"barbarism" poems
abolitionism
absenteeism
absolutism
abstractionism
absurdism
academicism
academism
achromatism
acrotism
actinism
activism
adoptianism
adoptionism
adventurism
aeroembolism
aestheticism
ageism
agism
agnosticism
agrarianism
alarmism
albinism
alcoholism
aldosteronism
algorism
alienism
allelism
allelomorphism
allomorphism
alpinism
altruism
amateurism
amoralism
anabaptism
anabolism
anachronism
analphabetism
anarchism
anecdotalism
aneurism
anglicism
animalism
animism
anisotropism
antagonism
anthropocentrism
anthropomorphism
anthropopathism
antialcoholism
antiauthoritarianism
antiblackism
anticapitalism
anticlericalism
anticolonialism
anticommercialism
anticommunism
antielitism
antievolutionism
antifascism
antifeminism
antiferromagnetism
antihumanism
antiliberalism
antimaterialism
antimilitarism
antinepotism
antinomianism
antiquarianism
antiracism
antiradicalism
antirationalism
antirealism
antireductionism
antiritualism
antiromanticism
antiterrorism
aphorism
apocalypticism
apocalyptism
archaism
asceticism
assimilationism
associationism
asterism
astigmatism
asynchronism
atavism
atheism
athleticism
atomism
atonalism
atropism
atticism
autecism
authoritarianism
autism
autoecism
autoeroticism
autoerotism
automatism
automorphism
baalism
baptism
barbarianism
barbarism
behaviorism
biblicism
bibliophilism
bicameralism
biculturalism
bidialectalism
bilateralism
bilingualism
bimetallism
biologism
bioregionalism
bipartisanism
bipedalism
biracialism
blackguardism
bogyism
bohemianism
bolshevism
boosterism
bossism
botulism
bourbonism
boyarism
bromism
brutism
bruxism
bureaucratism
cabalism
caciquism
cambism
cannibalism
capitalism
careerism
casteism
catabolism
catastrophism
catechism
cavalierism
centralism
centrism
ceremonialism
charism
charlatanism
chauvinism
chemism
chemotropism
chimaerism
chimerism
chrism
chromaticism
cicisbeism
cinchonism
civicism
civism
classicism
classism
clericalism
clonism
cockneyism
collaborationism
collectivism
colloquialism
colonialism
colorism
commensalism
commercialism
communalism
communism
communitarianism
conceptualism
concretism
confessionalism
conformism
congregationalism
connubialism
conservatism
constitutionalism
constructivism
consumerism
controversialism
conventionalism
corporatism
corporativism
cosmism
cosmopolitanism
cosmopolitism
countercriticism
counterculturalism
counterterrorism
creationism
credentialism
cretinism
criticism
cronyism
cryptorchidism
cryptorchism
cubism
cultism
cynicism
czarism
dadaism
dandyism
defeatism
deism
demonism
denominationalism
despotism
determinism
deviationism
diabolism
diamagnetism
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 12:16 PM UTC
I.
“No doubt they’ll sing in tune after the Revolution.”
-Kamarovsky, Doctor Zhivago (film)
Everyone seems to clench his fist these days
In solidarity with ephemera
While setting fire to green recycling bins
Hurling someone else’s bicycle through a window
Armed with their undergraduate degrees
The comrades liberate a coffee shop
Wifi-ing the revolution of the day
Empowerment by beating love to death
Loudsplaining authentic victimization
Posing for selfies with a stolen ‘phone
II.
Their inhumanity seemed a marvel of class-consciousness, their barbarism a model of proletarian firmness…
-Doctor Zhivago, p. 349
Everyone seems to clutch his flag these days
In solidarity with a past that wasn’t
While setting fire to misspelled cardboard signs
Hurling someone else’s beer into a crowd
Armed with their lurid Confederate tats
The Something.Right liberate a dumpster
Bull-horning the counter-revolution
Empowerment by beating love to death
Bellowing their Reconquista of stench
Posing behind their cheap gas station shades
III.
“I used to admire your poetry...I shouldn't admire it now. I should find it absurdly personal. Don't you agree? Feelings, insights, affections... it's suddenly trivial now. You don't agree; you're wrong. The personal life is dead…”
-Strelnikov to Yuri, Doctor Zhivago (film)
Some few embrace civilization these days
In solidarity with humanity
While lighting one small candle as a votive
Whispering an Ave into the Light
Armed with wonder through pen and flute and brush
Recusants choose the liberation given
In singing of the eternal verities
Self-empowerment happily denied
With love, with poetry, music, and art
Celebrating life on this summer day
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:09 PM UTC
*to further my point, as an eager reader in
a catholic school, reading about
the gnostic heretics, wondering
with my theology tutor upon the question
asked: don't you think the gnostic heretics
influenced mohammad on the sly?
i mean, they too believed a phantom walked
among men, and a phantom was crucified?*
my confirmation didn't take place
in a cathedral, as was due course for all of
us in being schooled, by a bishop
in brentwood cathedral,
i opted out... my confirmation came
in a russian orthodox cathedral,
in st. petersburg, when i watched
people standing for a scrap of iconoclasm,
with the priest mumbling
toward a golden altar, as typical in
the tradition, buttocks towards the people
or as in the western tradition
reciting in latin, before the nationalists
came and spoke the gospel in each
designated tongue so people understood,
a bit like having your back turned
against the people - speaking in latin -
and when i sat i the church
to listen to the choir singing,
some lesser ecclesiastical prompted me
to stand up, and pay respect to the golden
altar... he told me to stand up!
what cheek... what barbarism... only
in russia... i had to stop being bewildered
by the beauty of song and listen to
a priest knock-down-ginger on a palette of
gold... THEN i was confirmed...
donkey's ******** to this **** i'm leaving!
mind the fact that i've seen the greatest
degradation of mysticism take place...
the tetragrammaton was being defiled all along...
in catholic bureaucracy it has been there all along,
the idiots reminded me of it...
you're born: first name, baptismal name, surname...
you're educated: confirmation name...
that takes four spaces of consideration...
so by catholic definition of sharpening pencils,
folding pieces of paper, filing the folded pieces
of paper, bending paper-clips i'm god...
but only in writing... first name, baptismal name,
confirmation name, surname...
a bit like a clone... a clone indeed in writing...
same d.n.a., same bone mandibles of the jaw...
but experience-wise... un-original to the ****
not even a clone... not able to experience major
historical figures... a soul in a twin body by itself...
a twin without twinning, segregated by ulterior
if not auxiliary motives... clone on paper...
clone by experience? i don't think so... impossible...
too many inter-actants along the way
can't possibly replicate thinking in a clone...
different mr. john smith... NEXT!
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
With heavy sigh
A single leaf falls
The first I've caught in the act
It slides down my right shoulder
Kissing my skin with parched lips
'Save me,'
It whispers
"No,"
I sing
A single, skittering chipmunk
Bounds across the soggy banks
Of Lake Fred
Unafraid and nearly near enough to touch
But keenly and instinctually aware
Of my innate barbarism
He keeps his distance
"Did you see that?"
I call to him
Pointing to the crumpled leaf beside me
"Summer is dying."
The chipmunk stops
Cranes its neck and twitches its whiskers in consideration
And replies
'Of course it is,
What else would it do?'
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
All weapons of
the fates you've sealed
Are no match for
this pen I wield
The power to
articulate
Ticking rhyme bombs
to detonate
The conflicts waged
gambling mankind
My perfect hand
is treaties signed
Hellbent hounds pray
like dogs, I hunt
Frontline this notebook
battlefront
With metaphors
of mindless drones
Like similes
to brainwashed clones
Whose C4 booms
and IED's
Can't build bridges
like ABC's
Or tear them down
with death regimes
By rusting through
the war machines
Flamethrowin’ my
verbal grenade
With ****** noun
scorched-earth tirade
On militant
cold-blood elite
King cobras know
I'm packing heat
Seeking missile
resolution
Winged raptor
devolution
Prehistoric
barbarism
Literacy
cataclysm
Stockpiling
extinction bones
We're cavemen carving
fallout stones
My Hiroshima
prose explodes
With nuclear
bushido codes
Released from my
katana's ward
To free my press
from shogun lord
Oppressing haiku
imagery
And samurai
epigraphy
Expressions of
my ronin soul
Omitted by
the daimyo
Satsuma is my
poetry
My final draft's
Nagasaki
Ink cartridges
strapped 'round my neck
I print no charge
or background check
And ****** every
live round free
Of innocent
blood elegy
And killing sprees
of gunned-down news
Domestic violence
black and blues
A Number 2
pencil dependent
Obsolete
lead-head amendment
Open carry
shoots a blank
Empty shell case
at my think tank
So grip this peace
then **** and pull it
**** my diction
write the bullet
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 2:10 PM UTC
What is it, Oh what is it that plagues my mind
Which rests its design in black melancholy
And perpetual lament
Producing desperate and unreasonable frustrations
And condemnations of grotesque obligations
Investing a relentless barbarism of lamentation
In that moment of the infinite pulse of inaccuracies
That raises from the grave of oblivion illicit ambitions
And by their presence embalms me with an ambiguous curse
That compels no rivalry or universal justification
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
mass chaos,
violence,
anger,
brotherhood.
it starts
like a fire,
slow,
smoldering.
the noise is
unbelievable;
it echoes
through our
skulls
and makes
our bodies
rattle and
ring with
its invasive
presence.
we stand,
heads moving
in time,
and we
enjoy.
we.
they stand
together in
front of us,
elevated,
worshipped.
but soon,
the leader
uses his
slurred,
raucous
cries to
welcome
the
ferocious
spectacle.
the hurling
masses,
we oblige.
the crowd
opens,
and with
no regard,
limbs fly
about like
blades on a
helicopter;
heads
shake and
roll,
and we
throw
ourselves
into the pit
of trembling
appendages.
bodies collide,
sweat glistens,
and we laugh,
together.
we ****
without
***********
we share
without
conversation,
we injure
without
ambition.
our barbarism
is ******
and we have
no concern.
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:56 AM UTC
Stoplight Lynching,
Drive-by Reaping,
Soul snatching police officers,
Throat tearing teacher’s with a theme
Violence in the genes,
Scheming while masquerading what you are to be,
Playing charades because social acceptance is in,
Evolving from barbarism to greed,
Juxtaposed Imposter,
Judicially Jaded,
Think you can wield a blade,
When congressional dribble will bleed you away,
Martyr Mishaps,
Minds without maps and easy to catch,
A congregation in need creeds,
Stoplight sinning,
Drive-by finishing,
Soul savoring deities,
Throat slicing teachings,
Ignorance is a conquering king,
All encompassing,
All controlling,
Ignorance is a conquering thief, compromising our mental capacities for the sake of Almighty Themes.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
out-seeking the world in
crave of ascertation. to
crave realization of know-
ledge, of others’ wisdom.
seeking experience via lack
of self-preservation, but
the sun rises for this land
of the Old Settlers.
[/thesis]
force settled the young to
drybed rivers. all with killer
statement epitaphs, that is,
words to remember as
darkness follow’d rifle blast –
white shame’s legacy.
images of barbarism as
a means of civilizing, of settling,
pioneering. and cowboy is
racist to the non-farmers of
Texas. (are farmers a race?)
doesn't matter when
they write the epitaphs.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 10:32 AM UTC
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Goya's not gone
his nightmares and realities still shadow us -
the Los Desastres de la Guerra
still palpitate in our desert lands and hills
beating like hearts the Aztecs offered the sun;
and the barbarism of an axe over heads still thrives -
and barbarians can never hear the plea of a mother
Tampoco
tells us of women and girls ***** in war
and Oh, the Fight with Cudgels
looms large over our skies
and the horror of Saturn devouring his son
pervades the earth
and the Black Paintings
run amok in the form of men shrouded in black
Ah, Picasso is there too in our madness:
Guernica bares its teeth and monstrosities
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
Pendulum hours spring slow forward
seasons swaying trigger festivals
and the dancing banners
on windy streets
spell sales
for slack jawed jugglers
eager to pedal wears to the weary
under the growing sun of a dieing season.
I am a beast in the cage of these streets
one way bars holding back barbarism.
My snarling is better suited for the trees
my guttural bark out car doors at street performers
better suited for stick beaten drum circles
spinning madly under the moon.
I lap from the sewer grates like a lost dog
too proud to die their like my hero
on a post above
to me
the raven quoth, what a bore.
Only men behind electric glass have seen me
on drunken nights
I confess my heart
and dance away my soul(s)
before their iron eye.
In this city I do not sleep
my heart glides to grassy groves
when my eyes close
to lock out the bright and unending
street lights that are suspending
my cowards heart above the darkness i still fear.
I am a child
take me to where the wild things are.
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 12:06 AM UTC
Haiti you are a beautiful soul in nature. Frozen in time it’s like I’ve never left you three decades ago. Under all the destruction I still see your beautiful soul. Sadly with tears in my eyes I am speechless of how they’ve left you frozen without cause without reasons without merits. How shameful the civilized western can be to leave you naked, frozen without clothes. With tears in my eyes I am saddened to see you like this, With tears in my eyes I am still proud to be your son.
Perhaps one day I dream of seeing a Better you , a stronger you, and a Well dress you for the whole western world to see you unfrozen.
You are down but you are not out, you are drowning but you are not finished.
As painful as it may be for me , I know the pain for your people is much greater than mine , for I get to leave you as I please to a better place.
The hypocrisy from the western world, give me freedom or give me death , I assume it was only meant for the Caucasian world. Because together the people of Haiti have accomplished just that , for the freedom of your people , for that very reason they’ve been rebellious against your people for wanting to be free, for wanting to raised your young under a flag we all can be proud and called your our own.
Sadly they’ve brainwashed our brothers and sisters around the western world, make them believe you are barbaric, you are a race of barbarism, how sad to see in this modern world you have been left frozen in time. Still I am proud to call you my own.
If I can help it , the fight is not yet over. Shameful of myself for not realizing you were in need of my attention sooner than I’ve realized. Words cannot describes the pain I feel for you , words cannot describes the pain I feel for the people of Haiti. Today I wrote in stone I will indeed seek for a better You and I will not rest. Until then I beg you to keep fighting and
STAND STRONG FROZEN.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
December 21, 2012.
A day feared by many, mocked by some, and ignored by others.
To me? It's the end of this world.
This world where I live in constant paranoia,
in constant fear of not being able to achieve what I've set myself to.
Fearing I'm not good enough. Just expecting everything to fall into place.
Will she still love me in the morning?
Will I make it through today?
Will I survive the sleep?
That kind of things.
To me it's the end of this world.
This world where we see hunger everywhere we look.
Poberty in every corner.
Racism. Intolerance. Unfounded hatred towards others.
Aren't we one same race? Aren't we part of the same planet?
Killings. Bullying. Barbarism. Carnage.
And you call yourself a superior being with the capacity to reason?
Not only do you **** your brother but also your home.
To me it's the end of this world.
December 21, 2012.
The date I will make a change on myself.
The mayans didn't predict the end of the world. They predicted a new beginning.
*Embrace it. Live it. Be it.*
Lets start to make this right.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 2:22 PM UTC
لأجلك يا مدينة الصلاة أصلي
لأجلك يا بهية المساكن يا زهرة المدائن
يا قدس يا قدس يا مدينة الصلاة
عيوننا إليك ترحل كل يوم
تدور في أروقة المعابد
تعانق الكنائس القديمة
و تمسح الحزن عن المساجد
يا ليلة الأسراء يا درب من مروا إلى السماء
عيوننا إليك ترحل كل يوم و انني أصلي
الطفل في المغارة و أمه مريم وجهان يبكيان
لأجل من تشردوا
لأجل أطفال بلا منازل
لأجل من دافع و أستشهد في المداخل
و أستشهد السلام في وطن السلام
سقط الحق على المداخل
حين هوت مدينة القدس
تراجع الحب و في قلوب الدنيا أستوطنت الحرب
الطفل في المغارة و أمه مريم وجهان يبكيان و أنني أصلي
الغضب الساطع آتٍ و أنا كلي ايمان
الغضب الساطع آتٍ سأمر على الأحزان
من كل طريق آتٍ بجياد الرهبة آتٍ
و كوجه الله الغامر آتٍ آتٍ آتٍ
لن يقفل باب مدينتنا فأنا ذاهبة لأصلي
سأدق على الأبواب و سأفتحها الأبواب
و ستغسل يا نهر الأردن وجهي بمياه قدسية
و ستمحو يا نهر الأردن أثار القدم الهمجية
الغضب الساطع آتٍ بجياد الرهبة آتٍ
و سيهزم وجه القوة
البيت لنا و القدس لنا
و بأيدينا سنعيد بهاء القدس
بايدينا للقدس سلام آتٍ
It is for you O city of the prayer that I pray
It is for you O splendid home, O flower of the cities
O Jerusalem O Jerusalem O Jerusalem O city of the prayer
Our eyes are set out to you everyday
They walk through the porticos of the temples
Embrace of the old churches
And take the sadness away from the mosques
O night of Al asra O path of those who left for the sky
Our eyes are set out to you everyday and I pray
The child is in the cave and his mother is Myriam two faces crying
For those who roamed
For the children without a house
For those who resisted and were martyred at the gates
And the peace was martyred in the homeland of the peace
And the law tumbled at the gates of the city
When Jerusalem city fell
Love left and in the heart of the world the war was settled
The child is in the cave and his mother is Myriam two faces crying
and I pray
The glaring anger is arriving and I am sure of it
The bright anger is arriving, I will command the grief
From everywhere, it will arrive riding the steeds of fear,
As if the overwhelming face of God it will arrive
The gates of our city will not be locked anymore so I am going to pray
I will knock the gates and I will liberate them
My face will be cleaned by the holy water of the Jordan river
And the effects of the barbarism of the past will be erased O Jordan River
The glaring anger is arriving riding the steeds of the fear
And will defeat whom is in power
This is our home and Jerusalem belongs to us
And in our hands we will celebrate the splendor of Jerusalem
by our hands the peace will return to Jerusalem
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
The frame has blurred away \ Fever death arising like burst glass || mangled spines \ This is the age of fact | where the violent insertion of cancer cells into animals is applauded by scientists across the globe \ Objectivity is the new face of barbarism | death god // sublimating existence for truth \ Raw data filters from the rot of deformed limbs | tweezers crush the heads living fish // guts spill | formaldehyde fixes the flesh of squirming insects | spliced genes splay the spines of mewling mice \ There’s no doubt || biology is the practice of death \ Animals without niches \ Organs without bodies \ Cells without hosts \ An aperture maw | red // yellow // black // white | leaking nervous tissue over an absent whole \ Reality has been atomised // brutalised // banalised \ Objective knowledge replacing all critical thought << [[Muscle // nerve // fat // blood // bone \]] Experience nothing \ [[The germ cell cycles every 28 days \]] Know nothing \ [[The average lifespan of a lab rat is three years \]] Feel nothing \ [[Over one hundred million are killed yearly \]] Science saves \ Biospace severed // prescription drugs fall // epistemic // into clean white bottles \
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 7:10 PM UTC
Two days into being back in Van Lear upon onset emergency,
I feel trapped in my childhood home and engulfed by jingo lobbyists who have posters of Ronald Reagan,
And I read about Pascal's Wager in an essay by William Buckley to realize how anyone, in annoyance, could fall into conservatism.
I come home and all the farmers are talking Communist uprising,
But back in the university the Mormon professors are talking up our structure and that we should roll with the punches.
Noting that everyone disagrees on something,
Everyone back home is too sessile to talk or debate the issues.
I must leave at once and argue with tact about the grander schemes of life and money,
I'm just getting started.
///
This is not a place where you can accumulate *** and alcohol,
And thus not a safe space for creative expression and thought...
In the dormitory halls I would put on my Aztec print sunglasses and parade the hallways declaring myself the most immortal of men from third to fourth floor.
And then you inevitably get trapped in a two story country house,
Cry for the fact that the sky is too calm.
Nothing happens here.
Nothing happens here...
It makes me uncomfortable.
Let me sit in the corner of room 403 and meditate with more excitement than a shouting match here,
Or how everything is so quiet and we're waiting for a phone call of awful news.
They all must think I eat nothing,
I subsist on nighttime ghost stories, or something,
I'm a creature of the night,
Then who are you,
Man of American with your European jaw,
Or King of all men who dare to call themselves free,
Why is it that in a decade of invention and creativity
That it's the appeal of brawn that wins out continually?
We are regressing.
Eastern Kentucky is the center of the wound,
The eye of barbarism and I am not welcome.
I will move west to spite my family and then become successful to spite society.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
Then all was silent
For there was a relentless
Hysteria of calm
Investing a barbarism
Of grotesque stillness
That lay about a treachery
Of gross tranquility
In the midst of human kind
All are lost for words in 2061
All, all, all are dumb in 2061
For I have seen it, the silence
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:50 PM UTC
Have you ever doubted...
Lost in a searching grasp for
lies
only to be comforted by fear:
its rigid, creviced tongue
a jagged weapon
like an obsidian relic of barbarism
scrapes my skin
scratches my earlobe
it tries to find a way into my mind.
I have forgotten the taste of truth
like a babe fed by beasts
I grew strong
or so I thought.
I tried to carve my name
into the disc of the world
"Fool"
The world isn't flat,
but I am.
I fit into the cracks you think are safe.
I slip into your secrets.
I carved lines into the world until
the impenetrable layers of rock and tree
and sky and core
were but pages,
thinly veiled memories of lives we
once cherished.
I know you've forgotten the taste
of truth
because you feel my sorrow.
It is your tale I tell
and that is why
I feel so alone.
You are impenetrable
and when I see through you,
I don't see anything at all.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
L O V E
A simple word with a simple meaning
No complex theories, no rocket science
Yet the most difficult thing to hold onto
H A P P I N E S S
Simple…maybe not?
The two go hand in hand
Or so we think?
What is life without love and affection?
It is emptiness, devoid of emotion
Darkness, devoid of light
Weakness, devoid of strength
Barbarism, devoid of humanity
L I F E
The beginning and ending of all creations
Happiness and sadness
Strength and weakness
Humility and pride
Greatness… cast into our genes from the beginning of time
Forming and shaping the world we live in
Steering our minds with vast new possibilities and opportunities
It is woven into our spirit
It is what we are born with
WHO WE ARE
WHAT WE ARE
Despite the condemnation we are and forever will be GREATNESS.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC
Upon fields far from home,
There is blood dripping on poppies,
Young lives harvested before their prime,
Their dreams and hopes seeping into foreign soil.
The sky glows with ***** rage,
Smoke screams upon the stale air,
The fire incinerates the crops of truth,
Darkness reaps a hymn through the foggy fields.
Ravens scavenge for souls,
The petals of truth wilt and burn,
Scars claw through fertile fields of earth,
The teeth of barbarism dig Death’s stinking trenches.
The blood of the Saviour,
High on the highest hill of war,
With nails of rusted meat and bone,
Play the pipes of peace and sing love’s lilting tune.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
There are few sounds so grand
and that of a hot dog splitting its casing
as it heats on the grill.
Even as a vegetarian, I missed hot dogs.
And yes, I know what we don't know what's in them
and yes, I know the barbarism of eating them
But do you know something?
It is a perfect summer evening
I am leaning over the grill
and the afternoons are long and hot.
I have one glass of pink lemonade, and, I swear,
it is sweating more than I am.
It is a perfect summer day
and this is my last summer, really;
next year it's college,
and then work and a family
and all those grown up things
and by the time I can really enjoy a summer day again
is when I am weathered and bent
and can't leap spryly at the chance.
So I will eat my hot dogs
and my coke-cola
and everything that I am already nervous of,
and I will slide down the waterfalls at Fall Run park,
and talk to my beau until four in the morning,
and throw parties with my friends around the camp fires,
and go to plays, and base ball games, and concerts.
I will do it all and more
and revel in the sound
of snapping hot dog cases.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC