As they broke their bread for Lent, TrumputiN's team, hellbent,
Contrived a way to derive from the ripping apart of 3000 Latino
Families, an unending flow of your tax dolla's to predominently
Republican manned anti-immigration agencies, it should make you
Wanna holla, they called it 'zero tolerance', just to throw
All off the scent, and muddy the term's use hence, the white
Supremacy for the Black, in ebony and ivory's working together
In perfect harmony, to do away with 'zero tolerance' in schools,
To increase the amount of crime delinquent kids get done before
They're justifiably kicked out, same old, same old, tragically.

RumputiN got donations from one private prison corp, that got
A 200 million $ contract to house the kids, the involved Fed
Agencies then discriminated against families with kids by
Targeting them for family ripping on our South Western border.
These kids were caged, continually shuttled around at early
Morning hours so they'd be noticed less, were given no way
To contact relatives, their parents almost no way to contact
Them, the 'tender age' kids, 8 months old and up, not given
Humane necessary professsional care, etc., which will dictate
Lifelong traumatic effects, and deep psychological problems.

The courts continually order deadlines by which "these families
Must be reunited", but the altright universe invaders working
For trumpler continually miss them, and project genocidal lies
Like, "hundreds of these kids are ineligible to be reunited
With their parents", most parents having been deported already,
Even though a large % were legally asking for asylum at our
Border, this is genocidal and illegal internationally, there
Are no "ineligible" to be together innocent kids and parents,
When will prumptutin's genocide of Latinos, escalation of the
Oligarchy's class war against lower-middle-class to poor, end?

The gov't criminally dictated that "if they want to see their
Kids again they have to sign away their rights and leave", etc.,
Atrocities against these poor souls and groups like the ACLU,
While doing their best to remedy the abuses against them, our
Compadres, they, while not funded by the gov't, are mocked by
RumputiN, and he projects that "they should reunite families",
Instead of the gov't agencies who ripped them apart.  At least
The judges are deligently expressing the entirety of the fault
For these atrocities lies with the **** crime family's flocks
Of felons, and they must rectify it now, when will they?!?!?
When will the prosecutions of them use the REICO Statute,
And thereby, stop being elaborate cover-ups, giving out immunity

To dozens of organized criminals, while only incarcerating
A few.  Who is dense enough to not see through the smoke, mirrors,
Song, dance of the show that must go on's politic theatre macabre
Of the global oligarchy's cover up of itself?  Who is not knowing
That Mueller, who was part of the elite of the repub conspiracy
That purposely didn't prevent attacks on 9-11-01, during king
George and his ****, cheney's reign on the American way of life,
Is part of the intelligence industrial complex's 2016 invisible
Coup during, and hacking of, the presidential election, resulting
In RumputiN's installation in the Blackhouse ('cause once you go
Black you never go back), as well as the continual cover-up?  

Who, that comey, alone, could have been responsible for non-repubs
Loss of the Presidency, and now the supremacy court, especially if
The dems don't stop a kavanaugh vote before the midterms that are
Near?  Who ..., that most of the supposed "school shootings", acts
Of terror, targeting future non-repub leaders, are engineered, timed
And executed by the crimnal repub conspiracy that must be prosecuted
Using the REICO Statute also, who ..., that ebony and ivory, the
Black and white supremacies, working together in perfect harmony,
As are all 21 flavors of our baskin + robbins of supremacies, are
Struggling to mass-****** a million Americans, liquidating the ases
And assets of the masses, and calling it legislation, like ****** did
Before his "final solution", who, that the American daymare must end?

Dragons spewing fire
Incarcerating the burning soul
Hatred seeded within
Raging across the premises
Engulfing everything
Turning to ashes
Blown away by the winds
Remnants of soot
Scathed with dark stains
Fire burns one and all

We have our dreams,
My perfect stranger,
Though we never really met,
Perhaps; never shall meet.
Still, we amble along together,
Navigating the lamentable brook,
Unfulfilled promises, foaming,
Swirling around our bare feet,
The cold of reality numbing our toes,
Skipping over rocks of broken ideals,
Once cherished, but not here, no,
They are fractious and discarded.
Trickles of tormented sighs, tease,
While avoiding guiding ropes of life,
Which would snag our thoughts,
Straining against friction burns,
As they attempt to bind us tightly,
Holding us prisoner, when in truth,
We are capable of incarcerating ourselves.
Although, our minds are free, yes,
Living beneath the same impassive moon,
Bathing within its stolen light,
Stealing our own, moments of peace,
As in sleep, we slip away unnoticed,
To hold each other, so loving,
Above the clouds, sharing caresses,
Smooching around, and round,
Oblivious of telltale tears on our cheeks.
A shooting star arcs across the sky,
‘Shall we wish?’ You ask,
‘Nah,’ I reply; wishing is for fools,
Be content; acceptance is the key,
My perfect stranger,
We have our dreams.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

We don’t ask the questions we want to ask
out of fear of the answer,
or of the lie.

“Would you miss me if I went away?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Would you visit my grave?”

“ And If I died,
would you cry?”

A          feeling          of         claustrophobia         has        begun         to         confine         me.

This swamp of ideas thickens inside me,  the murky clay mud making each step twice as demanding as the last. The once clear flowing waters of my dreams seem to be crystallizing, clouding and freezing over, ceasing the stream of my escape. My brain is callusing over incarcerating me, forcing me to experience the hardening of my own being. A reaction inside halting my imagination and depriving me of the ability to call out for help. These thoughts and words I evacuate onto this page only act as a catalyst speeding the process of my inevitable silence. There will come a time when the swamps have solidified, and the waters of my dreams become frozen clouded crystals trapped in place. My brain will develop into a callous, rendering my mind mute, I can feel this metamorphosis materializing yet there is nothing I can do to stop it, the development has already begun, all I can do is wait until a feeling of...

A          feeling          of         claustrophobia         has        begun         to         confine         me.

Holding me firm, I can feel it incarcerating me.
With my ankles bruised from carrying the same heavy chains, day by day.
Chains, that will keep hurting my ankles with every step I take.
I can hear them squeak, tearing my tympanum with every drag.
Reminding me remorselessness that I am one more slave.
Working under its rules, shaping my life with my every breath.
Punishing me with all my memories and rewarding me with an unknown future.
At night it laughs spitefully seeing that it has caught me in its timeless web of an insomniac hex.
And in the morning it plays the same joke seeing that it has caught me in an eternal doze.
I wake up , following the ritual it has for me, slapping me in the back with its whip declaring its power over me, as my owner.
At 7:00 am  I wake up indoctrinated by a false faith" Thank You 'God' for this new day ( I thank a 'God' I do not know a 'God' I do not follow)" I suddenly feel confuse.  
7:30 am; I shower.
7:40am; I choose my outfit, one in particular that will disguise my insecurities.
7:50am; I  have breakfast. My palate already knows the taste, and it protests intensely for a new tang.
8:00am; I walk out of my house, feeling the wind through my body silencing the cacophony of the chains and the beeping of the time clock they hold.
With every beep, I realize I can be late. I rush.
9:00am; I start my ritual, managing papers in an office full of sick people, just like me.  Moored by their own chains to their own sorrows, with different time clocks and slaved by the same owner.
4:00pm; I plead it to go faster, to show me mercy. It laughs.
7:00pm; It frees me from my work routine, I thank it before it slaps me in the back again.
8:00 pm; I'm home the chains feel looser now, and I have a break.
9:00pm; I eat dinner same flavor, my palate prepares to taste the same.
10;00pm; It orders me to go to bed, to laugh again about by insomnia and wake me up with no pity.
It doesn't care about what I need, I go under its rules.
It threatens me everyday with my memories and it frightens me with an unknown tomorrow.
And, I only have 24 hours each day,60 minutes in each hour and 60 seconds in each minute to do what the calendar of life has for me .
I was convicted with a human felony, and I am currently serving a life sentence in this time machine.
I am cursed by time and my challenge is to defeat procrastination and monotony.

I'll give you my thoughts for a penny.

Only a penny, because they're certainly not worth a nickel, five cents for the five fingers I'll frequently run along my collarbones, imagining myself imagining the moment when you did the same, all that's left now is the ghost of your fingers, negative space.

Not worth a dime. A dime I'll use to buy a caramel that'll glue my teeth together and trap the words I know I'll regret later on.

The sweetness of my unsaid words will linger for hours.

Not worth a quarter, 25, enough for all my fingers and toes, and one more for the hand that seems to linger around my throat, incarcerating monologues I can't seem to make anyone understand.

Certainly not worth a dollar, a dollar I'd use to buy sour patch kids, partly because I know they're your favorite, (you can appreciate the way they'll sting your tongue after a while, and the oxymoron living in the sour sugar that coats them), and partly because I sure am sour, and after all, I'm only a kid.

“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)

objects, humans, surprise and interrupt our
daily modalities, knocking us, yo! to the ground,
we, pounding it, for the word void appears,
the frustration of incapacity incarcerating,
accompanied by the loudest silenced scream,
of no poetry available, try again later!

in life, as in poetry, timing is everything

we walkabout, thinking of the scheduled eventualities, or
the dates calendar-circled, though some questioned marked,
in pencil inserted, will I be a mother, find me a husband,
a human grander grandee, fit to be with me a noble progenitor
of more than our generation, watching the sidewalk cracks for an
inkling of when, on or about such and such an alteration,
a seam undone,
a stumbling, seeing a realization as we fall, hands extending,
a notice of arrival,
all needing reconnoitering, commemorating, a poem prepared,
but none to no avail

in life, as in poetry, timing is everything

so we are in awe of words, so necessary, everybody knows,
the awe in awesome, a description for the pixels encapsulates
in I-phone photos,
the where and the why of when, I was grinning like a stupid fool,
the inability to deliver precisely when required the covering of
an appropriate description, your words, use your words, will
fail you spectacularly and so we remain awed, realizing

in life, as in poetry, timing is everything

but awesomely awesome word worlds, near and dear, held forever
in scrapbooks, the literary overlay of the treasures of everyday life,
are the still life of our longevity contextual, the celebratory,
the unexpected losses, largest to smallest, in size order,
kept fresh when you flip through those poems in dusty binders,
in oversized sewing boxes, yellowing in concert with our eyes,
graying with follicles of past pluperfect,
recalling not just the when’s, but the more important,  now, the
wherefore and whereupon, the words marking the conjunctions,
recoding the recorded synapses firing sequentially, brain to fingers, the ah so of the poetry of lifetimes

“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)

<>

Saturday
September
21st
2019

She was a sad, sad girl, with eyes of glittering diamonds,
You know, electrifying and incarcerating,
Piercing the light,
She had hope despite the fire that burn, burn, burn so deep inside her,
That burning pain she felt when friends abandoned her and boys kept replacing her every week,
But despite the heartache and the long days she kept on going,
breathing in and out,
slowly,
Take the awful and miserable thoughts elsewhere,
deviate the pain, with love,
Find those who care and spend time with them,
Drink a cup of hot cocoa and forget,
Thats what she did,
And those ever permeating eyes kept on searching heartily for another,
Despite the agony and rips and tears she kept on getting,
She wasn't giving up,
Not yet,
Not just yet,
Despite the sensitivity she had and the naivety of how the horrible world worked, not yet,
Not yet,
So she kept on smiling in the rain,
Maybe she find someone to kiss her in it to one day
So boys continued on with their games and she continually would lose them,
And girls…let's just say they weren't dependable people…
So off on her own,
Walking along the road alone,
And sometimes she actually preferred it to be this way

Without you my heart is calm
My head is quiet
Every worry is neatly tucked away where it belongs
Then one day out of the blue you called
You called and you compared me to objects hidden in the fog
You said
You couldn’t quite see me
But I thought, you wandered these streets every day
Then you said
You knew I was somewhere
You just couldn’t remember the place
I guess you didn’t want me to be in your way
But then I heard you say
That you didn’t want to hit me
Or hurt me in any way
You continued to say
There was this fire ablaze in your chest
I was a passion so toxic yet more cunning than the rest
I put your better judgement to the test
Then you confessed
Without me your head would be a mess
That comparing me to the fog was twisting your heart
That within it held truth
Your fear escaped the incarcerating bars of your lips
That everything you ever wanted was so close yet so far
You feared taking time from me
You begged to see me this week
Weakly I agreed
When I saw you
You said you didn’t want to rob me of my time
You held my cheeks and whispered sweet
“When you could be out there discovering who you are.”
Then you softly said
These words forever embedded in my head
“But you’ll always own a piece of my heart.”
No no no I will not give in
You continued
“When I have children they’ll ask me about my first love
And I’ll tell them who you are
I’ll explain that I allowed you to break my heart
That I should’ve known from the start that when two souls like ours meet
It will never end well”
        Finally silence set
        I looked to you and said
        Love when the fog lifts back into the sky
        When your world is finally clear
        It will be easy to see
        That I am fear
        Fear is chance

Trite query from pen so weary
My muse has blown a fuse
The light that once shined has declined
My fleeting hope hangs from a rope
A vagabond whose muse did abscond
With illuminating spark leaving him in the dark
Out on a lark; my scuttled engine in park
Night and day I recon the lexicon
But the literary discourse is no recourse
To a stray itinerate who has lost his way
The stye in my eye has begun to cry
The pus is no fuss; my page is dry
A rhyme for a dime would be sublime
Perhaps, a bartered verse in my purse
Will break the curse, or still worse
Might stain with shame my languishing pain
Incarcerating my fraudulent pen in the critic's den
Oh, if words would rain then my brain drain
Would filter inspiration to my perspiration
The fertile strain if only but a grain
Would fertile sprouts shoot extinguishing my doubts

One day you'll find the words
and they will be pure and simple,
effortless as first glances
unfurling a story in your heart.

Clean sheets of paper
are dirtied with confessions
bled from infatuated minds.
A poem is aligned
like dust in the sunlight.

Unlock your doors. Sweep
yourself off your feet.
No commas, no periods.
Words caught in nets taste
like love in the air.

Wake out of your slush pile in the dead of night,
searching for a hand underneath the sheets
or the vague outline of a body
smoothed against the darkness of your room.
Words huddle close against the back of your brain.

Our moments are the smallest handprints,
pressed into the permanence of concrete,
incarcerating the image for parents
who lost their memories.
We vowed never to become them;
our story drained from the tip of a pen
onto a sheet of paper and your heart--
held forever in white and red.

Don't tell me the moon is shining,
show me the glint of light of broken glass
because actions speak
louder than words.
What is love if you don't let him
watch The Terminator--Again?
(Even though you hate explosions and guns).

As the window to your mind tugs shut,
scatter your words into a breeze
like the seeds of a dandelion.
There's always another story to be written
even when this one
ends.

I’ll re-evaluate my view on the police force,
On the criminal justice system,
On the prison industrial complex on the government when they stop incarcerating non-violent drug users, beating black children,
And when they release my very much innocent father from his life sentence.

When demos loses kratia
our Greek fathers shake,
their heads in disapproval
unbelieving two millennia,
myriads of wars and corpses
abused, burned, bombed,
imprisoned and enslaved,
did not suffice to effectively mutate,
a thought into a fact.

Establishing governments supposed
to ensure our rights,
cater for the enhancement
of the quality of our lives,
irrespective of gender, ethnicity,
religion, ****** inclinations,
but most of all identity,
personal fundamental beliefs.
The Universal right to think.

Impostors passing off
as modern democracies,
collectively self-labelled
the mighty Western World,
despite more than none are led
by recognised dictators we accept,
as they only harm their own
Nicaragua, Venezuela, Cuba
to mention just a few.

And though as humans
we can merely hope
for unity strive
to accomplish the utopia
respecting demos differences,
no one can condemn
members of society
exerting their right to speak,
express their thoughts and will.

If division is for some,
a plausible solution
it is not for who disagrees
to revoke democracia,
gaol ideas by incarcerating bodies
fundamentals of authoritarianism,
as Madrid calls for European
arrest warrants for perpetrators of ideas
of independence I recall

famous words from the past.
"Ideas are far more powerful than guns.
We would not let our enemies have guns,
why should we let them have ideas?"
Yours faithfully, Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin.

Staring at chandeliers.
When my life once was a hollow valley. Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

I can smell your touch, through the cigarette smoke.
I can hear your thoughts through this party of souls.

Sometimes I feel as though I want to breach my soul separating, it into pieces so I can
search each piece for the clues of significant meaning.

Incarcerating my emotions.
I do not give them feet to walk out of my mouth or body language.

Forget how to breathe.
Once beneath  such depths of thought, how would it be possible to circulate breath?

Controversial speech.
Stay calm while I caress your hair of dissonance.

Dream of Life
Watching life as I lean against the wall.

Zen
Everything within me is untitled.
It was not meant to be understood.

The End
This place is not my home.
I can’t take this or anything with me, but I will see You.

Gray suited mad man sitting
in an armchair with blue eyed
sight beneath the depth of words
lit his and hers cigarette and releases
the smoke desperately imprisoned from
its birth by mouth by lungs dissolving
in the space of sickly white walls
where it mixing with presence
it passionatly dances in ephemeral
lustfully mediocre air
He said
in the morning I was a corpse
impatiently waiting for time to
breath into me a smear of life
I washed my hands I smoked
I turned on the radio and let
the music flew its way to an end
I had a glass and then another
and another until I thought it
safe to finally put on the mask
of smiles and unchanging
incarcerating compassion that was
supposed to dwell in all of us
She smiled
suspiciosly touching her hair
as if she could not tell whether
she liked him or not
She asked
if this face of yours which is never
to be found in the sketchy mornings
is not in fact your face, then what
do you wear it on? Don’t you suffer
from suffocation
from overheat? Don’t
you want to live as free?
He smiled
raising a glass to his false lips
that taste so much of a sin but not guilt
He said
something so cold does not mind
the sunshine and that which does not
breath the lack of air
I wake up dead and leave the house living
but only to an untrained eye for
hollow can see another hollow
trying to hide itself in deceptive depth
my eyes are the mirror into which you
cannot look for you do not understand
the important unimportance of birds
multiplying each year just to multiply
or of trees that grow and are cut down
no matter the time when woodcutters
step on gentle summerbreeze
you say it is so it is
and others it is but it cannot be
drowning their lives in never changing
reality achieved by praying and LSD
they fear what I have to say
it is not and it must not be
He fell silent
reaching for another cigarette he
realised she was puzzled
She said
but isn’t it you who drink all day
just to forget the scenery of pain?
He smiled
He said
and isn’t it you who give yourself
to all those men to hide before
an unreal reality of nothingness
She shrugged
for he was right that it wasn’t
disarable to drunkenly watch
and name the colours of the rain
Nothing else was said
he paid and they left
afterwards they lied in his bed
he smoking a cigarette
She said
don’t tell me that there was nothing
you have felt for your heart was
racing with your breath
He smiled
thinking
but have you seen my eyes darling
O you poor deceived woman
only they tell the truth hidden in
the hollowest corner of the blue
that lifeless soul cannot be fed
that simple mask to put on in the morning
cannot enliven the dead

I let my flesh bathe in the calm newborn sun rays,
While I listen to the gossiping topics presented to me by the waves, consumed.
Outside looking in, I'm just a naked man standing aimlessly in natures womb yet,
Through my eyes, I'm standing on a million acres of emerald dust, with my skin reflecting the surface of the Sun, my eyes incarcerating nebulas watching diamonds dancing in all sorts of blue.
And then there's this crown growing out of my skull....lovely.
Welcome to the land of a thousand drums residing in my chest,
Roaring with the cascades of energy my soul has possessed many of lifetimes before I became its host.
Welcome to the mind of primal instinct, where its shrouded by the freeform jungle like crown spawning out my my skull.
Welcome to the love I've had pleasures and pains of watching; wrong but felt right & right but felt wrong......
- Beau

Perfection almost
Paralyzed my psyche,
Should have been a monkey
My head of intentions.
There would have been though
Incarcerating beam
And guilt thermometer
If I had static ego.

The feeling of desolation and that of a despaired
and numb heart. Yes! Maybe that's it! We eventually go numb because you can't break a heart that has already been broken. A heart that has been numbed by sorrow, anxiety and disappointment. A feeling of nothingness,one which impairs the heart completely making us vulnerable and incarcerating us to our solitude and conviction of being worthless. A trauma which aggravates daily drowning us and leaving us with resentment. Void! Emptiness which often hit us at night and renders us sleepless with an unsteady heartbeat rhythm pounding .Emptiness accompanied by sadness like that of a cloud in the day of mist when his face is watery and dim. Hollowness that needs to be filled with bliss,endearment and joy.
Tjipee Uatanaua 26 April 2018

No life, no freedom, trapped
In a cage, clanging, clashing,
A place where people disappear,
Where slavery persists in the
“land of the free”, the land that
Slaughters the working class.

The land where racism has
Been embedded from its founding,
Deeply entrenched into its prisons,
Enabling oppressive systems to prevail,
Eclipsing the liberation of all oppressed
Peoples, incarcerating the poor and the
Colonized, ensuring a death with a pace
Of four-hundred years and counting.

Trapped for twenty-three hours a
Day, confined in the depths of an
Unjust, prejudiced legal system,
Brutalizes the population, but the
Solution glimmers, as abolition
Will return the stolen power, as

Clinging to archaic ideals
Poisons the population.