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T Jones Aug 2014
Not a poem but in protest of flagging truth about racism in Traverse City, Michigan


Traverse City, Michigan: Racism is still alive and well in our area.

We weren't always welcoming
Cross burning's (City of Traverse City, MI)
I'm born and raised in Traverse City, Michigan and still living in the same neighborhood where I grew up. I can remember when blacks were not welcome in most parts of town and the one or two around were military visitors.

We had two known cross burning incidents. One back in the late 80's or early 90's the other was around 1924, ******* groups like Ku Klux **** was behind both cross burning incidents. I found old articles on the earlier one but someone is trying hard to white wash history of Traverse City by hiding evidence of the most resent one. Ones like me who were there remember those dark days like it was yesterday. It don't bode well for tourism or the Cherry Festival if there's a record of racism in our city.

Copy pasting one two different retelling of story reported by our sometimes biased Record Eagle articles regarding the first and and will continue to dig for the other one.

January 31, 2009
KKK was active in early '20s

The 1924 bombings and cross burnings in downtown Traverse City were not the first **** activity in northern Michigan.

The Record-Eagle reported flaming crosses in the Mancelona area on Aug. 1, 1923, a full year before. Six weeks later, Traverse City commissioners refused the **** permission to hold a Sept. 17 open-air meeting at the corner of Front and Cass.

About 300 people showed up anyway and marched to a vacant lot west of Front and Union after the unidentified property owner gave permission, carefully noting that it "did not commit him to any relationship with the organization," the newspaper said.

The Record-Eagle also passed on information from an identified **** source in its Sept. 17 report:

Two, maybe three organizers had worked for weeks in Traverse City. About 150 Traverse City men from "among the leading citizens" had joined. An open-air ritual with the traditional fiery cross burning on a hillside would be held "sometime but not yet" in or near Traverse City, and it would be "merely a part of the **** ceremonies and have no special significance."

People who expected to see hooded men in white robes performing rites at the Sept. 17 rally were bound to be disappointed, the paper said. A new state law banned wearing masks in public. It also would be difficult to tell how many in the audience were KKK members because "every person who has signed the Ku Klux card has pledged to keep his membership an absolute secret."


Traverse City, Michigan wasn't always welcoming to people of color.


Traverse City Record-Eagle

February 1, 2009
Ku Klux **** terrorizes TC in 1924

KKK cross burnings, explosions rock city

By LORAINE ANDERSON
Black History Month has special significance, since it begins fewer than two weeks after the nation's historic inauguration of its first black president, Barack Obama.

But there are parts of that history that Traverse City, like the rest of the nation, would rather forget. The city never had a large black population, but it did not escape a visit from the Ku Klux **** during a frightening night of downtown explosions and cross burnings on Aug. 9, 1924.

Traverse City has never seen anything like that night of terror. Buildings shook. Store windows cracked and shattered. Houses as far away as 16th Street quaked, the Record-Eagle reported.

And though outside agitators were blamed, some local people may have been involved.

It started about 8 p.m. after three explosions went off across the river from the Lyric Theatre, where the State is today.

The crowd at the Lyric all but stampeded toward the door as women and children screamed. Panicked shoppers spilled out of downtown stores. City police phones jangled with alarm.

A large cross burned on the north side of the Boardman River near Cass Street. About 50 smaller burning crosses appeared almost simultaneously at the centers of intersections across the city. Each was crudely nailed together and swathed in oil-soaked rags. Sparks flew when several cars struck them. A city fire truck raced through town to douse flames.

Then, a "touring car" with four men, robed and hooded, though not masked, slowly trolled down Front Street carrying a sign surrounded by red flares blazing three letters: KKK.

Copies of the Ku Klux **** newspaper, "The Fiery Cross," later were found downtown, and police determined that at least two cars were involved in planting and lighting the crosses.

**** leaders called the explosions and flaming crosses a recruiting gimmick, but it was more than that. The 1920s was a reactionary time in the United States. The **** had risen again, starting in 1915, widening its anti-black focus to Jews, Catholics and immigrants, particularly those from southeastern Europe. Its membership was strongest in Illinois, Indiana and Ohio.

The ****'s most powerful year was 1924, when it reached an all-time high of 5 million members nationwide and virtually controlled the government of Indiana. Its most popular slogan was "100 percent pure American."

The **** had a solid base of support in Michigan. The **** fielded two candidates in the Republican gubernatorial primary in 1924 and a ****-backed candidate was elected mayor of Flint. A write-in **** candidate even made a strong showing in a Detroit mayoral race.

In June 1924, 1,000 men joined the KKK in an Oakland County cross burning attended by about 8,000 people. Traverse City's demonstration took place just two months later. But who was really behind it?

"There is some doubt among the authorities as to whether the offenses were actually committed by local people or men from outside. They believe that local people were associated in the affair," the Record-Eagle reported.

An unidentified spokesman for the local **** denied responsibility, speculating that it was the work of **** enemies or rogue Klansmen. He told the Record-Eagle that the **** repudiated terror tactics and burning of "unwatched crosses."

Two weeks after the bombing, city police obtained felony and misdemeanor arrest warrants accusing Ku Klux **** organizer Basil Carleton of Richmond, Ind., of setting off explosives. Indiana police arrested him on Aug. 29.

Witnesses testified in two trials in December and January that Carleton had purchased 25 pounds of dynamite, fuses and three caps from Hannah & Lay Mercantile Co. about two hours before the explosions. A Park Place Hotel clerk said he saw Carleton hurrying away from the direction of the explosions about 10 minutes later. Two **** members testified that Carleton was not at the scene.

Yet he was never convicted. Juries acquitted him in both cases because the prosecutor could not prove to their satisfaction that he was at the scene of the explosion or that he personally set off the dynamite.

The bomber escaped justice. But the good news was that in Traverse City, no night of terror like that happened again.

It was this event that sparked the cross burning in Traverse City. We had only one black family in our city, when Betty Ponder and her family left Traverse City for the first time due to no one wanting to rent to them, population of blacks in our predominately white city drop to zero.


******* Movement Targets Northern Michigan

by Robert Downes

National Alliance advocates the creation of "two Americas"

Traverse City, Mich., noted primarily for its beaches, tourists and cherry pie values, appears to be erupting as a national battleground of opinion over the ******* movement, with forces on both sides of the issue coming out of the woodwork to vent their outrage over racial issues.
On Thursday, June 5, residents along stretches of Washington and Front streets in town came home to find a slick package of information from the National Alliance hanging from their doorknobs. An outgrowth of the American **** Party, the National Alliance is a ******* group which advocates the creation of "two Americas," one of which would be "White Space only with no Jews or blacks." The Alliance, advocates genocidal practices if need be to achieve its goals, and plans to distribute 1,000 information packets in Northern Michigan.

Protest organized to oppose July "NordicFest"
The incident arose only a day after more than 150 people from throughout Northern Michigan gathered at a "Hate-Free TC" meeting to oppose the NordicFest, a skinhead rock festival sponsored by the Ku Klux ****, to be held at a secret location 20 miles south of town, July 3-6.
The NordicFest is being advertised on the Internet and will feature at least six skinhead bands featured on Stormfront Records and Resistance Records -- both of which are purveyors of neo-**** hate music. It will also reportedly feature speakers from the Ku Klux **** and Aryan Nations.

Thus far, the NordicFest's location has been a closely-kept secret by David Neumann of Bloodbond Enterprizes, the concert organizer and a former director of the Michigan Knights of the Ku Klux ****. Neumann has told local media that 300 tickets have been sold for the concert -- about half the number he expects to sell. Reportedly, concertgoers will be provided with maps to the secret location at a checkpoint.

Bands expected to play at the NordicFest include Intimidation One, Aggravated Assault, Blue Eyed Devils, Max Resist and the Hooligans, and No Alibi.

Local churches offering seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity
GATHERING STORM

Journalists have made inquiries on the NordicFest from as far away as London, New York and Colorado as a result of the Northern Express story circulating on the Internet. A segment for National Public Radio is expected to take the issue nationwide, possibly focusing the world's attention on Traverse City on the eve of the National Cherry Festival -- an event which draws more than half a million visitors, many of them from ethnic minorities.
"We're creating a rainbow ribbon that we hope everyone will wear in rejection of skinheads and the ****," said Rabbi Stacey Fine of Hate-Free TC. "We hope to have hundreds of ribbons during the time the **** is here, available from downtown merchants."

Fine says the group also hopes to march in the National Cherry Royale Parade with a three-by-eight-foot banner covered with thousands of signatures in a show of support for racial and cultural diversity. Thus far, Cherry Festival officials say they have received no applications from Hate-Free T.C., but will consider the request if approached.

Dottie Kye of Hate-Free TC says the group doesn't plan to try stopping the NordicFest despite their opposition ot the concert. "We're ignoring it," Kye says. "We celebrate anyone's right to organize and free speech. But our thing is unity and celebrating diversity." In addition to several church seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity, Hate-Free TC is organizing a three-day "Unity Festival" which will feature dozens of musicians, artists, poets, actors and peace activists at the Traverse City Opera House, July 3-6.

Concert organizers Tim Hall and Tom Emmott say that more than 40 musical acts will send a pro-diversity message to area teens, with performers including Willie Kye, Alright Already, John Greilick, Samantha Moore, the Motor Town Juke Boys, Bentley Filmore, the Sisters Grimm, and Lack of Afro, among many others. A concert with Fishbone is planned for later in the month.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence"
THE TEEN CONNECTION

The Unity Fest counter-concert is seen as a vital tool in fighting the influence of the ******* movement on teens in the area. After the initial story broke, the buzz in local high schools was that the NordicFest would be offering free beer to minors. Although that notion is clearly erroneous, a small number of teens in the area still cling to the idea and have also been attracted by the rebellious nature of the skinhead rock scene.
Tim Hall believes that his Unity Fest concert will help turn that tide. The three-day concert will be located in the heart of Traverse City in the old City Opera House, with easy access for the hundreds of teens who hang out downtown, often with little to do. "Our message is going to be one that values racial and cultural diversity," Hall said. "And we've had a great response so far. We had to put a lid on the performers when we reached 40 acts, because everyone wants to play at this event."

The Unity Fest will also coincide with the Annual Reggie Box Memorial Blues Blast, which was created five years ago to bring the heritage of black music to Northern Michigan for the overwhelmingly white Cherry Festival. This year's Blues Blast will feature John Mayall, Marcia Ball and the Bihlman Bros. in a free concert downtown on July 6. The concert will also feature a strong message promoting diversity.

The law enforcement view Traverse City Police Chief Ralph Soffredine says members of the law enforcement community, including the State Police and sheriffs from Grand Traverse and Wexford counties, are taking a wait-and-see approach as to whether the NordicFest will even be held.

"People ask what we would do if the skinheads wanted to march, and it's our position that they have the same rights under the First Amendment as anyone as long as they're obeying the law," Soffredine said. "It's a neutral situation for us. We just want to maintain the peace."

He added that skinheads coming to Traverse City would be treated "no different than if longhairs come into town, or square dancers. We'd certainly observe them and respond if there's trouble."

The chief noted that a similar event occurred in the Buckley area several years ago when several motorcycle gangs gathered for a rally. While the event was monitored by local police agencies, few people in the area knew that it occurred.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence, which has become a serious problem in our community and our schools," he concluded. "The unfortunate thing is that it sometimes takes a ******* or a racial issue for people to get active."

"Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."
ANGER FROM ACTIVISTS

Not everyone is happy with the neutral attitude of law enforcement. Judy Lowenzahn of Traverse City thinks that local police agencies should get tough on the **** concert, which has no legally-required bond or liquor license.
"These hateful groups are using skinhead music to recruit soldiers for their facist movement," Lowenzahn said. "If they are allowed to hold this event, in violation of local, state and federal laws and in violation of common decency, we will be capitve audience to their deranged homophobic, anti-semitic, racist, sexist ideology. Those who protest this message, along with those who are their scapegoats will be targets for hate crimes."

Lowenzahn upbraided Grand Traverse County Sheriff Barr after he made comments in a local paper that "I'd just as soon personally let them have their little event and be on their way." Barr added that if there was a confrontation between the skinheads and protestors, "there's going to be someone in jail."

"Does Sheriff Barr suggest that people of color and others who don't fit the aryan model hide inside their homes for the holiday weekend?" Lowenzhan responded. "Rather than offer a plan to protect the community from the violence that grows whenever white supremecists do outreach, Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."

Northern Michigan targeted because of the predominantly white population
KLUELESS

Up to now, the vast majority of Northern Michigan residents have been klueless on the **** and the ******* movement. Many, for instance, had no idea that there even was a Ku Klux **** operating in the region until Neumann revealed that there are about 60 members operating mostly as "a fraternal organization" between ******* and the Mackinac Bridge.
Similarly, the existence and agenda of the National Alliance is all-ne
CK Baker Jan 2017
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
Nihl Nov 2013
What reason do we have to be angry.
What reason do we have to curse the stars
and all the threads that bind them.
Who's fault apart from ours is it,
that this is the hell that we have placed ourselves amidst.
Every point in our lives,
lying like a checkpoint,
glowing like a streetlamp in the dead of night.
At the feet of these golden warm, welcoming lights there lay a crossroad.
And we foolish children feeble in heart and mind fumble without a further thought.
We follow our hearts and we follow them into deep into the disguising dark.
-
Adventure was the death of us, antagonizing.
Adventure was heartache,
agony as evil wizards warped our worlds until we were weaning.
It wasn't too late before the brazen beasts had burdened our lives with ever more brutality.
Wolves hungry for the hearts of men, walking on hind legs to better hinder us with horrors.
This world is beautiful with wonder,
but it's wonders are like lights
upon the Lophiiformes head.
Bright, beautiful and inviting
But lead with haste into the jaws of oblivion,
well hidden amongst the dark.

N.H.
kahel Oct 2016
Kahit hindi na ako yung maging una o yung huli mo
Kahit ako na lang yung na sa gitna niyo
Yung pwedeng sumagot ng oo o hindi
Yung madalas mang-aya gumala o mangtokis
Ituring bilang isang kaibigan, ka-ibigan o pareho, wala naman itong kaibahan

Ako na lang yung taga-salo ng mabibigat **** luha kapag hindi mo na kaya pigilan 'to
Ako na lang yung magpapaalala sayo kung gaano ka na kalayo mula sa pinanggalingan mo
Ako na lang yung magsisilbing checkpoint mo kung sakaling hindi mo pa kaya papuntang dulo
Ako na lang yung magiging gabay kapag hindi mo na alam kung saang daan tutungo
Ako na lang yung magbibigay liwanag pagkatapos ng gerang pinasok mo
Ako na lang yung taga-sabi sayo ng "tiwala lang, kaya yan" kapag tambak ka sa dami ng trabaho
Ako na lang yung magpupulot ng bawat piraso ng pagkatao mo na nadurog sa nagdaang mga bagyo
Ako na lang yung susuporta sayo sa laban kapag malapit ka ng matalo
Ako na lang yung mag-aabang sayo kapag malapit ka na sa may kanto
Ako na lang yung magpapayo kapag naguguluhan ka na sa pag-ikot ng mundo
Ako na lang yung mapagkakatiwalaan mo na pwedeng sabihan ng mga pinakatatagong sikreto

Ako na lang. Ako na lang yung gaganap sa parteng to
Yung di ganon ka-importante, hindi din kawalan
Laging maaasahan kaya ayun, laging umaasa
Ang magbabalanse sa daloy ng kwento
Kahit yun na lang tayo; sayo.
Carly Two Jun 2013
When I was 18 I learned a lesson in jewelry:
A pocketwatch that taught about loss
that was never mine to lose.

I borrowed the euros I paid for it.

Most loss is something felt by ranchers
and bankers
and stock brokers.
Because they own the things they have.

You are not mine and so I cannot lose you.

That's free sadness
and free happiness, too.
Copyright, C. Heiser 2013
Druzzayne Rika Nov 2017
She's just touching the surface
reaching no more than her own pain
losing days trying to wash her tear stains

the world's wishing her to rise above
look in their eyes and see the truth
to see what they try to allude

there is no straight way, no easy route
and everyone is the passenger of the same boat
looking for the very same perfect coat

But no one will get something which is not theirs
fate has decided everyone's own roadmap
there are some small steps, some big traps

Wait for the check points, rather than all stones
the game of the life, all to achieve and leave
don't just halt at one step to grieve
because she's just wasting her time.
Srirachasauce May 2017
"Look into the camera,"
and bring your eyes nowhere else,
not behind to where the lady stands,
holding an eight-year-old's hand.

"Place your forefinger on the sensor,"
and don't dare move it closer
to your wet eyes, for the man
with the ten-year-old might see
you shudder.

The arrow always points forward,
so take your steps fast and sure.
Ignore the shouts, shove away the feels,
smile and wave your way to
DEPARTURE.
There is a window-wall that separates the passport checkpoint area (and the terminals) from the rest of the airport in Bangkok. Loved ones often lounge by this see-through wall, clinging onto their last chance to say goodbye.
RW Dennen Sep 2014
In this fRaGmEnTeD cage,I hear checkpoint moans;
anticipating our prone-positioned
brothers and sisters held
Prone positions against walls
Prone positions against fences
Prone positions against vehicles
Prone positions against buildings
Prone positions against prone positions
Slam-whacked, bloodied, occupied
like our great nation; like our souls
I remember a prophet's call, " love your neighbor
as yourself "

I hear Palestine weeping from Jenin
to Hebron, from Jerico to Gaza seized
I hear lamentations about blood tales
I see only FrAgMeNtS of our land
I see FrAgMeNtS of our proud people
Lo and behold my Palestine quakes as an earth quake
Doves scatter skyward as a prophetic omen
Blue skies and Sun momentarily claim victory
Then inhumanity's ugly face:
America to its Indians, America to its blacks,
America to women, America to its gays,
America to Mexicans,
America to South and Central America,
America once to Southeast Asia,
America to Islam, America with its war crimes,
America and Israel both innocence died

So, we pray Koran's verses upon our prayer rugs
We gesture all hope
The apartheid surrounds us
The dead talk to us
The smoke surrounds us
Perhaps better days we say
Entwined with bizarre everydayness
we accept sleep with fits
Fits without food;
Fits without crucial welfare
Roads, shelters, mock us
sculptured by missiles and bulldozers
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign of terror
We pray upon our prayer rugs
Bully-bombs exploding in a reign terror
And oooh how those awful missile FrAgMeNtS fly
and Muhammad cries with anguished tears, in this writtened
legacy...in written legacy
love your neighbor as you love yourself...
vircapio gale Mar 2013
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed

"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again












'
Bier und Eis: "beer and ice/ice cream"

http://flickrhivemind.net/Tags/reichstag,spirale/Interesting
laura May 2018
(what the hell is an incel)

the media portrays one loser outcast
as every man, as if man is one
big-*** monolithic hivemind
spewing their loser germs everywhere

think we got too much time on our hands
at the checkpoint, selfies on various
landmark celebrating the evil dead
as the hero for the living, graffiti

I look good in leather, also I look
lovely in the blood of my enemies
the hate a multifaceted gem
in the cavern of my  predatory eyes

Would love you to join me in the unit
the machine’s got to roll until Friday
and then we can hatch our evil scheme
man I think I have too much time
on my hands
Thomas Thurman May 2010
Is this my home ground?
We'd lived here, it's true.
But what I have found
is this, my home ground,
is town all around
full of empty of you.
Is this my home ground?
We'd lived here. It's true.
Reality Checkpoint is a particular lamppost in Cambridge. Years after we moved away from the town, I had reason to spend a week back there without my sweetheart, and all that was left at Reality Checkpoint was this triolet.
ryn Jul 2023
The years had brought me here.
It has been a far walk.
But it’s time I took a breather.
Just to muster a look back.

Many were shed along the way.
Perhaps met with many a forked path.
Or simply that the ticks of the hands
had decided different for them.

I’d dug deep,
and I’d seen you…
Amongst several others.

Making your mark
at every checkpoint.

I haven’t been alone.
And I’ll never be…

As long as you’re here,
making these marks with me.
Thank you all for following and reading me all these years. Your readership means a lot to me then, and all the more now.

Much appreciation and love,
ryn
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
One evening with a few friends in a borrowed minivan, we got a flat tire.   Changing the tire was so complicated (like PhD. complicated), we finally had the owner of the van drive over to finish the job while three other men stood and watched.   This poem came out of that night.



I think you become
a grownup
the moment,
the very second,
you realize at
some very, very
early age,
you have
limitations.

Perhaps not quite
a total grownup,
mature like,
but some
irreversible threshold crossed on
a life long voyage,
a descent of no return,
a Checkpoint Charlie crossed.

You will never be all you
want to be.

Some will disagree.

the day of maturation,
they'll claim,
comes on that day,

when clouds
of different shapes
call out your name,
raining saturation
of responsibilities,
(feed your family, son).

you
initial your acceptance
by quenching thirst by
drinking 'free' raindrops.

ain't arguing,
the when exactly,
for this highway-journey has
so many rest stops.

But
when your body
cracks with disappointment,
harvests the bitter knowing
that
can't,
means there will be no defying this truth, now self-evident:

there are somethings
you ain't gonna ever be,
or never be able to do.

here's the rub awful.

the street called
Recognition Rue
is the longest road to
a dead end
you are forced to travel,

and the cruelest part
of this joke is
you rue the day
and the next day
and the very next day,
when, each time,
the Dead End sign
moves along all by itself,
another block or two,
with you following,
behind by a
block or two.

after awhile,
you cease to curse,
satisfied with the certainty of discontent
you and your
bag of tools,
cannot have every,
will always be lacking,
the precise instrument
to do
every job right.

half good is likely
your total best,
so sadly shuffle along
at the bequest of
the little voice insisting, whining,
have to, gotta go...

You
want to jack me up
on a cross of
protestations,
words like learning,
and
promises to teach,
no limitations,
words that overreach
and hint of
lesson recitation.

I can't change a tire
but don't give a ****.

this is not how
I measure my self worth.

the sadness that prevails,
that contaminates my brow,
ain't mastery of survival skills
likely I'll never need again
don't need your
complementation/approbation
of what I can,
or rants
why I can't.

For nothing will ere exceed
the exasperation,
chest ripping
agony of frustration,
that one single poem
worthy of saving
has ever,
nor will yet,
never, will
leave my fingertips.


It is
forever detained
in the prison of my limitations.

now that's worth
acknowledging,
now that's worth asking
now that's worth
answering -

why, why, then,
grown up you,
keeps on trying,
surely sure,
that looking back
regretfully,
is useless,

(and you have heard
the lock click thunderous clap of:
"sorry son,
your presence is...
not needed,
no worries, we won't
ask you to do
when better
surrounds us everywhere").

Answer is:
that it is worth trying,
writing,
a poem about why,
I can't change a tire
and it don't matter,
just so I can say
to myself,

*I'll never be all the way grown up.
Harry J Baxter Mar 2014
When all the magic is gone
we will crawl from checkpoint to checkpoint
with dull great white eyes
always hungry
always starving ourselves
gotta look good for the summer
when all the magic is gone
we will howl out for sacrifice
it’s shoe harvesting season
and you’ve gotta cop some of this crop
when all the magic is gone
the national anthem will change with top 100
and when the air is stale
the prophets and poets will be driven out of town
to test their mettle in uncaring wilderness
when the magic is gone
we will hail the president on bended knee - blindfolded
when the magic is gone
everything will be trending
and nobody will give a ****
so get your abra kadabras in now
you don’t know how much magic we have left
Lawrence Hall Feb 2017
Your 'umble scrivener must be cleared every few years by Homeland Security for permission to teach as a part-time adjunct faculty of no status whatsoever at his little cinder-block community college. This began under President Bush. President Obama did not end it.  President Trump is for now making yuge deals or something.*

A Shining Checkpoint on a Hill

There is within this body no pedigree
And the DNA is hardly worth knowing
No yellow star, kennkarte, or ausweis
No tribal identification card

Form 3078, TSA Pre(checkmark)®
FEMA security clearance, TWIC card
NEXUS, SENTRI, Proof of Residency
USDA HSPD-12 card

A Costco card – oops, failure to renew:
Say, will a Barnes & Noble membership do?
Theodore Bird Mar 2015
Transience is key, you know.
The gentle ebb and flow of your pulse
     and the sudden thrumming of your triste coeur,
the flash of his hair in the sun.
The blush on the back of your neck
     and the woeful pang of lust,
buried back down by his muffled laughs.
Empty space,
     flinching warm fingers,
bitten holes in smooth cherry lips -
Remembering you're just lonely,
     not thinking about him for a second once you're out the door,
except when you catch his eyes in the rain.
     Fleeting moments often last the longest,
that's when you know you're sick.
I couldn't think of a title containing the name Charlie for god's sake
Themanwithaplan Jun 2020
Sometimes I'll write a poem
Just because I want to say something
But don't know if anyone will listen
If it isn't wrapped in intricate flowery language

Art the great communicator
The end result of our need for autonomy
and dependence on community
Coming to a head
A sort of proof of purpose
It's our way of insisting we're doing more
than just screaming into the void

Which is kind of arrogant in a cosmic sense
But I'm not cosmic
and the closest I ever got was a Lisa Frank jigsaw puzzle

There's a weird spot online
A video that plays an extended cut of a Nintendo song
The title in Japanese
That's not the weird part though
Viewers across the world have found it so strange
This random video suggested to them
That it must be a  sign
Each person a main character on their quest
The comments a tavern of stories of people sharing their journeys
They call it the Internet Checkpoint

Many would say this is just people assigning undeserved value to randomness
But I say people in general
and artists specifically
Don't imagine meaning
We define it

So I say be arrogant
Create and scream the meaning to life
Ride that neon rainbow
and say what you have to say
Brian McDonagh Sep 2018
It’s not a ranking or an achievement
As if far from the “top.”
It’s an advancement
Starting from the “first place”;
The greater magnitude being a positive progression.
It’s not even a race in the “first place.”
A dual-digit place marker can and should indicate you’re moving forward.
At this point, you meet the requirements and criteria
For adult access to many sights, tastes,
And times.
Of course, that’s not the ultimate cause of celebration
For being in [the] “23rd place.”
When you’re in [the] 23rd place, you’re in a comfortable position
And not necessarily at a crucial extremum of attention.
There will be those behind and those in front,
So, though you keep your own pace nevertheless,
To know you’re no longer in first place,
Yet not in last place of your course of path,
Means that you have some to teach
And still some who may offer pointers, tips, tricks, inspirations,
And the gift of encounter, however brief or long.
There are many who long to be in first place or last place
Because the extrema tend to get the recognition.
The important insight is to recognize that, not only do the numbers matter little,
But you can make them stand out, like the number 23.
There’s random selection, too, amid those spontaneous humor-goers,
And then there’s placement and fixation
With purpose, sincerity, and intention.
You’re 23 not solely based on record
Or coincidence;
You’re 23 because you lived out the previous age
In every way: what you missed, what you learned, what you offered,
And what you planted.
On your birthday and every day,
The newness longed for arrives in a time not desired or unwanted,
But at a time just right, which still causes waves of pain and waves of relief
Across space anyway. Happy Birthday Devin!
You’re in [your] 23rd place!
Celebrate this checkpoint!
Shout out to my brother on his birthday!
the wildflowers
burst and bloom and carpet bomb
the hillside
despite everything, they were pretty.
AprilDawn May 2014
Border patrol checkpoint
empty again
made our passports  obsolete
nothing
to declare anyway
lush greenery
barely changes
from country to country
overcast skies
precariously straddle
nations
ancient vineyards
still yield
magnificent drops
castles crumble
a little more everyday
not even the towering pines
can save them
moody melodies strum
around my head  
forever framing
this summer’s trip
just a little
differently
than the years
before.
My parents lived in Germany half the 80's and all the 90's  , and would invite us over from the US for  a summer  vacay   nearly every year .Political landscapes  changed during those years  , as did our everyday lives  .
Paridhi Sharma Jun 2016
Amidst thy race to
get ahead in life,
ever wondered
where the checkpoint
of life lies?
Delta Swingline Mar 2017
My Dear Friend,

It’s been a long time since we’ve talked, I’ve tried writing this letter at least 10 times because I can’t decide how to write it. Friend, life has not been treating me well.

You see life is like a video game. You can make choices, say certain things do certain things, you can choose to progress, or hit pause for a while. But I’ve never saved my game. I always try to restart and redo choices to stop making mistakes, I try.

But in the end we never do win a game that we were never taught how to play. We were not given a manual to tell us what to do.
Ages and birthdays are like levels friend. A checkpoint to come back to but sometimes… I find it difficult to try playing this game again, maybe I just got bored again.

I choose to write you a letter because talking to you in person is sometimes a challenge I don’t have the strength to face. And I’m not afraid to talk to you. I’m just afraid of talking.

If I say your name too many times it might lose its meaning, repeating words over and over again until they don’t mean anything anymore. So I will say your name only when I absolutely have to. Your name means too much to me, I will not let it lose meaning.

Listen, I’ve been praying for you every night that you’re still alive. That I’ll see you soon. I haven’t slept in what seems like forever, but I don’t really see why sleeping is something I still have to do.

I’m losing consciousness and I can’t speak in full sentences as well as I used to. But this is the price you pay for playing a risky game.

I should probably send this letter tomorrow, but I’m tired. And if I don’t keep myself awake I’ll never get up in the morning. But, I haven’t said anything in this letter that makes any sense. I’m trying to figure this out on my own. But you’re not exactly close by.

When you get this letter friend, please... Come home.

I’ll be waiting by the street corner, and we’ll watch the stars like we used to.

Be safe, be kind, and be brave. I’ll see you soon ok?
I'll send this letter off when I need my friends to come back to me.
Sarah Dec 2013
I see you.
I see myself in you.
I see not the facade that you set like a mask upon your pale face
or the strings tied at your wrists, pulling your arms every which way
or your pain trailing behind you like a black cloud, thunder cracking, as a smile stays
your present is my past
i know you.
Our veins are corded rubber bands that stretch from our arms,
around our backs through every checkpoint joint in our bodies,
they slingshot feelings throughout
so that not only will our brain feel the hurt but everything else too.
We are every single broken person thats searching through the rubble of their own mistakes, hands bleeding, praying for shards of their splintered heart to appear
i am therefore you are and vice versa
im aware of the struggle you go through
that unbelievability that you can swing your legs from your bed and make it through the day
i am conscious of the crippling insecurity,
the four walled prison that you built yourself
the bars, stronger than anything even superman could bend, that are made of the insults that have been muttered
I identify with the confusion with which you feel lost
you don't know who you are
when you lean your head back and subconsciously search the starry night sky for your meaning
I'm there
I am you, and you are me
in a simple merge we are one  
it has always been this way
and it always will be
coming up only to show you're wrong
And to know you is hard; we wonder...
To know you all wrong; we warn.
Derek Miller Feb 2011
Rampant, bold uncertainty; at times it grows unchecked.
A fearful twinge too often spreads, surpassing all holds kept.
The bars affixed to life you've grasped, once linear and true
Now seem to veer so far from straight, away from all you knew.
What's to do when what you dreamed distorts and changes shape?
Nightmares born from vivid roads bisecting checkpoint's gate.
Stages sought now can't be reached, but detours linger there.
Sadly pointing, often though toward distant, lone despair.
Reluctantly, an awkward press results from giving in.
Ignorance, or lack of choice compels minds to begin.
Unwanted course, embarked upon, bears pressing weight, deforming.
Contorting souls which once had known the warmth of 'morrow's morning.
Expected glare from dawn's first light was ne'er a surprise.
Hated trials through distant lands create some darkened skies.
Reactions learned are useless then, accustomed as you are.
Anticipated outcomes are like flies within a jar.
Choked free of air, they surely die, but more then take their place.
It's these replacements, newly born, one tries to hold with grace.
Seeping through the cracks in hands that have no strength to hold.
Should you have used that jar at all? Why has this life grown cold?
Perhaps a high regard was due to that you took for granted.
Or maybe something just turned up, and shook the feet you'd planted.
Regardless, here you stand unsure, so lonesome is this fight.
Who's to know? What's now to come? Just tell me. Is this right?
Sethnicity Nov 2016
The Truth of it all is that aggression leads to strife
In my own confession I'd rather not die by the knife

We as humans have this need to supersede
despite our insight and things
We only grow when we bleed

Our staff and hands
be tools to keep the lions at bay
All our brains used in vein
when we set a blaze to the grains
now with our swords we make wars
before there was peace to balance
now we make wars in malice
Forgetting Mother Earth feeds us
from the same challis

I cut my hand on the handle as I manicure with the lathe
Spit and Curse at the ground and then walk away
in dismay
our belongings are found in disarray
another jealous of another's work diary
hands and feet destroyed
blood and sweat ignored

We throw Rocks to knock them off
but meet death by the blade
So we hammer out a sheet
just to protect what we've made
As if the mothers hand we're not enough
Surviving her change
Change

I'm from the land of the Star
my culture reigns down from Dallas
my travels are far and wide
with our tools I fly over this freedom palace
but at every checkpoint
they scan with all seeing eyes
They Shadow a Doubt with gun point
Frisky hands finger out for lies

As I challenge that my Utensil is to help not to hurt
they won't believe me cause the pen points cause mental alpha ****

So what’s my lesson to be learned?
How does my Rhema become Word!?

I flock my words like a Sheppard guard it from the absurd
leave my lessons and my sessions underground to mature

Poetry is what I breed and when I die all may see
some take shelter beneath branches of my Po Wet Tree
that drop insight and wisdom seed seasoned with change of Colored leaves

When they cut me down
with Axe and Dagger
my pen points the bullet
A running Kid like Merle Hagard
I spread ink seeds like soul feed
emotion water and potion notions
like fodder funneled, I dyed, You reed
Sow, only take that  you need
if you have a life then keep it free of weeds
cherish the fruits of labor and leave minds be.
" Harm Here is Harm There and There and Everywhere "
a Baptist
cleric that
was once
monotonous an
underwear vamp
that really
would camp
and throw
flowers with
magnolia in
spring and
barter his
loaf with
Virginia too
a stranger
in flux
for blitzkrieg
xyloolyx Sep 2014
check out the word choices
break not only the fourth wall
but also the ceiling and the floor
implore implore implore implore
for the chance to have it all
or just for the voices
to let you have a voice

no

instead you have discord
city worlds go time digital backup
word press history calendar fuliginous
warfare paroxysm burst constitution
first amendment second amendment
state duma seven clip monitor hotel
bravo checkpoint charlie tension
dark power in this hour
lame duck
****
Mohammed Arafat Feb 2019
I looked around me,
by my sleepless eyes.
I saw beauty, history and love.
I saw peace.
I did see peace,
but only inside the worshipping places,
and between the worshipper and God,
and only inside the hearts of righteous.
I then looked around,
and smelled hate and detestation,
all around my home,
in the occupied city of Jerusalem.

A checkpoint,
an unidentified ID,
threats,
demolition orders,
a wall, a high one,
which should have to go,
watchtowers,
hating settlers,
and soldiers with helmets and M16s,
made it so hard for me to live,
along with my family,
in my city.
Yet, I lived because I love,
the old city of Jerusalem.

Palestinians in my area are gone.
It was only me, and lots of settlers,
around me.
I accepted that,
because I wanted peace,
I wanted love,
I wanted Jerusalem,
But they didn’t accept it.

Secured with shields, heavy weapons,
and chants of settlers,
they evicted my kids and wife,
from my home,
on which they planted their flag,
while media covered the incident all round us.

They then arrested me not knowing why.
I though knew this house was mine.
It was my father’s.
my grandfather’s,
and my great grandfather’s.
It was built before their court was built!

They lived instead of me.
They ate from our food,
sat in our sofas,
watched our T.V,
and slept in our beds.

I wept…
for the first time in my life,
I wept…
like little kids,
I wept…
Like a mother weeping over her lost son.
None made me weep,
but them,
and their hate.

Mohammed Arafat
17-02-2019
Israel evicts Palestinians from their home in Jerusalem based on a court order, and here is a poem about what they feel right now.
Blind Aesthetic Jan 2015
The year began with promises
Spilled over from the year that past.
Celebrating a passing checkpoint;
Ignorant of the bridge's collapse.
Too late to change and too late to stop
I dove in and I dove fast.
It was stupid to think that
Something like that would really last.

Left beaten and defeated
I tried to continue.
I tried to push but couldn't do.
I dragged on with a spirit diminished.
Thinking back that, had I looked,
Had I looked I could've finished.
And things would be different
I'd be the better instead of the finished.

The rest of the year was no better.
I hung my head low, not exactly in shame
To try and find peace with what had remained.
And retreated to my own mind
To collect what'd been left behind.
While maintaining a facade
Of the one who's unshaken;
Always joking about ****, ****, and baby makin'.

We all have our lows,
And we all have our highs,
And memories we cherish,
And those we despise.
But despite what has happened,
In the year of 2014,
I grew from my struggles.
Even if I struggled to know what that means.
a summation of what 2014 was to me.
Cathyy Dec 2014
You were beautiful from the moment you stood out and said 'hi'
And I was nothing but a truck load of sad October nights,
but then I met you and I wanted to move on, yet freeze time...

I loved the way that you listed all your favourite bands,
and helped me see a side of music that I didn't understand
Though Taylor Swift will never be on your most recently played,
I know you'd still keep an open mind

And my mind will always be grateful enough to rewind..

Back to the first week when I was still a mess,
a dreamer with no drive,
writing a book for no one to impress
but I wrote thinking things would someday be different,

And i was right..

Cause in those November nights,
those long and tiring bus rides
you were the checkpoint every time I almost died
and now we're in December,
and I don't know how long is left of this ride..

I'd never thought that you would slowly start hating yourself,
just because I always swore you knew yourself better than anyone else
but it turns out that you are just another puzzle to unlock, to solve..

and in the second week of November we just sat there in a shop and read,
and in the third week I remember, sitting in a coffee shop, writing with passion again
oh what a wonderful way to be of use, as my muse and best friend

But feelings change, as hearts over think..
And sometimes all it takes, is just a blink back to November..

Oh, those insightful talks, about the impact of long walks
i held onto your every word and thought
but that was in November,
and those meaningful hugs and that early morning rush..
you caught me busted, running from the bus'
and now I'm sentimental

Oh I know you'll find someone maybe in a month or two,
but I hope you'll always love me as much as i love you
'cause all I seem to remember last month
is that for all of November,
you were the reason why I couldn't give up
Andrew Tinkham May 2014
My new favorite poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Margaret is clever it's astounding.
I knew youth was coming like this but usually when I saw it up close they we're just these maniacal computer wiz kids but this girl seems to party.
I hope she meets Alex Turner someday.
I hope she meets Andrew VanWyngarden too.
I don't know why, but I guess it's because they're dashing and she deserves the best.
I hope the world don't tangle her up too much and don't sit on her like a fat bully.
I know she can dodge it though and we need her and her vision of peace like a checkpoint.
My favorite new poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Shine on Margaret, light up the world.
Elizz Aug 2018
I spun a fine metal string
I took four corners of my heart
Smoothing them out
With rarely loving hands
I attached the key to my newly minted kite
Out into the storm I swirled
Climbing the glass hill
So many fine lined fractures
I could find at least several sonnets
If only I stooped low enough to read
But alas I've crested my checkpoint
Outstretched you are
Thunderheads dominating the sky
Flashes of light
But my heart still flies on
Unhindered
Paper thin
Right where it's supposed to be
The key flailing gaily
Pure darkness
But sometimes darkness
It can be the brightest thing ever
And it's finally struck its mark
The X has been found
The electricity outlining your delicate veins
I never realized how pretty you were
Smoke curls out of my mouth
Stunned and dazed
Tendrils flowing freely
Dregs of adrenaline
Flooding out of my system  
I never knew that I could feel this way
I never knew
As I lay upon the ground
Watching my hearted kite drop gracefully
Shriveled and burned to a crisp
How important you were to me
Until we were struck
So in our dying moments as you finally reach me
I fold my arms carefully across you
Pressing you into my chest as if I could undo what I did
And we watch the storm rage
As everything slowly melts
Into a velvety soft black
And as one


We stop beating
I kinda romanticized being killed by lightning
Wack Tastic Nov 2012
What was meant by the shadow of night,
In the early man’s eyes what was meant by its darkness,
Impending doom and ominous grace,
Reveled and revealing,
Misunderstood through all time as something evil,

The great horns protrude through the whimsy,
Siphoning portions of animal instinct,
Fear the greatest export

Where is the fear of the blinding light,
That ignorant light that plagues the houses on the block
From every window flickers the flame
Television sets on sleep mode,
Movies set on the title menu playing over and over
While the sleeping body flails aimless in animated suspension,
Insomniacs accomplishing something trivial by reaching the next checkpoint,
Even the light of the candle burning as the neo-bohemian reads,

All looking out the window at the blaring buffoons ransacking the night,
Making love to the stars and howling at the moon,
Insanity and blindly causing the world’s collapse,
Laughing at the expense.
Kyle Kulseth Nov 2014
This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
          Night's abandoned,
               streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
           Winter's wailing.
           **** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
                         tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
               often
               we're only
               rehashing
our worst mistakes
                                  and
                 shivering
                our way be-
             -neath stoplights
lit by good memories.

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll find our way
                                                  back
         ­ into the warmth found behind
          our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
          have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
          and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.

This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
          Nights like this have
               kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
           Winter's crying,
           "**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
           slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
                Sometimes
                we're only
                 retracing
the same missteps
                                but
                    ­frigid
             friends like us
                are melting
into old habits

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll take this route
                                                     for
          one more familiar cold flight
          from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
                    and I've got a couple more
          so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.
fast attractive bright loud screaming pulling gravity powerful unavoidable siren like existing magical obvious realistic.......................................................
­
The colors of the sunset are the hardest to ignore,
They creep up slowly all the day and knock right on your door.
A checkpoint of reminders that the nighttime comes so soon,
For lovers and for sleeping love to find themselves at days adieu.

The burning bush of daylight seems a panoramic wide,
A flowing view of warning hue's for danger to abide,
I notice once and notice twice that each is differently so,
The sun shall drop the stars shall light the moon shall always glow.
Goodbye to say hello.
A poem i wrote
calion Mar 2014
allow yourself to
arrive at the checkpoint of
safe recovery
Tony Luxton Jun 2015
As we approach time moves faster
her late gate pass wasting away
though we're running through the wet
and waltzing through the traffic spray.

Breathing heavily we arrive
weaving through the pairs of leaving
clustered lusting cuddling couples
whose ardour thrives a five to ten.

My girl guides us to the last tree.
We grin and grapple futilely.

Those sentry lamps that guard the path
a checkpoint no charlie shall pass
then knife-faced Nora rings the bell
consigning men to outer hell.

— The End —