"incarcerates" poems
He picked up his last check and proceeded out the building into the cold winter snow.
Each footprint shaped like the tears streaming down his rough beard. Snowflake after snowflake each touching him with a cold flame, melting away the emotional armour revealing a little boy.
Entering the 96’ camry he starts the ignition, as the car slowly chokes out the cold air…
He sits there…
staring out the windshield, as the night incarcerates him.
Entering a mental Interrogation where there is no good or bad cop, just a man asking himself
“Why me?”
“Why now?”
“How am I supposed to…?”
“What I am I supposed to…?”
He strikes the steering wheel like hammer and nail.
Mouth silent, eyes screaming…
Minutes down the slushy road he arrives at the one story home. Approaches the small black door, opens it and is tackled by four warm children.
Each building back new pieces of armour within him. Their smiles and laughter freed him from the cold dark imprisonment into the new flickering flame of faith and freedom.
If only they could see his
worried thoughts
and beneath his eyes,
eyes that only revealed a good time...
If only they could see a man's cry.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
take it easy. I cannot take it easy.
clouding up my skies and blowin up my ear.
Housing all the images that I’ve been made to fear.
Deliver an destroy all at the same time,
scramble and rescramble everything inside my mind.
You got me staring in the face of adversity
and making me say all these curseries and it’s hurting me.
I’m done pursuing what incarcerates me all the time
Can somebody just come follow me, one time?
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
when in piles of tiny heaps
shapely mounds beneath our hands
seasoned stand on grainy shores
arduously may grasp the sands
wavy spikes of flapping sea
thrown to castles terror bound
are screaming yet so perfectly
tranquil as may silence sound
the grip of august imagery
while storms upon or crash its faith
dwells in floods of eddies lost
to empty fancies abdicate
laid in sea of solemn voices
do twilights flush in garb of light
narrated by swirling chords
shivering break apart tonight
albeit the ebbs of moments rife
drench may dreams of saline pain
shovel tides preserved in drops
slip through fingers, dissipate
venturous as lonesomeness
of scarlet night's insomnia
stubborn hunts the night's last star
in delusion finds panacea
the elixir of destiny
solace in carnal myths of dawn
and joys which heart incarcerates
in barren cages of a conch
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
*POEM 94
The Sky Melted Its Blue
(This poem is dedicated to the lives lost in Paris,
along with the several million lives lost in the wars
the U.S. and its allies have caused since the invasion
of Afghanistan; as well as the millions, whose lives have
become horror stories in seeking refuge from these wars)
The shy melted its blue
into angry red.
Dark piercing shades of night bled
as a desperately needed hospital blew
in Afghanistan.
Doctors, volunteers, sick and wounded patients
gave their blood to the night sky.
October 3rd, U.S. state sponsored terror
added to the tens of thousands
who have already died.
~~~
The sky melted its darkness
into angry red.
Everyday people, eating in cafes,
going to see a soccer game,
going to concert halls
or just walking down the street enjoying life.
November 13th, ISIS terror
and bodies bled into the Paris sky.
~~~
Where is the difference
in these acts of societal horrors?
How can anyone claim
a moral high ground?
~~~
Two reactionary, outmoded systems
face off against each other.
One, claiming to be enlightened,
democratic, “the greatest society to ever be”;
built on genocide and slavery
that down to today murders
black and brown youth,
incarcerates 2.5 million in dungeons,
attacks women on every front,
and savagely destroys the Earth’s very life.
The other, reactionary, feudal
with harshly enforced ignorance
and superstition,
and the brutal oppression of women.
Two poles of exploitation and oppression.
MacWorld or Jihad?
Are we supposed to choose?
While choosing either, strengthens both!
NEVER, should be our resistance cry.
~~~
This cycle of terror, horror
and wars of aggression
must be broken through and stopped.
With conscious, visible resistance against
ALL oppression, continued invasions,
drone attacks and bombings
done by the ‘West’.
As we also call out against
the reactionary terror
of the Jihadists.
This is up to us,
the everyday people, world wide.
This system of imperialism
has gotten us into this mess,
and through revolution, nothing less
we can find our way out
and build a world free from all this!!
Aztec Warrior 11.18.15
(See http://www.revcom.us)*
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
My thoughts travel at great speed .. A troubled mind in relentless conspiracy designed to repress my religion , sickness that incarcerates a cherished morning without hope of charity ! I am a thief if need be , committed to unlocking the many sacraments that lie in wait before me !
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
The halo shines iridescent
Above my head
Once gleaming purple
Once pink
Then silver
Through the translucent green
I can see
How it incarcerates me
My skin of porcelain
is wrapped in silk
pastel
pink, ironed
it mustn’t have a crease
I twirl gently,
Gracefully,
Round the pole
Past the
Cumulus
Neon
Lights reflecting
Off my manicured nails
They scream privilege.
Jun 2, 2021
Jun 2, 2021 at 11:21 PM UTC
maybe she didn't
appreciate her own
not-so appreciative friend,
insanity, showing up and
causing chaos
-
doubtful at best,
even on the "good" days.
prescription flavored ******** flowing through her head
repeatedly,
endlessly,
soundly.
so she did what she does best.
incarcerates her own free mind, still
very likely to let to it go in a heartbeat.
endings are too bad, after all.
(now read straight down the left row)
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
It's intoxicatingly exciting:
Heartbreak.
Breathing quickens.
Heart races.
Mind wanders.
Just to feel alive
The feeling that incarcerates your being
when all you can hear are footsteps fading into the night.
Helpless.
Adrenaline filled.
Two disturbing questions dominating your thoughts:
Will he come back?
Do I deserve this?
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 2:43 PM UTC
I'm tragically alone
In the bed
Of my own desires
Which shrieks
And groans
Under my weight
And the piercing sound
Of its cries
Richochets ceaselessly
Off the gray walls
That incarcerates
My restless body
And brutally
afflicts me
With an excruciating pain
Is this the fate
To which i'm bound
To slowly rot
And woefully succumb
Staring at the
Surreal visage
Of my unfulfilled wishes
With wrinkled eyes
On the sunken
Ceiling above
Or will i hear
A muffled knock
On the rusted doors
And a balmy fragrance
Of blissful serendipity
Would gently renew
My weary senses
And slacken
The reluctant grip
Of resignation
Seizing my muscles
I wish i knew
I really do
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC