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brandon nagley May 2015
Sardonic savory armors against midnight shift,
Scrapbooks made from scrawny writings,
Wherein science is religion,
Some are hit and miss!!

Scowling, surely overcrowds happy intentions,
Noone mentions the fetal positions overthrow!!

Window peepers gaze between one another,
Serpent sermons drumline strong to song's of shipment sufferance,
Where thine utterance is grieved more than thou has ever felt!!!

More than the fall membrane beneathe your feet you shall blow!

Doth thou roll amongst forge stone?
Amongst the shows that made thou the mime thou art today../

A smile upon your cloak,
Yet thy finest of coats is in all disarray...

Perforaters try harshly to subdue our mother like peons,
Formulaic bringons,
Or turn one to sickened ones alike!!!!

Chasers of cognizant, bringers of fatality,
For doth thou chooseth to have life?
As my letter must be brief,
I'll at once state my belief,
And this it is -- that, since the world began,
And Adam first did say,
"'Twas Eve led me astray,"
A woman hath more patience than a man.

If a man's obliged to wait
For some one who's rather late,
And if something can't be found
That he's sure should be around,
The listening air sometimes grows fairly blue.

Just watch a man who tries
To soothe a baby's cries;
Or put a stove pipe up in weather cold,
Into what a state he'll get;
How he'll fuss and fume and fret
And stamp and bluster round and storm and scold!

Some point to Job with pride,
As an argument for their side!
Why, it was so rare a patient man to see,
That when one was really found,
His discoverers were bound
To preserve for him a place in history!

And while I admit it's true
That man has some patience too,
And that woman isn't always sweetly calm,
Still I think all must agree
On this central fact -- that she
For central all-round patience bears the palm.
I

Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

                  II

Always we'd have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quatrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

                  III

Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
That loved his learning better than mankind.
Though courteous to the worst; much falling he
Brooded upon sanctity
Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed
A long blast upon the horn that brought
A little nearer to his thought
A measureless consummation that he dreamed.

                  IV

And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,
That dying chose the living world for text
And never could have rested in the tomb
But that, long travelling, he had come
Towards nightfall upon certain set apart
In a most desolate stony place,
Towards nightfall upon a race
passionate and simple like his heart.

                  V

And then I think of old George Pollexfen,
In muscular youth well known to Mayo men
For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses,
That could have shown how pure-bred horses
And solid men, for all their passion, live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;
Having grown sluggish and contemplative.

                  VI

They were my close companions many a year.
A portion of my mind and life, as it were,
And now their breathless faces seem to look
Out of some old picture-book;
I am accustomed to their lack of breath,
But not that my dear friend's dear son,
Our Sidney and our perfect man,
Could share in that discourtesy of death

                  VII

For all things the delighted eye now sees
Were loved by him:  the old storm-broken trees
That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;
The tower set on the stream's edge;
The ford where drinking cattle make a stir
Nightly, and startled by that sound
The water-hen must change her ground;
He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

                  VIII

When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride
From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side
Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace;
At Mooneen he had leaped a place
So perilous that half the astonished meet
Had shut their eyes; and where was it
He rode a race without a bit?
And yet his mind outran the horses' feet.

                  IX

We dreamed that a great painter had been born
To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn,
To that stern colour and that delicate line
That are our secret discipline
Wherein the gazing heart doubles her might.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And yet he had the intensity
To have published all to be a world's delight.

                  X

What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.

                  XI

Some burn dam *******, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As 'twere all life's epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

                  XII

I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriatc commentaty on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
Harley Hucof May 2017
In those hopeless nights i am sick of doubt
Confused child, will i go north? Will i go south?

Who has summoned the servants of the night?
They stir and wait, dead stones, ghosts in the light

Death comes uninvited, though god is lost
Smile child your sins will be washed

I believe i can reach your mind deep
The magic and the colors, the lust and the dreams

I want something, someone new
Someone to be there when the night is through

Discoverers and searchers stop wasting time
Redemption is a lie

Hidden connections and a forbidden trance
I summon you to pray and dance

Because all your sins are gone
Unless you waste the dawn


Words Of Harfouchism
I hope it will make sense for some..



South = heaven      north = hell
Louis Brown Nov 2010
Once upon a millenium
I  scrawled in awkward letters
Straining for an undiscovered profundity
Not so different
From an upright creature
Some ages past
Who stroked upon
An empty page
With what he thought
Were poignant truths
And monumental metaphors
Like uprights love to leave
So as to titillate
Their future discoverers
While stretching unabashedly
To be a candidate
Future philosophers will doff
With certain validation
For unique truisms.....
I am recorded here
Wow, I said admiringly
To myself
In my true language
Hey, dat's sump'm
Eat ya heart out, Aris
Copyright Louis Brown
Davina E Solomon Apr 2021
And the knowledge of the hedgerow plant, I found embedded in leaf veins ... like in mine, etched along blue lines of a notebook. In the ripples on the remnants of water that pooled, before the mudflats claimed them are the striations of  ol'butot near  Naivasha. His stories tell of caves, a gleaming obsidian of a pre historic introspection. Do forty day fasts suffice to exorcise the springs of sulphur or the forced baptism of a flash flood washing six souls to Hades ? The sun glinted at me through a narrowness of fate, a gorge of interminable seconds and I marvelled at the strata of time in a warp, for it blurted out a moan.

Love spoke in nuanced layers of molten flow that crawled to stillness. Can I not say that stone speaks? A couple of hundred years back in time, self titled discoverers  had seen land that had not been unseen by the thousands who lived for thousands until then. So yes, the strata spoke to me, like the striations in the leaves and the lines that were everywhere telling stories of interminable seconds. Time grooves like a death valley in an engraving, etched like a memory of that which has never been, ripples on sand, circles on water,
Anything can trigger a poem, this one dominoed into Hell’s Gate Park in Kenya. Down below, a random photo I took inside, a few years earlier. It was strange, there was hardly anyone there that day, except the hot sun and a tiny array of grassland herbivores.

“A sparse region of natural beauty, Hell’s Gate runs west of the ancient lava flows of Mount Longonot, a 9,111-foot-high extinct volcano dominating Lake Naivasha and the Rift Valley. Combined with Longonot and Naivasha, the region forms a unique sanctuary for bird and animal life. It has been a longtime favorite of hikers, rock climbers, and nature lovers” [Ref~https://www.csmonitor.com/1985/1203/ohells.html]
Gabriel burnS Dec 2016
I found a new way
of being misunderstood
all the while
looking for the opposite;
arriving at the shores
of the wrong land,
so my discoverers
and your natives
immediately went to war;
thus worlds collide
at the hands of words
Lunatic Mar 2015
Did I printed my ligacy without
any wrong? I wonder'd, as my trot
what thou and I may have did?

Or! Had been just disgrac'd,
to her life;
All ever done is disillusion'd
to disincentiv'd her confidenc'd
Her heart completely disintergrat'd
by my deeds;

Had I been disobient;
leaving us, our hearts dismay?
MY ONLY CHANCE IS NOW!
Feeling, like I disdain'd her
Disempowering her completely, ever did;
Discriminating all thee care's, love's
her had to grant me;

Or! Had my face disguis'd,
My heart completely heartless'd?
Had my mind ever disclos'd, who I am?

Now thee portion of me happy with her;
Thee rest of me just in sorrow, regrets ever made,
her heart, in peaces!
And now my only chance to our waking souls;
Which watch not one another out of fear;

For our love all love of other sights controls;
And makes one little room an every where
Let her - discoverers to new worlds can offers
Let herself close to me, trust she shown before
Let us possess on one thing, love which, thee
most precious thing we'd ever possess'd in life time.

That's my only chance
Thee chance I'm to nagging
That I'm to begging
Thee only chance for me
That chance to do right by you

MY ONLY CHANCE!
APOLOGIZE THROUHG POETRY
The color of the treasure may have changed,
But the tactics are all the same.
First come the discoverers, then the mercenaries, followed by the soldiers to "protect" us, for we know not what we have.
They come to "protect" and "civilize" us.
To save us from our wild savage ways.
Be it 1492, 1851, 1975, or 2016
The goal is all the same.
**** the Indian, Save the Man.
**** the Indian, Save the Man.
We're still thinking we're seen as that man,
But THEY are all part of that clan.
We are The Humans, The Protectors, we are The People, just as all of our languages remind us.
We are the children of the Earth.
Now the cycle has come again.
First came the discoverers,
And we prayed.
Then came the mercenaries,
And we reasoned.
Do more than just dance this time my people...
The soldiers are coming.
The color of the treasure may have changed,
But the tactics are all the same.

Mni Wiconi

-KB 2016
Cante Waste Mani Kici Win
merciless genocide
     slaughter of native peoples
     wrought with (super) wanton zeal
feeble ability to thwart

     "discoverers" rapine wicked onslaught
     merely ratcheted wrecked webbing
wrenched tribal unity,
     violently rent asunder

     vibrant indigenous linkedin weave    
rendered sacred weltanschauung
     decimated "noble savage"
     woke wretched nightmare,

     sans pock marked worsted weal
the Native American holocaust
     shrouded in whitewashed veil
tragedy trampled truces

     triggering tearful trail
scoped scattered remnant
     snuffed out via surveil
futile sympathetic remonstrances,

     viz rant and rail
hermetically sealed
     ***** deeds done dirt
     blunted, cheapened,

     and deadened
     lance armstrong to quail
most definitely coloring faces
     of captive

     American Indians deathly pale
into figurative coffin
     got hammered
     rusty nine inch nail

subpar critical population mass
     for survival, plus storied "red man"
     bereft of ample potent male
off limits to original proprietors

     forced to hightail  
happy hunting grounds o'er hill and dale
becoming desiccated bleached bones
     devoid of awful, pitiful,

     and sorrowful fait accompli
and roaming spirits
     like banshees bewail
grievous shadow a blot doth cause me to ail!
**** of innocent squaw king “noble savage

as coined by Jean Jacques Rousseau. –

     men of yore abusive, deceptive, heave, murderous scamps, thus no different than modern roman font size twelve times.
     i ponder what this tract of heavily commercialized former farmland looked like before European settlers bull dozed their might (against indefensible right) eventually liquidated every last native inhabitants, and paying tacit homage by hash-tagging those who bore a greater birthright to remain, boot the primitive means of self defense out gunned by aggressive intruders, and now the ghosts of wantonly slain innocent kindred folk, who endowed sanctity to this tortured planet prompts me wonder at the lost innocence (childlike) respect toward aged elderly, whose oral knowledge encompassed the know how regarding survival skills now lost.
*******************­
a column of el nina fury swept ashore
with santa maria frenzy like a beastly bus
gone wild as teenagers during spring break
hedonistically frolic and cuss
oblivious of the native tribes,
who once blissfully n’er dealt with a fuss
of bacchanalian, leviathan,
saturnalian proportions spreading ****
when ill animalistic germs disguised then
triangulated within narrowing pen
contaminated, decimated, eradicated “red” men
once a collection of indomitable
indigenous separate “nations”
plucked by nemesis of free-wheeling
invaders, who usurped america as their den
releasing poison couched as religion into the air
which indignities true colors became readily clear
when europeans “discoverers”
deliberately fomented war-fare
to those whose instincts
found themselves in deadly cross hair
as every square inch of “new world”
grimly rustled peace in every lair

with deadly piping hot metallic bullets with near
e chance for aboriginal peoples that seemed queer
with unfamiliar customs on par with a satyr
without the means to escape any direction they did veer
cohesion of unity did completely annihilate without a trace
forced to endure countless cruelties
i.e. a holocaust usurping space
that belonged to those, who stood apart as
utopian temperate separate race
paraded as “exotic specimens” in some faraway place
bandied about as if they happen
to be some rare refinery like silken lace
cheated, finagled, inveigled,
lured, oppressed, root from entire face
of their rightful home by
chicanery, frippery, illusory and base
though with hawk like vision totally blind
to banality, deviltry, effrontery,
gimcrackery, hostility though dined
with fool-hardy, mockery,
travesty from Europeans whose dreams lined
against so called “brutish
and nasty” original occupants who maligned
innocent amazingly gracefully
lean peoples who did pine
for lovely bones where ancestors
warriors descendants withered on vine
against vanquished population
resembling Asian creed
whence soldiers commemorated
for revenge as worshipful deed

shackled, ***** only in death freed
yet in lethality our forebears flush with greed
which cruelty, debauchery, enmity,
ferocity – essentially genocide knew no heed
feigning sincerity, yet holding
murderous rapacity to slay every hide despite plead
and exchanging peace pipe made of reed!
L'afrique
Home of giant eagles
Land of short monsters

L'afrique
Rubies, oil, cowries
Trade route for ivories

L'afrique
Gold, Blood, Diamond
Cold blooded demons

L'afrique
Story for discoverers
Magic for sorcerers

L'afrique
Mother of green earth
Oil goddess of black liquid

L'afrique
Beauty of a map
Fast trampled forest

L'afrique
Milk cheese honey
Rich vast & sullen

L'afrique
Home of the dead
Land of the living

L'afrique
Home of abundance  
Land of starvation
Of pains
Of tears in the rain!
L'afrique is my poetic line on the sardonic state of Africa, the abounding wealth of human and natural resources and the ironic sufferness and tribulations.
offers his interpretation of critical race theory

I, (an articulate, charming, domesticated,
erudite, friendly, genteel, humorous, intelligent,
kind, learned, male, albeit modest – married)
with freshly clipped formerly gnarly toenails
discounts the popularized myth
encompassing world wide
webbed historical events
despite being taught Northern Europeans
owned preeminent supreme paradigm,
whereby hegemony instituted,
enforced, and blanketed
upon conquered peoples.

Blissful innocence shattered,
when nasty brutes across Atlantic Ocean
staked claim where
Nations of descendents
at least 15,000 years ago
possibly much earlier,
migrated from Asia via Beringia
and called their home
what eventually became United States.

Violence exerted to wrest control
and subdue native populations,
whose culture clubbed,
and ofttimes obliterated
from face of the Earth.

Lower Providence
public school curriculum
circa mid ninety sixties
to late ninety seventies
omitted teaching students
(case in point - yours truly)
about contemporaneous earthlings
grappling with business of livingsocial

buzzfeeding (courtesy fancy feast)
aside from hashtagged explorers
jackknifing indigenous tribes
kickstarting exploitation against
rightful owners of the land,
which usurpers against natives
dark shadows of former banished latter
to outer limits of twilight zone.

Self anointed discoverers
applied misnomer "Indians"
to bipedal hominids,
who originally occupied Turtle Island
unbeknownst to latter
frankenstein like mailer daemons
dwelt in subterranean psychic realm
wrought havoc upon rational landscape helm
at horrific tragic strewn source of catalepsy,
which near mortal blow took place
probably occurred at
mine boyhood happy hunting grounds
demesne named Glen Elm.

Think metaphorical collision course
induced straggling survivors who cried
foul, when foreigners credo, fiat,
and indeed latitudinal
manifest destiny linkedin
with eminent domain cruel fiends decried
wrought major genocide
lamentable attempt at war whoop
impossible mission to defeat
fortifications allowed, enabled
and provided secure place to whip hide,
(albeit unfairly) to seek
then ***** out aboriginal pure tin pride.

Analogous to violent upheaval
along major fault line shift
caused major emotional tectonic plate
to rent asunder and irrevocable seismic rift
and deliver sanity into Hades gate
seismic alteration (albeit metaphoric)
sheared apart major tectonic plate
Richter scale needle
absorbed mental quake shock

registered brain wave bereft
regarding annihilated state
igneous allusions equate
gray matter to liquid rock
existential catastrophe casus belli
of such egregious fate
now finds me here
experiencing writer’s block,
where creative juices cease to create.

The fount and receptacle of inventive wit
gives vent and voice to ply me craft
as I tried to capture elusive
ideas awkwardly fit
in some metrical schema
from out my literary sword and haft
with at least one eye on prize money
maybe even win title of laureate

showing true grin and grit
epitomizing my rather
iconic style dapper and daft
trademark genre ranked
by other in league with a nitwit
prompting me to ponder another draft
one more apropos
and more comfortable misfit.
photographs rarely doth me justice boot at least some idea will be available if aye seem appealing enough to kiss. boy george, i will try to maintain a thorough lee good convivial over tone so police pardon moi, who calls out justin timberlake time this hermit tick lee sealed hominid dwelling metallica regular rolling stone sans placid yet poison end herman hermits stung by the scorpion human league this abba ca dabra purported - vee lad putative culture club virtual puddle of mudd digital glop, nor conclude me crud cuz, this olda boy - by george wants 2b yo steve a door miller bud jist hole dejure sly and the family stone horses that wanna prance n let there be dragons, seals and crofts me fair lady gaga cuz u auto let my *** pistol gofundme 2 see eddie money far hay, how duh name of dis swiftly tailored tar nation did ya got a hold - don't be afraid e cat nor slink away like a def leppard, fur mebbe i wrote cha from this utter alias name from zee station here or maybe at my previous abode while sipping tea? enjoy a glass of vintage wine don't let the rush o time induce necessity to reciprocate with one or more lines for your aura, charisma, enigma variations align to evoke an alluring, captivating, enervating charm of a gal, whose electronic presence felt as like an animal farm-ville replete with picture perfect barn, and chicken coop where foxes befriend each hendricks without harm dis here buoy i.e. stanley steamer doth newt goot any piercings and no tat twos any where, boot not bothered by a gal covered froom head to foot, or...one with my name i.e. matthew scott harris 'tho no emerald, ruby sapphire, nor flash gordon in the pan could ever sway me away from living a short span that would allow, enable and offer at least a millennium where we can take a spin in my car a van actually, this bloke drives a 2020 hyundai elantra, which revving engine silenced guns and roses without inducing your stomach 2 turn and skin appear to turn green, when most would agree this mutt spouts a meaningless pro verb whose poe it tree haint superb with no intent to perturb butta sprinkle your monitor with some savory her band...also ye need not worry this schlemiel ***** trained habit upon georgian bush doth politely curb. witness this somewhat inn o 50 cent pennywise thrift, nickelback, dime a dozen face no bias, boot moi christened name, would be matched by equipoise ****, and amazing grace becoming a worthy friend within the milieu of virtual place who could disguise herself as being an alien from the human race perhaps our egress living **** seems light years away in an acme safeway, wholefoods, et cetera and secure distant virtual or real space so if intrigued to learn more send bits o digital feedback in binary code or across the heavens some skywriting message these eyes (e'en though tired like twin led zeppelins) will trace. i wish (as u2 might also desire as belonging to the human league) to feel that palpable poison us scorpion stinging pearl jam metallica making egress viz in living color deep purple reigning village people. this beatle browed (harkens to the black crows of Nazareth) that sound akin 2 rushing train of pleasure that courses thru an entire being (during black sabbath) on account of welcoming frequency to explore journey toward nirvana sans writing as the mental foreplay toward...inxs letting this red hot chile peppered beastie boy playing with one bare naked lady. even if something real and tangible a possibility, you could be disinclined to step up to a closer degree of intimacy, perhaps based on seriously involvement with a significant other since progressing thru the creed dent shul of many emotional/ spiritual trials and tribulations. no need from me to resort with insistence (vis a vis induce any hype or pressure, yet once in a lifetime golden finger red opportunity) to experience one direction of joey vivre enjoyment of me as feigned bad company. police - kanye kim e sump tin faw free swiftly tailored made oh kay tee perry up so i can go gaga over ma dear lady.lettuce both induce glee juiced send n email 2 me 3 doors down with inxs of pearl jam shutters no beginning nor plea cuz ah already rote in ma dire straits pledged yar troth can, yippee contrived virtual toy story qua ratatouille poetic brew could materialize in2a likely chance such an idea prods me 2 shrek out with excitement & dance just in case a glimmer of prospect in the park exists. this self anointed bard dislikes formality, hence i present good humor skills, which hopes to enhance this chap who offers poetic expression uncommon in france. he sets sights on sand fran sis go. take a glance 2 help dis intuitive **** sapiens sharpen mental acuity like a lance bite size bit torrent word play might cause ye 2 soil pants interpreting hodgepodge as rave & rants. even platonic rapport would buoy positive stance intent worth b friend ding, 2 sway au currant series electronic charge affect hypnotic trance 4 consideration 2 advance. I betcha never red an intro duck tory reply like this quacker. i'm an ink blot from bic pentameter typed o'er electric wires boyish looking blood muggle father up in years, (whose nonpareil courage 2 face Voldemort, which exploit does tire), and 2 luv lee young adult girls want him 2 sing miles away from the choir 2 prevent game raw bits of yar self 2 acquire frum a boyish chap dreaming excitedly 4 grandiose ******* interludes joyful kindle bound by pages o love, who lives within perkiomen valley, penna, but, yukon only text. postscript nose one: would you care2 become my bride no joe king nor do i chide please take me away alive or freeze dried or sere this buck hits hide, which lil maximus m butted pill grims pride moon thuntz later whipped mir cull o joy n pure writ tin pride. postscript nose two: i noah nuttin bout witches r warlocks boot feel spellbound with magic dat mockshard science and knocks said solid ******* principles that hocks some basis in astrology n such early learning blocks of humanity - now swept away like chicken pox virus, yet those un-named discoverers of matter allow artificial satellites capable to establish docks far removed from gravitational force when (keep this on the qt), those spacecraft lobbed into cosmos base sic lee from a potion of balled up soiled red socks void where prohibited by sign language or pop yule lye vox. unlike my personality to come across like some forceful chap ling go ring, ******* buster keaton being ****** will buoy us alight if we take to some invisible primal grunting wing from - this average male member egret, who rem members when we first met and consider thee a queen for this rolling stone, who emails (then abduct) me via the net adieu. Bye. chow now, this mwm will await pleasure like when ye text me - if willing, ready, eager and able create r hard woo n intimate ace cee dee cee zip pity doo dsh fable enjoying your cuntry villa mossy two lipped gable ****** sans the medical terminology whispered to thee when voiced per phone where airwaves crackle, snap n pop like mayhem of cars or babble heard at tower of babel via telephonic cable or rsvp tap text message to me a dope gang pull chose er this label the offspring of one great great great...grandmother named Mable who adorned herself in horsehair woven from her thoroughbreds kept in a golden arched stable housing a large equus shaped table.
Otherwise titled as: Thanksgiving
nothing more'n gobbledygook
we stuff ourselves with.

Mine suburban outpost
approximately thirty seven plus miles
southeast of where liberty bell marks
history upon cobblestone streets
where sounds of silence
from walking sticks barks
created from once hand carved
festooned relics tracing arabesque arcs.

Thru prevarication myths propagated
whereby story did suitably bend
the re-enactment whence
Colonial rule from Britain did end
thou much about  
the series of unfortunate events
leaving tattered fragments
of proud nations that n’er did mend
many an indigenous native did offend

with one after another broken promises
and lands stole under their feet -
a little mentioned holocaust did rend
initial establishment of these United States
where to date citizen bankers cater
to thee ole might dollar to spend
fueling capitalistic credo
prerequisite emptying wallet
as Capital One duty to tend.

Europeans from bygone
did deliberately foment war
fast forward from those
supposed discoverers of yore
who essentially blackmailed
innocent rightful occupants
which tapestry of their culture
aggressive invaders tore
deliberately feigning kindness
when within creature comforts
(such as blankets)

deadly diseases harbored spore
ravages sans invasions
left survivors destitute and poor
of fatal impact decimated
nearly every tribe
and their concomitant folklore
obliterating accidentally called Indians
with deliberate intent to vanquish nation
of red (non bullish) men as if thru a trap door
of cunning deceit loathing
the peaceful philosophy they did adore.

Sympathy doth arise
and heart-ache in sync
with all those plaintive cries
producing unstoppable tears of misery
streaming down creased blackened eyes
this from ploy to cement bond
(when convenient) with malicious guise
to force rightful heirs of this land

to cross their t's and dot i's
without choice dealt
hellacious bit torrent torment
******* up from countless lies
so tis with heavy cookies
and all American apple pies
this cyber poet tries
to come across as witty and wise.

Ever since landing
of that first christened boat
this sober fellow wishes
to add a rhyming footnote
re: to pay homage to those
deemed honorable,
and frequently we quote
an invitation nay strong command

go play act and cast
(come November months
divisible by four)
your presidential vote
to sustain hollow maxim
guaranteeing life, liberty and happiness
decreed from all those sacred documents
founding fathers wrote.
Ears Rocks
Ears fail to drop the magic spell,
Eyes succeed in rising prayers’ dawn,
Trembles heart, protruding space of cell,
Pierces mind, proclaiming symbols’ spawn.

Discs rotate, discoverers ******,
Searching spheres in scorching permafrost:
What, as if – like who to where abuse
All misused, like bunch of withered roses?..

Question marks – that pounds overweight,
Exclamations – ****** postal stamps:
“Lookers Forward” – each of them has met
What deserved their tyrannies and ramps.

Failures land through ears into eyes, –
To ****** successors of the throbs:
Open space in burning lives and dies,
Leaving rubble where spirits find their rocks…
Heretofore stuffing said scandalous fête
worst day of year turkeys do hate
though vegan lifestyle
sweeping culinary tables of late
though me and the missus
still omnivorous foods sate

palates sprinkled (of course
while mouths full with borscht,
and eyes wide shut)
with garbled tête-à-tête
yum pumpkin pie for dessert,
I can hardly wait!

I credit our "star student,"
a twenty something
recent University of Penn alumna
currently residing in Oakland, California,
whose smarts as a single young woman

her papa doth envy,
no matter dearth of employment prospects,
during COVID-19 pandemic
(she vocationally trends toward engineering)
experiences economic dire straits

educated me and the missus,
this despite our chronological seniority,
how times gone by
hundred of years ago
during supposed Age of Exploration
untrammeled native people's lands

got "discovered" vis a vis exploited
courtesy "discoverers,"
no matter established civilizations
linkedin with Earth Mother
sanctified with lovely bones.

Even today indigenous tribes marginalized
forced off their sacred grounds
and/or blithely killed
unfairly skewered in short as nasty brutes
nevertheless the Leviathan
beast of western civilization
glorified, idolized, lionized, romanticized...
post reprehensible genocide

exterminated original occupants
place names peppering towns across
North and South America
token remembrance
of obliterated magnificence
scattered remnants forced
groveling along the boulevard
of broken treaties.

He/she who wielded the biggest stick
vanquished innocent men, women and children
extinguishing chalice, smiting mighty legions
deliberately transmitting disease
which decimated in one fell swoop
legions of unsophisticated souls

purposely mistreated with vengeance
pillaged, *****, torched
if not outright abducted
happy hunting grounds
near pristine tracts literally stolen
eminent domain disguising
manifest destiny modus operandi.

Yours truly doth not claim
the last wordsworth accuracy
within compact poetic frame
begetting extemporaneous told ill-fame
Maya feeble attempt
to codify ****** atrocity tis rather lame,
and bereft of gory details

causes good grief overcame
yours truly, when might overruled right
barring (lock, stock and barrel)
for rightful inheritors to reclaim
old rotten Gotham
long since sank into behavioral sink,
which fellow coining last sentence
I (pretend) forgetting the author -
what's his name?

— The End —