"confederacy" poems
Look on me dearly:
your stolen sullied sullen
daughter. I could dig you up
to hold your bones but
want only to wash myself
away, like white foam
from the seashore.
If I burn what is buried,
is it cremation
or disintegration? You would fly
ashes in the wind, like a wish
given
lift, like an altar of lit
incense.
Think of learning of your blood:
yellow skin and rice paddies
and great-great-great-great-granddaddy
grey for the Confederacy.
Do two halves not one whole
soul make? I take
a breath
and leave it
free.
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
Gen. Lees invasion of the North written by himself—
In eighteen sixty three, with pomp,
and mighty swell,
Me and Jeff’s Confederacy, went
forth to sack Phil-del,
The Yankees the got arter us, and
giv us particular hell,
And we skedaddled back again,
And didn’t sack Phil-del.
3.5k
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Amendment I. Congress shall make
no law respecting the organization
of criminal activity, or prohibiting
the free exercise thereof;
or abridging the freedom to lie,
or to print any spurious gossip;
or the right of the people angrily
to riot & fight in the street opposed
by heavily armed State Militia
& to overthrow the government
in a violent revolution;
From hence, drug cartels & gangs
are to be thought of as serial killers,
each guilty of the crimes of all;
as to the corporations' death toll,
every employee is guilty &
anyone who profits from it;
priests, rabbis, cops go on the list w/
Jerry Sandusky & Larry Nassar;
female HS teachers & mass shooters
were made for each other but chilvery
only exists in the movies & on TV;
the Confederacy was more forward
thinking than the white trash trying
to claim its legacy; Greece &
Rome had a thriving slave class;
we have no idea, but Jim Crow was
the polar opposite of the liberal
Reconstruction that became
contemporary southern US
culture w/ [Jimcrowists lurking
& working quietly in plain sight];
u can here or u can be there, but
u can't be in both places at once
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
Imagine a world without terror outer
and inner, sans famine of food and water,
where every soul is well-sated; a world
sans sickness and disease, not by the cord
of morbidity and death held; a place
where huts are mansions, every shack is
a castle, and each flat a grand manor;
where the roads are built with pure gold
and the bridges with resplendent diamond;
where the day does not change in colour,
except when full moon in its full array
once in a month has its own display.
I mean a planet steeping in love
unfeigned, bristling with true hospitality
of the soul; a world bereft of danger,
and of every mind-and-heart breaker;
a world with the similitude of the garden of
Eden, hung on the shoulders of harmony--
where man at another cove's lovely dove
will not leer, where there are
no split and divorce. The genre, stuff
of life where one's pigmentation is
not the cardinal, but the inner essence.
A sort of society where ****** Hussein
and Laden-like fellows and all their
coterie of killers do not have a lair
of habitation, i refer; where besetting sin
has no confederacy with the rotary heart
and mind of man; where the leagues
of villians are non-existence. An earth
where conglomeration of wicked cliques
is non-operational: where everyone be
holy--no child soilder, nor forced labour;
where women are not ravaged in cruelty
of acts, and is void of conflict and war.
Such a place "the world" is not called
but "heaven: governed by the Almighty Lord.
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 3:20 AM UTC
I saw a banner
“See something say something”
bestriding a Union City street
raising eyebrows of suspicion
in a hood’s ***** retreat
I see blood red MAGA caps
embolden distemperate fits
ready to answer jingoistic dissings
with an *** kickin liberty chit
I see a Blue Line stained flag
It slices a field of united states
a wall to seperate us from them
God save us from reprobates
I hear shouts hailing militarism
saluting troops marching to war
Patriots offer sons and daughters
from families of the nation’s poor
I see a hoisted Gadsden Flag
boasting Don’t Tread on Me
true liberty a hissing asp
venomous country tis of thee
I see the stirring marches
aggrieved white nationalists sing
Confederacy of Blood and Soil!
cries for freedom ring
Music:
Lotte Lenya in Alabama Song
by Kurt Weill recording 1930
Art:
George Grosz
Vienna Street Fight
Puyallup
7/10/18
jbm
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
She was an old Mid-western woman.
She was a distinct type.
A stock-staple character,
Sort of half Beverly Hillbillies Granny,
Throw in a skosh Betty White,
Mixed in with a lot of that old lady
In Driving Miss Daisy.
Southern Indiana:
The Confederacy’s best kept secret.
But I digress.
She was my neighbor in Buckeye, Arizona,
A quaint agrarian township, way out
At the west end of Maricopa County, which is
An hour from the Phoenix airport, the so-called
Sky Harbor International Airport,
Which surely must be near the list’s top:
All-time most pretentious,
Hyperbolic Chamber of Commerce,
Municipal Boosterisms.
Wikipedia English - The Free Encyclopedia
Boosterism: the act of "boosting" (or promoting) a town, city, or organization, with the goal of improving public perception of it. Boosting can be as simple as "talking up" the entity at a party or as elaborate as establishing a visitors' bureau. It has been somewhat associated with American small towns. Boosting is also done in political settings, especially in regard to disputed policies or controversial events.
So, without thinking,
Walking down the driveway
To pick up the morning paper,
I let it slip:
“How are you?”
She’s leaning over the hedge,
As I bend down,
Picking up the local Pravda.
35 minutes later she sums up:
“I had to go to the doctor last night.
Gave me some cream for my pud.”
A twinkle in her eye—
She, my lascivious,
Old lady neighbor
In Buckeye, Arizona.
She had that sweet Mid-western thing
Working for her, her regional mojo.
And I’m right there on her wavelength:
The apple not falling far from my tree,
Or something like that . . .
I am losing my train of thought, here.
Last poem of the day, I guess.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
She believes in God.
I believe in the ocean
Under the son soaked in faith
An open vase with two matches, a home for two soul mates
She says she wants a love like that
But I can't tell the smoke from the ashes
She feels like forever and that scares me
Daring me to let her but, to be fair, I never thought I'd care so much
Torn and severed, I lay everything bare. The air is broken with unspoken words
Whenever I open my mouth to say something clever, my heart gets the better of me
For better or worse, will I ever see this vendetta set at ease?
Perpetually vexed at this lack of confederacy. My tongue tells evidence of a mutiny
Truthfully I usually don't curse in these verses but they used to be so worthless
Without a purpose, only penned to purchase penance
How earnest my pen is when it mentions your existence
Will you witness this witless prince in his attempt to win this with his passion?
Like a centuries old symphony soaked in similes, they'll sing of your love whenever they mention me
Though this moment will, one day, be a distant memory within the halls of history
I will not let expiration dates hinder me. Every soliloquy hereafter will be like hymn mimicries
An endless blend of love, life, and everything in between
Between you and me, I'm still wishing we sing those songs together
What a perfect ending we'd be.
She believes in love
Maybe I'll believe in time
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 12:23 PM UTC
Salient Cannibal
i am famous example: a cuckold
of light
i've lamed conductors maimed seducers
and committed a variety of sadness
please lay deep in me the confederacy
of
photo copy girl.
fin.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
I have come through
the wildfires and
abject poverty.
The sardine days filled
with ghoulish women and
cowardly men.
Now, I have four
walls, and a table to
write at.
I've decorated my castle:
pictures and tapestries,
a raven figurine sitting
on a stump by the aloe vera.
I have a bookshelf from
the curb; all my
favorites are on it.
I turned my brother onto,
A Confederacy of Dunces
I hear him laugh from his
4 walls.
He escaped the
parasitical nights and the
neon souled undead.
It's a great life if
you don't succumb to
the crowd and the slugs that
just slide on through.
Now, it's the simple
things that bring me pleasure:
house plants, coffee brewing,
and the sound of my
neighbor watering his grass.
I think I will get a goldfish.
All perfect and orange.
And on the fringe, I hear
that feral cat, howling in
the night, without his
4 walls.
Oct 17, 2023
Oct 17, 2023 at 3:52 PM UTC
I wonder what this world is coming to
When we have to overcomplicate everything
All I hear on the TV of late
Is ‘bare craic’ as my northern Irish friend would say –
“I can’t understand this credit crunch,” she said
Poignantly, (neither could I) “I think I’ll take
A dander down to the shops.” And so she did
We were out of milk
And living off salami
I picked up the paper
And I realise nothing is without a price
Or a fate
They are the two certainties
So is death
And the price is not so hard to see either.
The American bigwigs sit round a table
Complaining what is to be done about the financial crisis?
Each eating a $16 dollar muffin with their $8.48 coffee
Wondering where oh where can money be saved?
And they’ll get back in their private limos
Drive past their second addresses
Back down to Bel-air
Lock themselves in their villas
Count their bonuses
And sleep happy
After doing jack ****
While Greece is going down the crapper.
I can see the solution
Can you?
Or is it just me?
Or can you see it to?
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 3:06 PM UTC
God bless America,
Land of irony
Because nothing is ever actually free—
Not when our economy is fueled by tragedy,
Not when we keep armies in the East just to keep gas prices cheap.
If you take the top eight military
budgets of the world,
over 50% of that sum is the United States, so
God bless America.
As rivers of blood flood the streets in Syria,
God bless America.
Land of the religiously free,
Land where "God bless America" could refer to any one of the gods acknowledged
by its inhabitants.
God bless America,
Where Muslims of all races have to apologize for ISIS but white Christians don’t have to apologize for the KKK.
When the **** party tried to destroy an entire race in Germany, it became illegal to ever speak favorably of them,
But, hey, here you can execute your right to ‘freedom of speech.’
The First Amendment protects you from being silenced by the government,
But it doesn’t protect you from backlash of the people you’ve offended, the people you’ve appropriated, the people who are sick of having to put up with this.
God bless America,
Where segregation apparently ended in the 60s,
Where women apparently achieved equality in the 20s,
Where the LGBTQ community is seen as trendy simply because you can no longer be arrested for being out and proud.
God bless America,
Where the majority of kids on the streets are queer teens and where
It’s still seen as acceptable to wave the flag of the Confederacy.
God bless America,
But God forsake everyone else.
God bless America, for every single unwarranted and unjustified arrest.
God bless America for false information and standardized tests.
God bless America
For every flaw we refuse to fix.
And as we destroy our planet without thought
of the fact that it’s currently the only feasible place for us to live,
I make one last request:
May the future generations be blessed,
Because God knows they'll need it.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
It was hidden in the attic, they kept it carefully veiled.
To them it was a symbol, to others, just a rag.
Its’ field was all a crimson red, criss- crossed with stripes of blue.
Upon the blue; eleven stars; the confederacy they knew.
In the stars and bars are memories of numerous campaigns.
It was grand-Sire’s battle flag he’d rescued from the flames.
On the battlefields of glory; it’s said something remains,
But, to those ignorant of the past, I fear they are but names.
Some see it as the symbol of the hated KKK
Who used both rope and fire to take blacks’ rights away.
It’s a symbol of white supremacy, lower it they say
How can Black lives matter in the States where it holds sway?
Our country has a checkered past, to all who are not blind.
To our ethnic minorities we have been less than kind.
Yet to be fair, it was white men who fought to break those chains.
No other race in history, so far, can make that claim.
The soldiers bodies are now but dust, disturb not their remains
I don’t wish to repeat the past; I hope you feel the same.
We must not forget their story; a curse on all who try.
Six hundred thousand, Blue and Gray, were quite enough to die.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
I’ve lead this nation through its greatest
Civil unrest,
Like the last hand left clapping at
Curtain call,
I stand tall, a little too tall, stove pipe
Black hat,
Huzzahs and here here’s, I’ve had
My share,
And my critics would rather load
Their revolver,
Than blow buckshot with their brains
And tongue,
Which is why I’m stuck inside my own mind,
Comatose, near death, and all I can think of is my
Little boy.
White walls, white women, and **** in my
Bed pan,
Through my shattered cranium, I can still see
And think,
Slack jawed and glaze eyed, this isn’t right on
My son’s
21st birthday, who will be there
To buy
His first beer, or cool glass of
*** punch,
Mary Todd abstains from the savage
Fire water,
So Edward, knobby kneed now, please tell
Me who?
To share a malted Schlitz, or fine Pabst
Blue ribbon,
To teach you the proper way a man sips
The foam,
How to crush the julep leaf before crushing
It in,
Your table will be full of well wishers and
Whiskey drinkers,
Your belly will be full of well whiskey and
Sour mash,
Your woman, how beautiful she will be,
Glossy eyed,
Your brothers, yes, your companions will
Be there,
Alas your dear ol’ Dad will not be present for
The speech,
As I have addressed so many
Times before,
But you can tell the story, of fore score and seven
Beers ago,
Your father lay vegetated, weak, tired
Of dying,
With the thoughts of honey hops and
Bitter barley,
The sweet wheat, and your transformation
Into manhood,
You’ll be as lonesome and lost as the
****** Confederacy,
Child, know that your father can not tell
A lie,
That on that day, I will be tapping
A barrel,
In the land beyond the sky, stirring the foam,
Humming happy birthday.
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
Up on the hillside the lone tot recants
The vow made in lust to the one who's free.
For love is not real when all's blood and plants.
A reality this boy can now see.
He looks to the left to the horizon,
a confederacy of dunces say
or so his tools claim, a false liaison.
Nothing is true without the light of day.
So the toy soldier was one with the wind.
This heart that he holds his spirit rescinds.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC
He contacts me
Once in a while.
When we're both too drunk to be afraid.
But mistakes change things...
Now he knows I won't speak when I drink.
He contacted me
The other day.
He's coming back
Back from the sea
And the land of the confederacy.
He says he's going to come see me...
That he'll get me to speak while we drink.
He will stop contacting me
One day.
When he understands
That I am not scared, but that I am not his.
That his hands can no longer fumble with my ties.
After he comes to see me...
I'll make him understand what I speak when we drink.
Jun 8, 2010
Jun 8, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
Yesterday I decided not to write that note
And it seemed as if that choice
Created a shadow behind me.
The shadow stalked me all day,
Hiding inside other shadows
That had long been following me.
It was odd to me that there was no body
Which cast the numerous shadows,
And so their existence vexed me.
I spent most of my day contemplating
The note's shadow, watching all the shadows,
And looking into them as they looked at me.
As the long day wore on, the shadows grew
And grew and grew and grew
Until a monster stood against me.
The night fell hard;
I was surrounded by the shadows as they,
In their confederacy, attacked me.
They attacked with shadowy claws
And cut deep, and they attacked
With painful shrieks – They tortured me.
I closed my eyes to them
To rest in quiet shadows of my own design;
That is what saved me.
The shadow monsters assaulted me all night –
They pressed hard against my body
And when I dared to open my eyes, they were me.
All shadows were gone, and my own forgotten,
Now a layer of flesh, so thin
Is all that surrounded me.
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 8:06 PM UTC
I found you
After the lights were turned off
After the campaign for Moorish dignity
Failed miserably
Spin Fortuna's wheel
And hope it lands in a beneficial spot
Your voice still speaks
As loudly as if you were next to me right now
After you died in a car
Breathing in the fumes of life completely undiluted
I listen to Jimmie Spheeris
As I recognize we are living in a confederacy of dunces
And no neon bible exist
Without you
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
Cold outside in the summer day
Everybody is inside
There is just no comfort outside
It's like there was a homicide
there's something on my sweatshirt
Red all over
My head is full of sorrow
I'll pretend it's just a motto
Im not convinced anything is wrong
It's just how it begins and ends
It's all planned
It's all planned out
One day everyone will unite
And rewrite life
It's cold outside this summer day
I wonder why
Everyone is outside
There's more comfort outside
Its like a party or confederacy
Everyone gathered around
I can't see my sweatshirt
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Current as of late
Eulogized confederacy
Expunge and exude, you're halfway there.
The halfway dream, the imagination stampede.
Chamomile stasis, dot the I's
Date the wine bottles
Fir Green: come like you are now.
Get in bed with the frienemy
The curtain show invokes hubris
Endothermic and cunning.
Nov 20, 2016
Nov 20, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
I am the author of my pain
Because it is my fault thoughts of you still pass my brain
god can't save my aim
my blood vessels explode as I write
while I implode in life
My heart is a confederacy seceding from my brain
They go to war my every waking moment
My brain wants to free me from your slavery
While my heart still cling's to the memories
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
a black man in the Confederacy; loving consumerism or forced into this physical *******
Jim Crow poses, contorts, smiles, shoots; a gun on the red carpet;
Calvin the Second or Tracy Martin?
Does it matter? Dance gwara dance gwara, watch the foreground and
never the back the dance is to distract the killing is back
shooting money, that dance is funny, now it's time to pray
Charleston, South Carolina, June 17, 2015, a gun on the red carpet as the human rights take backstage;
race riots ignite, days later we give up the fight
don't Stop to look Up for fallIng objeCts, Is the DancE to defend or distract? Smile, you're on camera
Flames to the left, and the apocalypse passes behind it all, unnoticed,
rise up and forget
broken lemons abound, liberty takes a seat now, and the drivers are nowhere to be found, keep dancing now
Watch from this sunken place, run from the devil, you know it's a race
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
a knar in this tree
like dinkum squat
where a pin rest in confederacy
round her bark density
that root of Liberty
only widen orchard latitude
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
These are tears from the ages
As we turn our history’s pages
Certain parts have been outrageous
Like when they enslaved and caged us
Now they ask why all the fuss
Though the confederacy went bust
As we always knew it must
They say that flag just honors us
But where’s the honor in enslavement
In human suffering and containment
Why not ask us where the pain went
Which might explain our discontent
Even though some will insist
That their supporters must resist
Because that flag will sure be missed
See I don’t think they get our gist
That flag serves to summarize
An era that we do despise
So if the Golden Rule applies
Take it down, word to the wise
Tell me if you could celebrate
Another’s hegemony or hate
While your freedom had to wait
Is it even open to debate
Want to romanticize your past?
I find it necessary to ask
Like the Germans and their gas
I will put you on full blast
Because there is no master race
Everybody has their place
And I hope I’ve made my case
That the past can’t be erased
Copyright © 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 6:10 AM UTC