edifice
Of dogma; every pit and lion’s maw
Is their contraption, set in consciousness
Of the condemning letter of their laws.
Cunning serpents, masquerading doves
They fashion argument, more vicious wrought
With rationales to blacklist those who strove
To flee their institutions’ heinous plot.
Enamored with a fascist benefit
The systems of the world they implement!

Fanatic men, how bold they tempt the fates
That meet to each the fruits of brutish will
Redoubled, which they’ve spent in kind to date
Upon their brothers, sisters…other self.
They make an estimation, rule the span
Between men; lord over equity
With zero tolerance and brazen hand
To smash upon their consanguinity.
Such is the wicked priesthood’s confidence
In its own judgment, ever owning not
The wrong condemned in others, deep dispensed
To every heart, from roots of life begot.
More wretched they, and haunted with the shame
Of hypocrites, bedeviled by the same!

O law of learning, sum of thinkers' best
Now magnified, ensconced upon the power
Of natal worth and privileged social dower;
Once ruled by you, the Earth pleads for redress.
No scruple sought, no reservation found
To staunch against your certifying will
Which point of iron stylus now furrows
The world at large as object for the ****.
So cart away your pleading victim, mired
In ****** wallows of concupiscence
And grace deny, self-dubbed the doubtless squire-
Errant usurper of the human quest.
How dignified, the rake of your ambition
That promises continual division!
sheloveswords Aug 2013
How can I say "We're just friends"
When I taste you in my dreams
Your honeyed savoriness on my tongue
Formed itself
Useful
You dance like an angel
In the center of my pupils
Your song is exceptionally sweet
It humbles my spirit
Divulges me
That we are all just hummingbirds
Vigorously, hunting for a melody
Auctioning off welfares
For pleasures swimming in vain
Selfishly
We've never enjoyed the necter without the pain of
Piercing thorns
With handicapped feet,
We dream to fly
60 miles a beat
How I wish the breeze
Would carry me
Straight to your home of
Butterfly Weeds
Longing for the eightenth year, to sore away
Just as a sweet bundle in Mama's womb
In the nest we mature and anxiously wait
Extremities
Planted firmly on the dirt
His amour
Gives me wings
And, I flutter
His humming is a pleasing sound
Searching for a fullfillment
Two times our body weight
In the ebony of my skin
I inertly wait
Wishing for reincarnation
A
New
Life
Of a harmless, beautiful
hummingbird
Harmonizing its way
Across God's blue sky.



                             Copy Right 2013
                                    ©Patty Ann
Edward Coles Apr 2014
I found the reason for living,
In the beating of a drum.
Where everything has a purpose,
A place where everything belongs.

And, I’ve been living in the fallout
Of an atomic bomb,
There may be stumbles in my footprints,
But you’ve never steered me wrong.

So don’t you feel embarrassed
By your young suffering,
For what is learned in the morning,
By the evening, becomes instinct.

I’ve been dreaming of a culture,
I’ve been auctioning the sky,
As you draw me a new future;
Oh, it’s so beautiful, I cry.

So now I’m getting on that train,
To put some miles in between,
Who I appear as in the doorway,
And who I really mean to be.

And, I’ve been living in the fallout
Of an atomic bomb,
There may be stumbles in my footprints,
But you’ve never steered me wrong.
This is a song I wrote about a week ago. Probably poignant because it was about someone who the very next day, betrayed me.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
for three hours i sat in a forest
with today's newspaper -
Leicester foxes are champs,
Corbyn on anti-semitism:
don't mentioned ******,
or to be precise eva braun,
who was a jew, ha ha...
and the leftovers of the cantos
(30 pages till the end)...
i put so much life into that ****
book, flowers to be mummified,
a su doku square,
mirror with shelf installation instructions
(richard von coudenhove-kalergi
graffitied),
a drunk girl's scribbles about
a thesis on chocolate...
a real Frankenstein of a book
should you find it in sotheby's
auctioning rare and the macabre
of people involved in writing history...
i sat there thinking about a black
hole in a conversation from friday...
who the hell was the last Travelling Willbury?
ah... Steve Lynne, the guy from
Electric Light Orchestra - also amused by
a red pond mite, scuttling on the moon
or mars surface that my book represented
in a forest environment it's used to...
finally in Wales and China...
peering at the remnants of rex reptilian...
alien, alienation... insects, we're improving
our search;
insects, yeah,
first the reptilians, second the mammals,
the last to evolve are insects, aliens -
and you will not want to meet a massive
fly that spits hydrochloric acid saliva
as an inversion of an internalised digestive system,
i.e. with a digestive system outside -
remaining arguments for an exoskeleton,
meaning you have to digest things outside your
body to keep up the overall mush inside -
forgive the anti-muscular leisure,
internal-muscular meaning mammalian;
what? you sold me Darwinistic historicity
that kinda makes the 19th century irrelevant,
or last Sunday... **** you not i'll sell you this;
backup monkey chew of an eucalyptus branch
and you expose a Chimpanzee
baby-sitting a Koala.
Butch Decatoria Apr 2017
In cyber web paradigms
Reverse engineers
The digital pages without burning
Tree skins /
The doors to red rooms
Price and auctioning
                   bargaining
Yodeling

Between the crevasses

Again gone after
A mind's blown my own
To finally have
Known

Bit /coin
The mountainous wealth
We face booked them

Sure, they gave a billion
To
Their own
Flash
mobs invested
Our empty pockets

Making rich those atop the pyramid

Inventor of a log / a  rhythm / rolling
One's and zero's

Now two / later three

Bytes the Nth
mega giga terra
meta zed
Physics bits
Your name is a coin
In VR

You
Plus infinite
***
Ads for the upper echelon
Another plane
Light'ning catches
Fire
The .com pheromone
The internet was made for
****...

Vendors selling airwaves
To the thirsty
Low on HP
Low T
And A's

Tag them in collars
Type-o
"******" say
"She's Cray Cray"
For you her boo

for French
Vuitton
Yves st. Laurent
Fashion
Bleed
Proud
For bags
"Be Prada"
Butch / queen /
Trans
Phat & devilish...

(Passionate for always shopping)

Hooked
Trending now
The acid rain...

And as a poet
like most addicts,
Not wit
Or swift to seeing
20/20
Foresight

To have not known
Our common logic gone lost
The white blinding
Not a light
Happy to pursue
Joyful is the chase
***** cash
Let's talk waste...

Poor

When it comes to
Fairness
Of all ours
Equal opportunities
Better that we should
Have
Known.

The irony,  its truth...

Possessions
Posing
When they had it all that time

"What's that?"
Nothing dears

It's not important,
it's only air
And water and land
Milk and honey
Money pit sink holes
And solar flares

Your home
Your soul
Su casa

"God did not
no such **** thing
He gave them ****!
They own not us
They own
Nothing!"

Says me maw
and heehaw
In their Caribbean spa....

Who dat in there?

The cyber wars
So long ago tomorrow's
Been won,
Big brother's page
Is chalk lines full
Of all our pictures
And conversations
radio static
Lo a rhythm of old
Dots and
Dashes
Sos

"God help them, mother /he said
If he gets angry so hot
Come from the Apple's
i Cloud
He might...holy
****
Aye caramba!"


The end

Will

Be it thunderous

Frozen still wide
Awoke
Now
That
        we let go  
(Not my humanity)
Instead rather
Of greed / malicious lust /
the listlessness

The hunger
Of mine mind mines
The business of
Heavy
A currency of make believe
The reality
That we slave...

We are forced
Of a kind
(Murderous words and fife)
Now out with "old hat"
A.i. Simon says
Like / share / post
Atomic

Advertise and
Purchase the cool whips
Addictions
IT gurl
“Everyone I’d doing ****”
Juke joints littered with points.
So...
Hip

Hops
As Pops chugs tin

"I think I can
I think I can -- Blogs"

A you tube channel for
All
Joses who can see

Jiggle jangling
Jugs
and tambourines
Shake it out
Walk it off

An de Le

i miss my space,
Something for Reals
Where I can place
The pieces of my life
The art I write
The movie of my reality tv


Lets kik it / lets snap chat

In my spoken word
Get to know
who I be

Hello my name is __

Poetry.
My Non-other
Me.
4 20 2017 / free verse flow...
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Old man with his Atacama tongue
dusting off stories of his youth
forty-nine knock outs he spattered out
heavy weight champion travelin' the world
stories of tribes auctioning off slaves
that they couldn't sell
that became that nights meal
pieces in a stew
how it could make a man cry and cry
oiling up trees so the lions
slide right off
tent births and baseball cards
a preacher neighbor who beat a woman
then had his teeth knock out
by the holy word
then points out his bird houses
only to dive deep into something else

"Old man" says I,
"I have to return to work
but next time I will save
your stop for last. There's
an oasis in that head of yours
and I tend to bask in it."
LeV3e Aug 2016
There's a pit in my stomach
Standing, idly by, see,
You punched me in my time
Slots spinning in my mind
Stuck, relying on the grind, but
**** your "authority". I
Find it kinda ironic how,
Businesses are built from the ground
but, Up at the peak peeking down,
Sits vultures, who's ***** seeping out
Slick sick liquid so stout,
Poisoned souls, lost in a shroud
Searching for a way out of the cloud
but, it sounds too profound
to ****** the crown from your brow.
It's here, that I've found that
To sow seed, requires a plow
And, to sell ****, requires a down
Payment, is owed to the old
Heads stone cold, as the bread
Hardens our hearts, to the souls
Auctioning off it's moral code
Sold to the highest bidder
Gold fingers are bitter when
Biting your nails is for dinner.
Capitalist sympathizers call me a quitter,
And Jehovahs witnesses all call me a sinner,
But my brothers and sisters consider
Smokin' some refer, the smell that still lingers
Open your pockets, I hear your silver still jingles
I see your water is filtered,
So let the minerals flow
To my bowl, pay the toll
To get the grow that you'll roll, cause
Money solves our problems when
Our problems are each other, and
There is no end in sight, so spite the
"Honor" and the blood we've spilled,
We fight to keep the flag up high
Beside our minds, to cope with all
The hopelessness of our demise
In Jesus name, I shed this tear.
Hannah thomas Dec 2018
I am tired of waiting in the middle
Of placing my faith on either side
In both hope and inevitability
I am so tired of relinquishing power
To those who never deserved it
Tired of tying my heart to a balloon string
And auctioning it off to those with
Their heads in the clouds
And feet not planted on solid grounds
  But for you
For you I would have done it
A million times over, maybe more
And I never would have grown tired
I could have given you  every piece of me
And still have given you more
  But you were tired too
And soon grew tired of me
I was far too docile for you to love
Far too expected, never enough wild
To satisfy your pallet
Said if I was a spice, I'd be sugar
So i suppose you never had much
Of a sweet tooth anyway
I was never much good at chemistry
Never really got it but I tried
Tried to alter my molecular make up
In attempt to fix myself into
Something more bitter for you
Found I could never shrink myself
Small enough to become what you wanted
  And eventually I stopped trying
Eventually I grew tired
Tired of speaking of you
Like the last drop of water
Or last molecule of oxygen in the atmosphere
Or a planet, or my entire night sky
I grew tired of your 3 ring circus
Of you keeping me around
Like just another one of your acts
I have assumed the title of ring leader now
And you, my silly little boy
Are just a clown
I like when it’s just noise and not chatter. Words are distracting because even though It’m not listening directly my mind clicks on in an area of my brain that I wish to let sleep sometimes. Which if you knew me you would understand how ironic that is.

I did not speak until I was three. My grandmother used to tell my mother to “enjoy it now. Once she starts talking she will never shut up.” She was spot on.

I used to talk so fast most would assume I was auctioning off cattle. The truth was I was auctioning off presence. Prattling away like a hen. I am now returning to my original state of verbal silence.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE words but I don’t think in words. I think in pictures of moving senses. I use words to try and describe the current of those senses when I step out of their embrace to shift into a worded mind. It’s exhausting sometimes and exuberant at others but always disengaging from where I prefer to be. That’s not to say I’m a recluse. I am decidedly not but I do like reclusiveness.
Atript Abhinav Aug 2015
Eyes on The Horizon - Atript Abhinav
Walk the earth,
Like an artist auctioning his masterpiece for charity
Like an independent woman marking her existence in the society
Like a man of integrity boasting about everything he has achieved
Like morning dew shining on a barren field
Like a mother watching her children standing up on their feet
Like a rooster who believes that the sunlight depends on him
Like the son of a man who never traded his soul for money
Like a father of the soldier who died for his country
Like a bird on its flight across the sea
Like an athlete flaunting his trophy
Like an atheist who proved to the world that gods don't exist
Like a writer who changed the world with his beliefs
Like an actor who earned his popularity
Like a musician upon realizing that his music will echo till eternity
Like a Pashtun girl who broke the silence and refused to be a victim
Like a warrior who chose to lose than quit
There is a vacant lot
that
could be a cemetery plot
or an opportunity
to build upon it
a fairer society.
Yenson Jun 2019
What was never was made what is
in core-less apparitions seeking redemption
fanning disunity in separation as serpents fangs hiss
mired in alchemy of neon laminated Machiavellian illusions
of mice and men in yesterdays fables of core-less ****** excesses

The scripted visions of the sightless
painting portraits in indulgent surrealistic strokes
auctioning misdeeds and cruelties in  tumultuous pastels pitiless
shame clinging guilt becomes the regiments' call marching in smoke
shadow dancing to the malicious composer in lit neon feint giddiness

The Judge jury and Butchers presiding
dare ye dissent a one way verdict from the one track rail
vegetation merges with saplings from grains fermented and pulsing
banquets for the fallen and starved the ghosts holds a tiger by the tail
trials of hot air hackneyed lyrics strewn and drips tirelessly streaming
preservationman Oct 2015
A very lavish party at the Livingston Manor
The mansion is nothing more than sheer elegance
It doesn’t matter if you are not significance
You are all invited
Everybody from who’s who
Don’t be surprised in who’s that
Well mingle around and converse
The party seems to be off to a good start
Look at that beautiful sophisticated woman in the corner with having pause, and introduce yourself and make your mark
But wait!
A stranger has entered the manor, but there is something about him isn’t right
He is scoping the room and seems uptight
Suddenly he pulls out a gun
He announces that everyone give up their jewelry and money
However, this stranger looks familiar
Now I remember, he is wanted for entering elegant affairs and robbing guest
However this party has a very expensive Diamond ring worth millions and 18 carrot of pure gold
Robert Livingston the owner of the man or is auctioning off the Diamond ring in his house
I am firmly believe that this stranger has a motive and I am determined to find out
Time to think let ****** she wrote
Listening and analyzing every word being spoke
I found some clues
The stranger was actually………………….

Suspense until Part 2
scully Jan 2020
What would you like to hear?
If not to listen to the song of my voice,
If not to watch the way my eyes dance over your face,
Trying to memorize each piece as if I'll never see it again,
Then what are all of these words for?
I am breathlessly craving your touch,
If you let me,
I will inhale all of the smoke and exhale all of your secrets
So we can watch them dance away like fog over water.
I can tell by the callouses on your palms,
You've been auctioning off your love like its a yard sale.
Can you find some use for all of those old love poems?
All of the times you thought you got it just right,
How many trains stations did you have to sit in before you finally came home to my heart?
And I'll admit,
I am ardently confessing my wish of forever.
I will hand pick you promises and tie them up in a bow,
We can stick them in a glass jar and watch them grow.
Can you bleed for me, if I water this love until it sprouts thorns?
You told me,
In love, there is no point in being anything but ravenous,
No use in loving someone if it doesn't exist on the brink of tragedy,
The edge of dangerous.
Tell me,
If we take one step too far,
Will we become nothing but two bodies
Haunted by the space that is left in between us?
Will I be pricking my fingers on the stem of our forever
Like a lesson to be learned?
Leave the wild things where they are.
Let love flourish in all directions, the raving thing it is.
When you think of the future, is my hand still in your palm?
Or am I across the sea somewhere?
The sea,
You are swimming there too,
Are you looking for me in the waves that crash against the rocks?
Does it always have to be so violent?
And you laugh,
Because if it isn't life or death,
It isn't love at all.
The following constitutes a rather
twisted as a pretzel SUBTITLE:

I dash with my jiggling ***** in an attempt to escape...
being overrun by teddy bears and beanie babies
while carrying out heavy duty spring cleaning.

Twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she push lee duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster” endear
ring - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),

anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady;
thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious condition, nevertheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep her
from auctioning me on eBay,
I squarely hide in root cellar.

She frenziedly scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus
horde (nee motley crue)
entrapping scampering dust bunnies
that come breathing alive
nsync with beastie boy
city rollers culture clubbing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,

or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding fifty shades of gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever
"cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,  

would necessitate impossible task
strapping former feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket livingsocial every
would be no game to play
24/7 daily challenge devious skullduggery
Smokey and the Bandits
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang, who lived
like Aristo curr Rats along the quay,    
which unpredictable timeframe

boot tiring and cruel task
of her life Yukon say
thine remaining lifetime,
that's my wife oye vey
would frank lee zapping
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'till she obviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.

Though far fetched, not impossible
for me and Joe Six
Pack to become one and the same
since a concerned counterpart
contributes to the mix
cuz, she waves a scolding gold finger
dying with craven craving for sweet licks
to grace tastebuds longing
to savor and dissolve sucrose
in any one of the natural
or synthesized combinations
in an effort whose memory
of a washboard tummy
doth hunger for youth afflicts

recent embarkation since maintaining a diet
of exercise no more pesky heeding "yo dude"  
(you look like a lady),
the inner fitness maven against
temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this lxiv aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-

winking *****, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
asper this chest lewd
city in reference to "man *****"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around

this non-crowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely ****
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a *****
and even during closed bedroom door
****** exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)

and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology *******)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
*** ping believe mass elf ya wood.
Thats how it is see the kids throwing bids
Without auctioning ya lifes at caution
Hood is with me we play like Dempsey
Word to **** C hoes we knock em down
With a few pounds all surround
By gun sounds I found my self in a drown
Everywhere i look they look like clowns
But I'm the It far from the **** but I'll stitch
A quilt of rhymes into a perfect sublime
Yo I back spaces my family traces see laces
Of Morraco faces tooken pictures faceless
Tryna erase my history but history fleas
Off in the wrong direction education selection
Tryna keep me under the dumb lights
But I broke the flight of ******* they kite
Stringing to a rope of hope on mental *****
No longer a cope to world's coat its cold
I had to deal with the frost bite restless nights
Pain kissed up with delight liquors only excite
The dancing demons tryna fight the Freeman
But im trapped in a prison where blood thickens
Purge your weakness and my plots strengthen
Robert Guerrero Dec 2020
I'd like to wake up
Without dread in my mentality
No worries as the hours tick by
Will today be for the diary
Or skipped pages
Lost into memory
Filed deep behind vault doors
Just once would be nice
A decent vehicle
I don't have to kick
In the tail pipe just to start
A bed my own
Fool I became
Auctioning it off for heartache
Just once would be nice
To not feel like I was dropped
Nine too many times as an infant
Replacing blondes with handicap stickers
As I keep trying to be an epic human
Maybe a match and kerosene
Scrub brush and bleach
I can start all over
On a cleaner slate
Just once is all I'm asking
One opportunity to just say *******
To everyone I don't know
Stop trying to be a friend to a stranger
When strangers keep daggers
Strapped to every ankle
Waiting for your back to turn
Just once
Please God one time
I'll do it right
I'll erase past mistakes
And finally enjoy happiness my way
I want to congratulate all the celebrities who have offered their condulances or given money to aid
Fire victims, like Ellen degenerous
And Nicole Kidman Keith urban pink Celeste barber Hugh Jackman
Harry and Meghan
I want to congratulate all the sports events that are held in Australia during this hard time, playing fun games to donate money to the fire victims and fighters like every slam dunk and every three point shot and auctioning off sporting memorimbila
And in the tennis every ace scored gets a donation and then giving all the money to help out where they can
They do get a lot of money so they should help out seeing some sports events are in fire ravished places
This means just one thing
Whatever the evil spirits are doing through these fires it doesn’t stop the community spirit of this great country
I would like to know what the match between Sixers and strikers are gonna do, there are two ways to stop this reign by evil spirits first the rain
And while waiting show community spirit
CONGRATULTIONS to every famous person who helped in relief
nsw Apr 2020
There's a stream that is flowing through my heart
With your blood running through instead of mine
And I don't mean this in a dependent way
I mean this in a way.. where.. you made life a whole lot better for me.

There's a stream that is flowing through my brain
With thoughts of you constantly running through
And I don't mean this in an odd manner
I mean.. where you're always on my mind, because you're mine.

There's a stream that is flowing through my soul
With your actions attached and running through
The way that you treat me is engraved into my body
Engraved to my soul.

From now on, whether we're together in the future or not,
I know how a man should treat me, and you've shown me that
You are an actual work of art
And I'm auctioning a part myself to you

I hope that you are mine for the rest of our lives
I was complete before I met you,
But you have filled my life with color
And to go on without you, would just be black and white
With shades of grey.

It's because we're so alike, like twin souls
Together in the past life, reunited in this one
You will carry my heart one day, and I trust you
Anytime I'm with you, I'm home.

— The End —