"indictments" poems
The past participle of deal is dealt;
Thus, when the cards fall is when it is felt.
A deck of cards knows its own unsealer
as well as the skill and art of the dealer.
Trump cards, (although not normally plural)
are to share. The enjoyment is jural.
We hope they are more than dealed incitements:
those fifty-five thousand sealed indictments . . .
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Born of fear, fueled by anger
This resentment I feel for you
Creates abscesses on my soul
Poison filled sacs of toxic hate which
Rise like bile in my gullet
To choke my spirit
Much like the dead alcoholic
Who's aspirated on
His own ***** and phlegm
A bloated purple carcass
Devoid of autonomy of spirit
Self-obsession robs me
Of conscious truth
Fear - that your indictments
Against me will be brought
Before the grand jury of
The universe and I will be found lacking
Resentment - at you for not becoming
A willing patron of
My brand of truth
Anger - at me for my own failings
Brought to light
Secrets I can no longer hide
While my defects are
Glaringly obvious to
One as enlightened as
You purport to be
Did not your path to
Spiritual perfection
Contain the blueprint to
Correct your vain sins of glory and
Indignant self-deception?
Is not your lofty status
Grand enough to look upon
My humiliated soul with
Something less than contempt?
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
no matter when I go to sleep
no matter when I go to sleep,
my next door neighbors
wake me up,
arguing.
History and the Future,
the oddest couple,
always in opposition,
in a world of mutual armament.
these unilateral siamese twins,
every dialectic ends the same:
one says I'll **** you,
then, they both start laughing.
(Eléa's #1 fav)
9/15/17 4:35am
<•>
mark me as safe
though the namelessly hurricane is never ending,
the roof, a sacrifice in the wind's temple,
letting millions of naked eyes be persecution witnesses,
marking me as safe, but not saved,
surviving, the destruction, a beautiful curse,
this violent universe.
9/15/17
4:30am
(gifted to Joel & Kelly Rose))
<•>
address me with no assumptions
for we will provide the facts,
with liberty and justice,
we will fill in the redacted parts
in the bill of particulars,
of the indictments signed namelessly,
only as the
The State's Attorney,
woo hoo,
We Who Always Win,
Cause We Make the Rules
9/8/17 9:31am
<•>
21801BB705 VDAB7
given this, the key,
the rulers announced thanks,
but not in anyway a necessite,
we will just smash the locks
and burn your personal history down,
until now it has JUST been whiteout corrected,
you're welcome!
9/14/17
6:37am
(gifted to Evan Crow)
<•>
don't major in the minors
don't major in the minors,
classicism is a double entendre,
you don't understand,
but you will,
when you study headless statues
in a museum
come back to life,
do not act surprised.
progress is not an iPhone,
it's taking a long bathroom break
in the mind.
(Graces's fav)
9/10/17. 5:37am
<•>
All the old battles are new again
All the old battles are new again.
every old poem is but a pretense, a new work refreshed.
cutting edges dull knives, easily resharpened by new use,
fresh excuses.
stale words that stick humans, come to life,
as any and all of your favo-rite
army of (fill in the blank)
___ism's,
marching in the name of good riddance
of the disloyal opposition.
nothing new under the sun,
history books predict the future.
(Eléa's #2 fav)
9/15/17 3:55am
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 11:38 AM UTC
You can lie in Wyoming,
they don’t care in Arizona,
you can mislead them in Mississippi
but don’t mess with Georgia.
You thought us “hicks from the sticks”
but we were wise to your tricks,
we just recorded your words,
now you’ll get what you deserve.
Your threats and fraudulent incitements,
have earned you several indictments.
You came down with your whole freak show,
so they charged you under RICO.
Come back to Georgia, Mr. Trump,
it turns out you were the chump.
Because we’ve got lots of new prisons
and DAs with surly dispositions.
In Georgia we don’t mind high flyers
but man, we hate traitors and seditious liars.
While many, it seems, fell for your blusterous aura,
you ******* yourself good by messing with Georgia.
.
.
Aug 15, 2023
Aug 15, 2023 at 1:46 PM UTC
It is a sad, sad story
for the successes of the past do not fare to serve us in the present
the logic of the bully is a nationalist sigh of relief
and the arc of our world is divided by invisible lines that cross borders
but across which only poverty **** recorded and scored, shall pass
when the successful liar is preferred to the lonely sage
are we not prepared to accept that which we serve
are we not prepared to eat from the plate we have earned
to sup on anarchistic attitudes, imbibe narcoleptic morality
then purge our selective brutality on the servers
for we have earned this, that which fell into our laps
a modern life made tolerable by the indictments of demagogues
for freedom’s a blight in the nightmares of demagogues
shopkeepers made frightful by the incitement of demagogues
we don’t need rights when we’ve the rightness of demagogues
we know they are liars, but are they successful liars?
we know they start fires so they can be better seen
presiding over the funereal pyre of our former freedom
some bishop of hate and self-interest raised up by our fear
to a pulpit of nations drawn low by wage slavery
to a podium impatient for their arrogant knavery
to a rostrum of hatred unsated by gross economic products
to a minbar frustrated by allegations and false prophets
It is a sad, sad story
for our past failures, our careless disregard will not serve us in the present
the logic of the bully is the demagogues rise to belief
we are weakest only when we are weak
and no backs will lift this burden but our own
A sad story indeed
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
The first tear dropped.
Swirling in my love like it would never get sick of your lies,
Going in circles around me and your wife.
Ring around my rosie but no ring in sight, when we're hand in hand smiling in the public's eye —committing adultery.
Our kisses were soft crimes, citations laying on God's nightstand;
All of those repetitive one night stands, the pile higher than the Glaciers in Iceland, slaves to the physical gave way to *** spiked indictments.
Crimes against morality, making a ***** out of she whom was void of financial gain. Cursed by emotional strain which was devoted to drain, every ounce of self worth clinging to that name. Infidelity. Like your juices clinging to the walls of my broken home —outlining it's frame, that color will be scraped and bleached because it represents shame.
It represents a purity the doesn't exist in your veins, and the work of art left on my walls will represent your womanizing ways. For my soul to see, in order for my soul to be —I must take control of me before I fade.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
On the first day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
An alternate reality.
On the second day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Two NDAs and an alternate reality.
On the third day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the fourth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the fifth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality
On the sixth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the seventh day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the eighth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the ninth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the tenth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the eleventh day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Eleven lawyers losing, ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
On the twelfth day of Christmas the White House gave to me:
Twelve new indictments, eleven lawyers losing, ten crooked pardons, nine COVID cases, eight super spreaders, seven Russians hacking, six childish tantrums, five hundred lies, four racist thugs, three Trump steaks, two NDAs, and an alternate reality.
-by Bob B (12-18-20)
Dec 18, 2020
Dec 18, 2020 at 10:13 PM UTC
trump better watch out
he better not cry
Better not shout
Impeachment is nigh
More indictments coming-no doubt!
Conspiracy lists
Repeating them thrice
Gonna tweet out
What’s naughty, not nice…
donald trump’s Impeachment’s in town!
We see you when you’re tweeting
We know that you’re up late
We see that you’re a shameless hood
Can’t be good for goodness sake!
Oh! trump’s Treason’s come out
he’s starting to cry
he already shouts
Calls putin his guy…
donald trump-on Airforce One-leaves town!
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
Paul Manafort
Paul Manafort
You cheated
You contrived
You lied
You spied
All the money you hoard
You hide
The law did it's job
Indictments came down
Smug and sneering
Your lawyers all talked
Now's not the time
for inequality to cry
But while you await your court date
a trial a settlement
will come.
Where would we wait
Would you say?
I think county jail has our name
While Paul Manafort sits
in his mansion house
Waited on by his indentured slaves
Serving him Whole Foods organic eggs
Ambian sleep in satin sheets
The hearings
The trials
Years later.
Inequality in the face of "nobility"
Sings the blues.
Paul Manafort,
he sings in the shower.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
The air filled with discord on these killing days
I sat with Biko but did nothing to help but read Finer
Madiba sat busy in his cage mourning with the futile sages
In disquiet Lecture halls we called and voices rose higher
Then my errant pen rebelled and on paper fired in pent rage
Impertinent weeping heart wedded to agile immaturity
Spew words and scribble indictments bonanzas on fired lines
Tis the age of reason and now it's chimes for gospel solidarity
This is why 'n this is how to extract the sourness from the limes
Be it the irascibility of a fledgling's dossier handed to Authority
In that foolish morn and days of thunder the dye was cast
Vogue tirades in contemporary suits offers designer conclusions
The brothers of today embracing diversities in Structures vast
In palaces pigments open wide ensuing foreboding discussions
Flag immediately and contain for this is one that must not last
Biko sleeps peacefully with angels and rests in God's arms
Madiba walked free and danced freedom with all colours in tow
A nation finds itself with a bespoke tailor and plenty of new farms
Across the Atlantic a foreign voice was silenced and made to bow
For youthful innocuous tantrum yelling is not quite the ****** norm
copyright.12/01/2019@yensonAllrights reserved
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
Body Snake
Wising Winters
Flame of Attribution
Recollection of a Hand
Moving to the Sound of
Sweet Whispering.
$$$...
Slithering Indictments,
Held In Love's Darkness..
Trembling Coven Bound
Now
Prized Feather
Of the Victorious
Angel Wings
Pure Virtue Risen...
GRACE
God's Decision.
Life's Judge
Rainbow Miracle.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 12:21 PM UTC
FBI agents will have Hillary
on a piece of toast
the revelations in her emails
their roasting oast
indictments for a log of illegalities
the law of the land catching her
with an appropriate measure
of judicious penalties
America's lady President
downed before her first term ends
amongst the patriotic citizenry
she'll have few friends
impeachment warranted
by the proof so positive
which will shed a light
on her in the negative
The Clinton Foundation
and its unexplained money trail
who were the beneficiaries
of the pay dirt's pail
she'll be found out
once and for all
the illicit nature of her dealings
being a note worthy fall
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
I could not see the next summit,
the gashed gnarl of its face.
I guessed only that its steepening
inclines had been set against me.
I could hear all the echoings
of the dead in their ice-tombs
where their aims had led them
and buried them, then, deeper,
the incredible footfall
of sherpas, spirited, light
and deft, unbetraying. A silence
stretched on toward a night
long with unhuman testimony.
Then it came: the world-clearing
hammer-blows of distant avalanches,
the palpitations of chaos,
one whiteout of potentiality.
My tent fluttered and gripped
at the snow that stored for spring
all paths to the peak, leading
through veils of embraces,
inconsolable losses, charms,
fantastic indictments. Swelling
its stormfront, then collapsing
into a voice like winter, the wind
took up a human song and broke
across the horizons. It sang,
'You are an unborn fjord,
a chasm yet to be. Only water
sculpts its beauty: let it pass.
Throw no harness over the clouds,
they hold no secrets, but are.
Here, while you plan your ascent
each night, exalting the fey,
the indolent, the totemic, you are
like a thief on a watchtower.
Until every such night has passed
you will light, tend, and watch die
a small, tense fire, but awake
surrounded by footprints.'
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:15 AM UTC
it is okay that my son’s face goes white. I am using my son for water. some of his blood leaves him to become a rooster. some of his blood hardens in the coffin of his wrist. some of his blood enters an incantatory narrative. some of his blood is the body. some believe the body is drought’s battery. I am big on bodies. you might know my father by his spearheading of the ghost indictments. or by the clock you call love that he called the lifespan of his wife’s pregnant hostage.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC