"homegrown" poems
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
Disney Princes and Trees
We are just two Disney Princesses
looking for a pair of princes
that can fulfill our wishes
and shower us with kisses
Get to know us and you shall see
that we are also a pair of homegrown hippies
get to know us and you shall see
at night our heads are found in the trees
Life brought and pushed us together
they say after the storm comes flourishing weather
they also say birds of a feather flock together
so when it comes to best friends no one can do better
We are just some Disney Princesses
waiting on our princes
Time pushed us all afar
But before we knew it,
here we all are!
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
*Fried brinjal rolled in flatbread
Her magic recipe of love homemade
What treasure they hold what charm unlocks
When sharp at two opens up lunchbox!
A sweet candy from the finest cheese
Made from cow milk a salivary bliss
I feel helpless and little can do
My belly when growls sharp at two!
I feel entranced in that magic hour
When smell green peas and cauliflower
She makes them fine rich butter spread
The toasted breads her love homemade!
She knows my bowel not makes it rich
Fine cut cucumber in soft sandwich
In all them I find her special brew
Of love homemade to be opened at two!
Though it’s never that I made her known
How sweetly relish her love homegrown
But when I open lunchbox at two
Wonder without her what I would do!*
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
Due to popular belief. I believe that certain things are due to happen naturally.
Like all other things it's bound to grow. This thing, love.
We are due to become obese to this organic, homegrown feeling.
The initial look that begins as taste. Naturally we are starved.
Aroused by the scent that lures us close. This thing, love.
One thing we must learn is self control. To not over indulge in the primary reason it exists.
To selfishly take because it's there. This thing, love.
Effort exudes as it becomes habit. Being placed at a table readily available for what portion comes next.
This need becomes confused with want.
To please others before our need in unselfish manner. A straight forward response to habit.
The rising availability of also being taken for granted. The insurmountable outline that defines lust.
Our intake becomes higher attempting to justify the difference. Thus we become lazy.
Reacting in ways we normally wouldn't. This thing, love.
This scent acts as incentive, instantly attracted by which we over indulge.
Searching for this thing, love.
It's a reasonable thing. Knowing when to reach. When to pull. When to give and sacrifice.
Almost always all of these happen, learning self control, vocalizing when we've had our fill.
Else we will continue to eat until there is nothing left.
Grown obese. This thing, love
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
They call me a workless guy
What they mean is worthless
Envious they’re and that’s why
Don’t like my leisurely pace!
I ain’t the one to run the race
Make do with my small needs
I hate to wear a worried face
Bear a mind where darkness breeds!
I don’t wanna run a race
Where the end ever recedes
Hate to be for the time pressed
Yet finding needs increased!
I give a **** taking it too hard
Love to run my time as own
Penning a poem feeding a bird
Watering dreams homegrown!
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:59 AM UTC
A ****** midwestern Somali
was feeling and acting quite jolly.
This homegrown jihadi
employed his own body
in hacking (not cyber). Thanks, Ali.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Creative expressions, examine artistic talents.
Plan it out, count ounces, keep countering the balance.
Distant planets i feel more at place with,
disgraced by the disgusting face human-race-lift.
I'm currently placed here, a pessimistic cynic thinkin
sink or swim, who cares? i'm already ****** dippin in it.
Deep thoughts dropping, with brainstorm droughts often,
countermanding clever cogitation conjured in common;
I'm om nom nom-ing, busting every ****** ******
endowed well where it counts never gave a ***** a problem.
Now drop that on an album, lay down a simple beat.
Sample the same **** over and over on repeat.
Call it a hype track, make some mixes, overlap.
Over a short duration you can claim to be savior of rap.
It's just that easy. Innovative minds depleting,
stillborn America with its heart still beating.
Patiently waiting..
I'm about to go crazy..
Basically, I better blow up or this hate is gonna take me.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
My personal déjà-vu-time memory-prompts that frame
The blurring patterns of today’s hubcap-wheels, spinning
Kaleidoscope flashbacks of bathtub playtime.
A gaggle of giggling girls babbling about
What used to matter : umbrella-popping chewing gum
With gallivanting jargon laced in crushes-hushed : boy-talk.
Pillows : Comforters morphing, swarming like
Womb-entranced, half-cupped palms calmed
Palpitating mouths motoring off self-pitying rumble-grumbles.
How the clopping ball of opted-birr was a bent-mouth birdcall
Over-relished, over-zealous imploration : a round robin
Jumblemix of a jejune bombast for high-brow, White-men polemics
By-and-by polysyllabic buds bloomed, baked, and wrinkled
Past-Gas’s long-gone jokes : those balmy snug-hugs guarding
Based-vulgarity amongst the begrimed-teeth-sucking and homegrown-Jive.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:53 AM UTC
chocolate chip pancakes
6 am
you,
gagging on the smell of melted cheddar
homegrown peppers in our scrambled eggs
something to keep our bellies warm for the long day ahead
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
The steps still creaked
Even though the breathe on my neck has been stale for a week
I miss you more than ever
Severed by ties uncompressing measures
I just want you to come back home
I can show you how much Ive grown
So much I can show
Im a different person,
I learned from my mistakes and less will be made
Without you
Is like driving on the fumes of gasoline
From which has become empty
Right before you drove to end of the earth with me
We’re different from other couples
Without all of the ********
Without any titles
Were just homegrown lovers caught between the cycles
Of peace and suffer
Life or death
Love or Hate
Its not that the world is a bad place but sometimes Im left with a bad taste
In my mouth I can still feel your tongue ever so soft rolling around
As does mine
Feeling your heart beat as we disregard the oh so punctual time
It doesn’t matter when Im with you
We could drive with no destination
Talk with nothing thought of as a conclusion
You know what I mean?
Something about you changes me
Like the sun when it sets on the trees
Do you remember that day?
It was perfect
Everything Ive ever wanted
Just the two of us watching the verses of the world change
Into a symphonic chores blowing our minds to an oblivion away
If only you could see what I see
What crawls in the bed with me
Just to feel my ever rising heart beat
I miss that
I mean,
I miss you
I miss you more than ever
The way your smile crinkles your nose
Your eyes so bright when we used to get ******
Together!
Soft meadows of apple blossom skin,
Just a touch and Im off on a binge
I can’t get enough of the way you make me feel
Your love is truly my drug
Im sorry for yelling
Im sorry for telling you all of those things I didn’t mean
In a way that made you slam the door and leave
Me alone
In this house, just a haunted memory of a door being closed and you’re gone forever
Nothing but the memories to make me better
Only for a moment
Like a cigarette you think you’ll just have one
You think it’ll be fun
But then your hooked
I know this seems crazy
I know I wouldn’t say it
I was scared you wouldn’t believe it
I was scared you might forget it
But I love you with more of my heart then I can handle
I feel myself slipping away as though the sedatives have finally found my still so sober veins
I might not wake from this
I might not see you again
Just promise me one thing
Love with all your heart, and soon birds will begin to sing
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
First, let’s talk about some of the lies
Uttered by the nefarious and unwise
Of a peculiar type of mindless insanity
Created and backed by the inanity
Of the Madison Avenue careerists
And hordes of conspiracy theorists
Who have taken the issue of a ****
And buried it in misconduct and greed.
It is important not to fall for the joke
That it is quite all right to smoke
Because smoking anything you pass
A dose of something called cyanic gas
Into your lungs, and perhaps minimal,
It’s the gas they use to execute criminals.
But, other uses for this homegrown stuff
Can help people whose lives are tough.
But the whole shooting match is a dodge
Started out by rich men in their fancy lodge
Fueled by ignorance and false piety
Written into law by a strangers to sobriety
That somehow had no problem with drinking
But thought being ****** was stinking thinking.
So they created movies and legends galore.
But repression is all the lies were ever for.
(There’s an old joke about a boss’s decree
About employees drinking ***** daily.
He issued the rule on the smell-free *****
That was drunk at lunch time by his crews,
Because he didn’t want customers hazy
Thinking his employees were going crazy.
He preferred they know they were inebriated
Rather than a staff full of the grossly pixilated.)
It was that kind of thinking that created
A fervor that up until today has not abated,
That named an easily grown garden plant
Into some kind of major anti-opium rant,
While opiates are endorsed by the AMA.
And hundreds of versions are here today
To cure the same ailments as cannabis
Without the side effects that are a nemesis.
Medical science is finally ignoring
A sacred cow that needed goring;
Suggesting to the country as a whole
That this simple plant can play a role
In helping those who need relief
And are being criminalized by a belief
That, accompanied with such sadness,
Was the true definition of ****** madness.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
Eleven dead; six injured.
How does a person try to explain
The enormity of such a crime--
The inexplicable loss, the pain?
All were shot at a place of worship--
At a synagogue in Pittsburgh, P-A,
On what began as a peaceful morning
On a late October Sabbath day.
Early that morning no one could have
Imagined the horror the day would bring,
Even though we live in a time
When hatred seems to be in full swing.
It takes only ONE hater
To change the course of many lives
In a country where underneath
The peaceful appearance, violence thrives.
The president says that armed guards
Are what we need and not tougher laws.
He bows before the gun lobby,
Addressing the symptoms, but not the cause.
Helping refugees get settled:
For that the synagogue is known.
That was an issue that irked the killer,
Who was from here. Yes, homegrown!
Do we ignore red flag warnings
And turn our heads when someone spews
Hatred of groups such as Muslims,
Asylum seekers, gays, or Jews?
Do we ignore the poisonous words
That constantly drip down from the top?
At what point do the majority
Of people say: This must stop!
Give praise to those who strive for positive
Change with every heartfelt endeavor.
And hold in your heart the many people
Whose lives have now been changed forever.
_____________________
May the victims' lives inspire us all by showing us the power of love,
and may they rest in peace.
Joyce Fienberg
Richard Gottfried
Rose Mallinger
Jerry Rabinowitz
Cecil Rosenthal
David Rosenthal
Bernice Simon
Sylvan Simon
Daniel Stein
Melvin Wax
Irving Younger
And may thoughts of love and healing embrace the injured.
-by Bob B (10-28-18)
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC
Hand on the good book that I never read,
I swore my loyalty though you know I like to fib,
Even as your see the guilt gushing beneath my skin,
I’ve been holding the prosecutor’s hand, with another on the switch,
A spineless snitch waiting for the green light to fry you for what Benjamin did,
So sorry this couldn’t have been different,
But the chair only seats one according to our governance,
And I’m not the victim with a scheme preached as providence
So sorry for the inconvenience
But I want to feel the pulse of the pompous cease,
And watch the stillness of eyes that once blinked,
When they found the oval throne of a tyrant
Instead of the virtuous,
The one who was to lead us,
So who’s stopping me from strapping you to that seat?
Since my crime caused the scene
Since your fathers where the ones who put your sons to sleep
Coming from the cranial cracks of the insane,
Those that tried justified slavery while promising us all equality
I am the reason they put price tags on humans
And why this isn’t the land of the free
I’m the governor forcing your loyalty
Or I tell everyone you’re a traitor before finding you guilty,
I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress,
The thought process of social unrest,
When the enemy was a homegrown threat,
When Plymouth protest turned to disobedience,
I was with the Protestant,
I’m the crack in the Liberty Bell,
The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel,
The King, the colonial, the freedom fighter, the insurgent
I’ve once facilitated your independence,
I was your lust for a better existence
Since the struggle against a parliament
I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand,
Since the election of the forty-third,
I am the notion that this isn’t the promise land
Like a revolutionary remedy
I am the idealistic ******
The enemy of our mentalities
The thought of defying the constraints this reality
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 2:38 AM UTC
By Arcassin B & wolfspirit
AB: Attractiveness will not flourish,
Body to body in the dark,
When your alone and you feel like
Nothings ever got your back,
Against the wall might get a scratch,
That pierced your soul and also
Doesn't call back,
Or leaves a text when you get home,
What is my final react,
Of being let down again,
In the night ,
Blowing winds,
I was curious to know how long you've
Known me since then,
The Waking,
I'm howling at the moon,
Like can you not hear me breathing!?
There are no further temptations to
Uncover your whole meaning,
Catching weird people getting in our heads,
Crowds watching us,
WSQF: the sweetest imaginings and the blissful calm
that this union brings..are we not one?
has life made fantasy come undone....
i wonder which one is you, is me, is one....
touching you is touching me, touching together
we are truly free....exploring, spelunking, delving
realms of pain and pleasure,
am i the adventurer, you, my treasure?
shut out the din of the madding crowd
exploring this message, to sing it out loud
so , we are connected, light or dark
one love, two bodies, one fatal spark
wide awake are we, while dreaming possibility
and the art of the probable...impossible is not worthy
let reign on high, imagination
you found my soul, i found my station
let's sleep on it, linger on the dreaming
as long as what we feel keeps streaming
i'm not asleep
i'm living you,
AB: We'd feel homegrown instead,
The smartest teens today,
We wouldn't end up dead,
To feel the lifting force,
Exploring others bodies,
Without cold sweats and unnecessary hobbies,
You don't hear me,
I was walking in the darkness with an open
Wound,
I'm waking up,
I just imagined you.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
I just want to throw in the sack,
don’t want to get back on track,
flap jack, slap it on up
and saddle on
sick of this race,
since long ago
my lethargy has shifted
to let-it-go,
go with the flow,
don’t let things get to you that much
coz thoughts shift at such a rush,
every updated status
makes you so outdated,
Oh wait, you’re here?
We’re glad you made it,
and no time to let this all soak in,
off we go on another whim,
are you worried what you’re saying?
It’s all right, just fake it,
are you getting nervous?
Imagine the audience naked,
and if you can't smoke it, bake it,
just to take it,
anyway you can,
because people clang, clang, clang on
and everyone’s right
nobody's wrong,
Everyone’s dressed in hard-ons
running along for their next ****
kind of makes me thank God
when the electricity cuts,
because for at least two seconds
everything stops.
And we breathe,
and look around,
and wonder,
how’d I get here in the first place?
But not first place,
we popped out and joined the rat race,
and it takes a while to figure out
how to move at our own pace.
Hard not to get caught
up in the glitz and glamour
of it all,
in the identities and
stereotypes we can perform,
they said we could be anyone
we wanted to be, and somehow
it's to my benefit that I should be me?
You see, it wasn’t always like that.
For a long time this forum didn’t exist,
(and still doesn’t for a list of your neighbors.)
Do them a favor, recognize.
Stop criti-size-ing what we
don’t know, so much easier to sit in the back
puffing on homegrown, so much easier to
point fingers and scream “I told you so!”
Yes, we know.
But even if you do the world carries on.
Stay calm,
It waits for no one.
Who knows?
Maybe someday your bones will be
what life is made of.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
Homegrown but hermetically sealed
from people, places, ways to feel.
Dropping a tablet on a tongue,
Korbel divides around pink sponge;
swallowing four or five, to avoid feeling alive.
There are cars leaving trails of thoughts.
Dare them to drive,
drunk on moments,
stuck on other people--
her freckles could fall to the floor
and turn the tiles into an oceanic remembrance.
-
We are lost trees, reaching out
but stuck where we say we'll soon leave:
rooted even after death,
relying on escape so much that hope
becomes our prison.
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
In a hospital with glass walls they can't hide their problems
as the newborn screams and the cancer depletes
the cycle of life is witnessed like a dream
vivid in this reality the harshness of their insanity,
purely demographically calculating each catastrophe
Anxiety and depression, broken bones and unlearned lessons,
overflowing pediatric wings and incomprehensible fallacies
how many angels have to fall before they finally change something?
the way it is just isn't working
genetically modifying the health and well being of humanity
is devil-like control that we've given out freely
each one of us is just as guilty
of giving in without even thinking
they've designed it not only to be easy,
but required, legally
prepared for the community
to not take it so peacefully
"You can't make me" becomes a felony
and a ticket can be written for anything
don't get caught with your hands in your pockets day dreaming...
you silly dreamer human being
theres laws against speaking free, although the constitution disagrees
the law wasn't given it's own set of wings
and jealous was he so he created a scene
and made it seem like a city was their dream
when it never really came close to being
handing out medications and monthly vaccines
instead of homegrown natural remedies
Dec 12, 2013
Dec 12, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
i.
in a restaurant
with my family
i remember being young
and pitying a man
who held his fork
in his hand
like a shovel
to his mouth
like a shovel
to the stone
white collar
on the outside
but blue collar
deeply sewn
ii.
i remember being young
and in love with a man
who held his fork
in his hand
like a shovel
to his mouth
like a boy
who grew homegrown
white collar
on the outside
but blue collar
deeply sewn
iii.
today i watched
my father
pick a fork up
with his hand
like a shovel
to his mouth
from the plate
and back again
all my life
it seems
the greatest men
i’ve known
are white collar
on the outside
but blue collar
deeply sewn
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
vim and vigor
**** and vinegar
stale old sayings that still ring true
and i'm people-watching again
putting words to their steps
pulling phrases from the books i read
when i was a child
and dressing them up like dolls
in their own descriptions
some game, i think to myself
as the lines drift round their heads
like prickly crowns
we define ourselves with these words
with things unthinkingly said
and we wear them
like capes or like armour
like medals or like long baggy sweaters
displaying or betraying
the true poetry inside
i'm people-watching again
noticing how we take these words and use them
to excuse ourselves, to explain ourselves
to take the disdain and refrain from believing
our own homegrown lines
for some reason, the words that come
from other mouths
are the ones we take as truth
vim and vigor
now that's a compliment
**** and vinegar
take that with a grain of salt
by default, your own voice comes first
so describe yourself wisely
i'm people-watching again
shielding myself from the poetry of it all
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:25 PM UTC
My flow of motion knows one path
Confronted only by mostly wrath
Homegrown turmoil hath
A distinct flavor of aftermath
Can't solve the problem with broken math
The simple's simply to slippery to grasp
Daily attempts lead to a nervous laugh
It's never the last
If it was, would it matter?
Perhaps,
Though I'd have to ask
©2024
May 29, 2024
May 29, 2024 at 3:19 PM UTC
through the
Humbling Portal
of these
Hallowed Pages
you'll find
Hesitant Plunges
both by new
and "older"
Honored Poets
using
Harmonious Palettes
to create
Haunting Pictures
sometimes giving a
Heavenward Peek
through
Hypnotic Potpourri
Heady Perfume
even
Happy Poison
while
Hapless Pixies
and
Hopeful Prophets
Hunt Pearls
and
Hold Parades
that result in
Holy Pandemonium
yet
within our reach are
Homegrown Peaches
Hanging Pome
for our
Hungry Prowling
as we read
tales of
Heartless Paramours
Hissing Pit-vipers
who gave
Half Promises
we decipher
Humorous Puzzles
Hardest Perplexities
based on
Hysterical Pretexts
until our eyes see only
Haphazard Pixels
on the screen
and in a
Helpless Panic
we quickly read
the notes
a
Hasty Postlude#
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 2:37 PM UTC
Hand on the good book that I never read,
I swear my loyalty though I’ve been known to fib,
Holding the prosecutor’s hand with another on the switch,
Waiting for the green light to fry you for what we did,
So sorry it couldn’t have been different,
But the chair only seats one,
I apologize for the inconvenience
But I chose an existence,
While they strap you in for a crime I committed
I swear to tell the truth,
Or at least what I feel is best
I am the pen and scribe,
The governor seeking your obedience
I’m Uncle Sam’s mistress,
With the thought process of social unrest,
When the enemy was a homegrown threat,
I was with the Protestant,
Swore to tell the truth,
I've been known to fib,
I’m the ******* of Lady Liberty,
The child of Benjamin
The judge, jury, and judicial jezebel,
I’m the means to an end,
The King, the colonial, the insurgence,
I’ve once facilitated your independence,
I am your lust for freedom
Since the struggle against a parliament
I’ve been dealing you an idealistic hand,
Since the election of the forty-third,
I am the notion that this is the promise land
The thought process of the patriots
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 12:08 PM UTC
What can i serve today for a lovely miss
Humanity and you mister World?
Eee...
Hm!
I would like to see the menu, please!
Oh, yes, the menu ... just a moment. . .
Darling, I would love to have
Weatherwise Mushrooms with Weepy weightless Asparagoses
served with those fantastic moral dips.
They are phenomenal!
And you know what:
The other day lady Greedy ordered light lush - a delightful dish. . . and after having this goergous revelation of supreme tastes. . . she was becoming slimer and slicker. . .and thinner. . . she had enjoyed it so much! It was incredible! Her skin became purer, translucent, laced with
amazingly glistening diamonds and then. . .
she. . . can you believe that! just dissappeared into thin air
saying with blissful tears within her eyes:
Humanity - I have never told you, that in fact. . . I have always loved you more than your luscious husband. . . you are a real darling. . .
sweetie pie. . . so long. . .
I'll miss you tremendously!!!
And pufffff. . . she was gone! Can you imagine that!?!
And luscious... why on Earth, would she use such a word?
Strange:
And you, honey?
What will you have?
Are you listening to me!?
Hm... just let me see the **** menu. . . first!
Planty of food in this fancy restaurant - and I'm starving to death!
Where is this wannabe waiter - Forgods sake!
We are waiting him for ages. . .
There!
Well - here you go madam. . . menu
sir. . .
I recommend to you - our daily
well-bread tacos for starters
served with authentically homegrown
veggy
wellbeing
mixed with well-beloved
well-coocked main course
: : : :
We have also some excellent
well Vintage wine
of trust, year 5195. . .
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
Fragmented,
broken on the floor.
Memories, lists and dreams,
lost forever more.
Sunlight, through curtains, making rays.
My eyes swirl with the churning dust,
the musty homegrown haze.
The room is growing smaller.
The walls are closing in.
Our hearts are still on fire,
there burning in the bin.
We wrote our names in blood,
in sweat, across the wooden floor.
And then we tell each other
"I don't love you anymore."
How can we tell each other?
"I don't love you anymore."
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Grade-schooler Tito loved going to school
To learn division and multiplication.
He tried to ignore the violence around him
But lived each day with trepidation.
He cut through an El Salvadorian town
To get to his school—a daily trek.
He constantly encountered violent street gangs—
Each frightful day a reality check.
One day Tito failed to come home.
The next morning grimly revealed
The poor school child’s dismembered body
Lying in an abandoned field.
Lucas and Marco feared for their lives,
In their small town in El Salvador,
Where violence governed their daily existence
As ruthless street gangs carried out their war.
When the boys’ mother was gunned down before them,
Fearing they’d be next, the brothers thenceforth
Left their home and their few belongings
And started on a long journey north.
Traveling hundreds of miles with no money
To leave a place of chaos and disorder
Would be a daunting task, along with
The added uncertainty at our country’s border.
The gangs in Honduras recruit young children.
In Guatemala they do so as well.
Some kids as young as eight or nine
Serve as drug runners from what we hear tell.
Two of the Central American gangs
That helped to create this horrible mess
Were not homegrown entities at all
But got their start HERE in the U.S.
How sad it is to see children suffer!
How helpless one feels in solving the matter!
But merely doing lip service with no action
Means nothing; it’s worthless. It’s just idle chatter.
Who are these children, fleeing their homes—
Fleeing the lands where violence reigns?
Who are these kids whom the world has let down—
Whose hope for escape is all that remains?
- by Bob B
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC