Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog

Gunboats ahoy there’s pirates about
Speeding from Somali’s shore,
A fast flimsy boat and some black skinny men
With grenade launchers, cannon and more.
They’re coming to capture the tankers
They’re coming to capture the crew
They’re coming to take you hostage
Because fat cats will pay cash for you.

It’s happening more every day now
Ships are held to ransom for gold,
This contagion is out of hand now
The Somalian pirates are becoming so bold.
Hard men in the west prepare crackdowns
Gunboats sail for the Gulf as we speak,
With instructions to shoot to **** now
And make eradication of pirates complete!

But you ask, why is this happening?
Why does a man, a pirate become?
What instigates this crazy morphosis
From fisherman to pirate with gun?
Somalia has no Government to speak of,
It collapsed and went long ago.
No law or army in place here,
Life is dangerous, chaotic and low.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They ditched toxic waste in the sea
They irradiated the coastline region
Making this a poisoned place to be.
The coast folk were dying in thousands
Sick mothers lost babies and kids
Black illness spread madly in villages
Then blind panic and pain hit the skids.

Some fat cats made use of the vacuum
They trawled the coastline clean
Somalia’s fishermen were destitute
The catch went from vast to lean.
The villagers were starving and hopeless
And what was pain became death.
The leaders appealed for salvation
But those with the means, had turned deaf.

Who would take this problem on now?
Who would make these ******* pay?
Most turned around and shunned them,
The world had turned and looked away.
So hit transgressors where they’re vulnerable.
Strike in sea lanes where it’s free.
Hit them near the Horn of Africa.
Attack with blades of piracy.

Hooray for the small man’s justice.
Hooray for his skinny, black shanks,
Please God help their quest for deliverance
For the West has arrived with their tanks.

Now I ask you, in all fairness
To stand back and view the scene,
Where the richest and most powerful
are doing something that's obscene
For not only are they poisoning
The most vulnerable race on earth
But compounding it with genocide,
And I add, for what it's worth,

The West, in righteous arrogance,
are crushing poorest fellow man
In his struggle for survival
Against their mammoth, global hand.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
25 April 2009

Is it supposed to be nice on Tuesday?
Because I have a date
And I'm hoping
It will be
Good hand-holding weather
And I'm hoping
There will be sunflowers
And I'm praying for
Fireworks
Or sparklers
Or at least lighters
Maybe shooting stars
And rocket launchers

I want this to be the last first.
I don't want this to be awkward.

No, no, I haven’t been doing this myself,
but I live in Cambodia,
and 2 guys and a girl were deported recently
for riding around on a motorbike in the ****
in broad daylight. Actually, you see,
naively or deliberately,
they rode right past a police station.
Now that must have been a sight for sore eyes.
So the police set out in hot pursuit,
rubbing their sore eyes, or whatever they rub,
maybe their truncheons, eh?
And when the perps were pulled over,
the cops didn’t fall about with hilarity
when these riders said quite calmly
that they were going to pick up their laundry.
Truly! They were backpackers! As if that explained it.
But publicly, the cops said nope,
these perps are obscene to be seen like this
and they violate Khmer customs and culture.
The cops even took pictures of this outrageous obscenity.
Indeed. The riders' rapture of being bare assed
and naked and **** free is not for Cambodia.
Certainly not at this juncture.
So their capture resulted in them being deported,
never to show hide nor hair in the country again.
Just goes to show...
But you can get away with ****** here,
particularly shooting union leaders or critics or protestors,
or you can throw a grenade into the opposition,
and **** a few right there. Those killers go free.
It's probably dangerous to speak openly,
but I don't think these guys read poetry.
They're probably busy oiling their artillery,
and even rocket launchers, as the PM
threatened to use against the opposition recently.
Seriously.
They're on the lookout for dissenters here.
Oh yes. And bare *****. Obviously.
So watch you **** in Cambodia,
especially if it's bare on a bike.
And ssshhh! Watch out for your mouth.
You need to cover your mouth up properly, too.

Mike T Minehan

Uniformed and re-upped,
We are the mind sweepers,
The navel gazers moving lint,
Waiting for the image to strike.

We are the missals
And the launchers,
Looking through cross-hairs
From think tanks.

We captain verse vessels to shore,
Unload and return for more.

We are the Romantic
Ancient sub-conscious mariners
Stitched in hammocks.

We are rocketeers.
A force
To reckon.

They punch me in the face
Until it is apparently asymmetrical
They call me human waste
And tell me not to be sentimental
When they're insistent
On our difference
I begin to see asymmetry
In the way they're treating me

Does anybody remember or even care
About what happened in Nisour Square?
A Blackwater slaughter
Killing sons and daughters
An unprovoked
Macabre joke
The militants were convicted
The victims remained deceased
The locals were livid
When the problem would repeat
We don't mind taking innocent lives intentionally
When we see their value asymmetrically

Does anyone remember when the city of Fallujah
Smoked like a hookah?
Thermobaric rocket launchers
That used depleted uranium
To melt insurgent craniums
Left behind waste
That is radioactive
The citizens could taste
The shame of being passive
When they couldn't reject
The spike in birth defects
A child is born with its heart protruding from its chest
So we can more easily grab it
That child was born with an asymmetrical breast
Because of our capitalist habit

Contractor corpses hang from a bridge
While we stand on a ridge
Separating chaos and order
A symmetrical border
Order oppresses
Chaos undresses
Both cause messes

We need to see each other equally
Or we'll continue seeing sequel sprees
We need to stop seeing asymmetrically
And adopt a completely loving creed

(20 minute poetry)

Peace letters to Cochise
forked trails
forked tongues

watch the arrows come
bullets from the gun

the ink ran dry
as the dead passed by
and again
peace letters to Cochise.

In the happy hunting ground
buffalo run

like water off a duck's back,

we all make fun of that uniform
the cavalry find it funny too

wonders will never cease

peace letters to Cochise.

Hurricanes and Helicopters
Marching bands, and Missile launchers.
World War VI on the door step of the next generation.
Preparation for the salvation of a few.
Godspeed towards a hellish end.
Broken kings and queens to bend.
This storm is brewing, and the eye is seeing.

In damp
cellars of
Baba Amr,
women and
children
huddle,
waiting
for the
Arab Spring
to arrive.

They are
arrested
emigrants
on the road
to freedom,
now hostages
to tyranny
seeking asylum
from a season
of discontent
lashing another
poor generation
cowering
deep within
the bowels of
a crumbling
city.

The hajis share
the solace of
desperation,
pressing
this wretched
commune to haunt
dark catacombs
where collective
hope takes refuge
only to discover their
dream of freedom
lying in state
waiting for
a struck match
to consume
the decrepit
effigy in a
final funeral pyre.

The chill of winter
moves through
these poor
pilgrims like a
messenger
of death.

An indifferent
world has allowed
the scrapes of
the besieged
to fester;
growing
into mortal
wounds.

The grim reaper
chuckles from
a dark corner
in these
underground
rooms.

He deeply
inhales the
exhilarating
stench of death
creeping in from
the street,
musing about its
complementary
qualities to
the soiled rags
robing colic
infants.

Allah’s beloved
are famished
from the feast
of acrimony
playing out
on the streets
above them.

The hunger
for peace
dances on
their tongues
like the taste
of a mocking
Hors d'oeuvre
for a starving man.

The wages
of dissent,
protests, the
armed resistance
of revolutionaries
have led them
to the shelter
of this profane
place.

Outside this
god forsaken
bivouac, the
sounds of
cold blades
threshing
insurgents
have entered
the city,
moving with the
facility of a
frigid wind.

The terrible
sword of
a Baathist’s
revenge
eagerly slits
the voices
of dissent;
silencing
the last
songs
of an
Arab Spring,
once joyfully
risen from
the streets
in a chorus of
militant
insistence,
replaced
by mournful
dirges of
horrific
lament.

The
realization
that the
promise of
an Arab Spring
will never arrive
for some
strikes
winter in
the heart
of all.

Have our songs
of liberation
been nothing more
then the baying
of a starving
dog begging
for meat
from a
terrible
master?

The dialog
of gun battles
on the street
above have
abated.

The soliloquy
of grenade
launchers
have been
silenced.

Partisans
defending the
city have left the
streets.

The taste of
recrimination
will be the
prize for
those still
remaining.

The sound
of insurgents
fleeing
boots
gives way
to the pinch
of hissing
bayonets
deflating
the lungs
of prostrate
children
kissing the
dust of
the streets
that will
entomb them.

Abandoned
fighters
too wounded
to retreat
face skyward
to glimpse a
last mortal
vision of
heaven
from their
beloved
city;
gargling
final
prayers
from the
bubbling
blood
of their slit
throats.

It is time
for the
hoveled
pilgrims
to leave
the dank
basements
of Homs.

Care
must be
taken as
we
travel
the midnight
roads,
avoiding
checkpoints;
ducking into
dark doorways
to evade being
caught in the
headlights
of passing cars.

We must
remain
invisible.

We must
be one with
the black
midnight
that swaddles
us in darkness.

We will
follow
the trail
well marked
with the tears
of Hama’s
survivors.

We hear
the whispers
of unresolved
vendettas
leading
to unrequited
sanctuaries
of revenge.

The last
to exit Homs
will follow our
trail of tears as
we trudge
toward Mecca
in search of our
Arab Spring.

We pray
that Allah
will rendezvous
with his tired
wanderers
there.

Music Selection:

Bob Marley, Exodus

Oakland
3/6/12
jbm

i was brought up to
read books and play the
violin

i am from the heart of the
world you
know

a place among thieves
a place among business aspirations
a place among the pines

actually like a
postcard however
someday a clan of

gory
icy
determined

men came into town
men who took up
residence

between pines and a business park
buildings were built by the
men of the clan:

golden paint
giant offices
porsches
lambos
maybachs

gory
icy
determined

men had come into town
yelling in strange terms:

brate
hajde
jebi se

unexpected assassinations
executions of local mobsters
****** threats on judges

jebi se!
brate hajde

old methods
new turf

a war began
clan against mob
murderer against murderer
man against man

this place where i
lived
this place among
pines

turned into a war zone
year 2019

corners packed with hordes
willing to die
armed with

machetes
pump actions
rocket launchers
tanks

this place where i
lived
this place among
pines

turned into a war zone
year 2019

this isn't a time for nostalgia aimed at the times of the 2nd world war, only liars and cowards attack anyone except their enemy, to ease their sentiment at thinking they're liberal leftists... somehow the Cartesian formula doesn't work for them... odd... thinking doesn't magically precipitate into being... they're only liberal leftists... they'll never be conservative leftists (communists)... they value the anti-solipsistic stance of individually too much, hence their karaoke outpouring on X-factor - we need nurses! we need doctors! no! they're saying we need the next Frank ******* Sinatra to lullaby us to death. too much national pride aimed at reminding people of the past is degenerate in the presence, the future by such historical arithmetic is always bleak.... who cares for a Faraday is a light-bulb works, who cares for a Newton given the mechanics of rocket-launchers... and who cares for Shakespeare in the age of omnipresent literacy providing us sonnets?! in the age of desperation, former fame was revised, creating the backlog of fame into a single measure of being current, when once a man slaved for a lifetime to achieve it, modern fame is nothing, in comparison on the merit of utility and productivity - fame is hardly a concern for any of us given Orwell and the c.c.t.v. (or holy ghost), that will never materialise into a person of the Paraclete; best assurance, the famous donkey, the stick and the carrot... democracy only works within a sensible number to express it... applying democracy to insect methodology of plumbers, electricians, personal trainers etc. is merely an illusion... a moment in history where the weak attack the strong... and to cite Darwinism? we were already too intrinsically overtly bio-diverse to merge with the diversity of nature surrounding us... we were perfect chiral chimeras, non-super-imposed images... thus Darwinism and snippets, or crossword clues... i can't believe the English banked all their pride on an Aristotelian footnote... but then miracles do happen... not always a welcome distraction from the nuances of mishandling politics - or was that always a b.d.s.m. affair?

i too could rage at the belittling English society,
well... i might as well...
i'm not in Manchester, the Hackney populace
was relocated to the outer-suburbs to make
the "nation" proud - never seen so many
black dudes strolling near the countryside -
but that's another zoological matter -
what?! with the new dating show with all knit-grit
bits exposed you'd think that all Darwinian
comparison made it to the ten quid banknote -
the one objective language that has no zombie
adherents - poets' strike... oh wait, i forgot,
you prefer the ready-meals of song -
the English do, lazy ***** the whole lot of them -
i won't be making many friends and i don't intend to -
after the ridicule, the slander, the jokes -
i'm heading east! east it is - i'll leave a **** with
my signature in England - let the Scots find it
and shredder the ******* islands into snippets from
some novel; so you think you're not Soviet fated?
Jack will become Jackson - etymology is all about nouns -
you think i'd stay in this ****-hole? i got the message:
VERMIN GO HOME... i'm looking for a place
to relocate to... i don't like the Irish playing the prißed
puppets of the English... Michael Palin seeking
Europe in 2007, found Bohemia, found no litter,
vermin living in beauty while English outer-suburbia
rots? Euro trash? more like Benidorm suntan -
you started it... you little "not in my name" will not sell
me your phobia currency of Herr Censor -
odd, the colonial past was somehow erased because of
the Beatles - odd, isn't it? cultural contribution
erased the shackles... funny how things work out in
the end. i have been a complete and utter integration
failure, i blame the Irish and a catholic school -
i rather go home among the other rats -
i don't belong here - but at least home is where i left off,
aged 8... 22 years into analysis English and using it
i can preserve tact - Bangladeshi will write you a next
Shakespeare... just so it all looks pretty... and convenient...
i rather live there, i have no fake psychiatric history in
the country of my birth... the west ain't all that after all...
i'm with Snowden on this one, but i have the cushion
of speaking the tongue... the almighty west is nothing
but good music and charcoal films -
propaganda omniscience - the west asks for media
transparency, but i end up reading a tabloid newspaper
given the opinion section of *the times Monday to Friday -
some ******* mogul mongrel trying to be a Martin Luther -
it's basically a tabloid newspaper, i don't trust it -
the ultimate freedom corrupts - if revising foreign
governments is based upon media freedoms, then i think
the west did a ******* job with its own media -
without restrictions you get a box of chocolates and eat
all the best dimwits out - or a box of mixed nuts -
the Brazilians are the first to disappear.
plus the west doesn't like poetry, it prefers music, as in
the passive ingestion of art - never your own,
always someone else's - so you can be filled with
unexpressed egoism to occupy a space worth a cubic
metre or two... fun & games fair enough...
was i ever stereotyped? pushed to a limit,
am i one of those Chinese 2nd generation immigrants
that play the koala bear role in poetry who prescribe
the origin and figurative forgotten for a prize?
i don't think so... if i ever escape this ****** ****-hole
i'll be the king-rat, to my liking the Polish government
is being inspected by the E.U. about non-democratic
agendas - god i pray for an E.U. invasion reprimand -
i really feel like shooting someone by illusion defending
my conscience imagining simply throwing a pancake.
and why? because, at least, in Poland i talked to a
neurologist and was diagnosed sane -
while in England i was given to the dogs (psychiatrists)
and was diagnosed insane - at least i'll be
with the sane people and not some perverse form
of paedophilia of Alice in Wonderbra...
leave these agony aunts aside, leave these perverts
to their own demise - and if truly my friend,
as i did staring into my killers eyes,
if he only took me to a hospital to prove it was
a genuine mistake of misinformation about a certain
Amazonian plant... then i wouldn't be writing this verse...
but he didn't... he took me home...
as ever, i write this letter without pseudonym but under
the acronym: the misinformed (which really isn't an
acronym, i just liked the rhyme);
so if after 22 years spent in England i head to my vermin
abode, i think i'll be happy... unless Scotland beckons
to liberate it... otherwise? **** this ****-hole.

Everyone loves Californians -
And I'm no exception.
Those intrepid '49ers
Seeking gold and finding
Paradise after the hard works.
Westies, like me - Holly's
Templeton's happifying
The Globe at their expense.
When Coffee meets Tea,
We'll be on the same page -
Although I know, as you,
That the sheet is opaque.
Those exploratory launchers
Targeting a future calamity
Awaiting a firm landing,
Solidly stoic in the face
Of an ignorant populous
Eager, but innocently unaware.

Awaking in the dawn
Asking for a new life
As I wipe the tears from my eyes

Our life of youth is now behind us
The real special times of my life

When responsibilities were simple
To cut the grass
Put out the trash
Go to school
Do my home work

Where games were fun
Sleepovers and board games
Hide and seek, your it
Street football
Tackle the man with the ball

A fight because 2 of us got mad
Was only to fight your best friend
A neighborhood brawl with the next block
fist only

When getting in trouble was for
Not being home when the street lights went out
Skipping school and getting caught
Out of mom's screaming voice when she wanted you

punishment
A belt or a paddle
from mom, your teaches or
your friends parents
A go to your room, no TV

Our secrets were kept
Our hidden tree house with a rope swing
Our secret hiding spots
The girls we liked

Adventure were scary
Opening old coffins in the crematory
Catching snakes
Trapping whatever
Camping in the woods

When you got nervous was from
Playing seven minutes in heaven
Kissing your first girl
Friends picking on you

excitement was a trip
Holidays from school
Christmas
Thanksgiving
Easter
New years & the 4th of July, fireworks
And the next dad collecting what didn't go off
Lets not forget the ice cream truck

Some of our mischievous ways
Throwing water balloons at stranger  
Making tennis ball grenade launchers
Running in the fog behind the mosquito truck

to make a buck
was to cut grass
get a paper route
sell anything

I could go own but I'm sure you get the point
Our generation is gone and the youth will never know

Now it's high tech and everything is a crime
Kid's stay in the house playing video games

By Sixes
With this book we have to make a difference
The weight of worry and seriousness is huge
This has not happened before not this way
And very soon all things could happen
They try to control it but can they?
How do you control so many soldiers?
Along with the other shooters
Planes ships launchers tanks and more
Myself I've never felt this way
Except briefly in the early 80s
The world moved on in most ways
But not in Putin's head for him
He alone wants his empire back
And will ruin the world to get it
This is why we all must not fail
And stop him from winning
Even if the unthinkable happens
It has already started the walk
Sleep walking to Armageddon
NATO and Russia and the rest
This is really it...

Deep scepters
Light measures
Star gazer
Rocket launchers
Storm chasers
Lip biters
New levels
Old texture
I can see it now.

He Died for love, he lived to see the measure.

Burns in the heart
Need to recover from it
You left me a scar
That reminds you all the time
Pain never bothered me
But Separation had full effect
It feels like rocket launchers
Hitting my heart
Breaking it into several pieces
Everyday my task is to
Collect my pieces and
Attach them and
Giving a faking smile
That no one can ever know
My pain
I am an actor
Who is cheating me
To adapt for loneliness

many a lad
has sold his soul
for the chance to possess
a center console
he picks the T-top
and the color graphics
with an eye to how
it will look in traffic
for the rocket launchers
and numerous reels
he trades his children
and the rest he steals
gotta have the four-stroke
to drive him out yonder
so he hocks his wife
for a brand new Honda
to pull the whole lot
needs an F-150
so he cons a salesman
without looking too shifty
and drives away
in his cloud of glory
but that's not the end
of this sordid story
he's crossing the bridge
on the way to the ramp
and fails at the side
to see a sleeping *****
hobo wakes up
sees Apocalypse descending
yells like a banshee
and starts defending
his right to the road
and an open-air bed
that's when our lad's boat
hits him right in the head
blood's all over
the go-fast paint
and hobo yells
I WISH TO LODGE A COMPLAINT!
but the rig's long gone
uncontrolled weaving
driver's a-panic
and feels himself leaving
the road and the scene
his wits start to falter
as he crashes through barricades
into the water.
Now you could say
he got what he deserved
with a long prison sentence
justice was served
he sits in the slammer
regretting his role
but planning his next
BIGGER center console.

Here we are stark naked and mad
men and women and children of lunatics
screaming in the face
of the politics of war
and the war of politics
and its all the same to us
as you're the same old hateful man
feeding his blind dog
the bones of our innocence
and we can hear the fear
in your wheezing breath
as you try to feed us the same
*******
as your fathers father before you
and your blood is thinning
and running cold
and your hate machine
is rusted and old
and your busy spinning
and inventing new ways to lie
but all we hear is the same old
hollow alibi
and we have no currency to invest
in your insistence that the cost
of freedom
must be our children's deaths
but the only truth to your ideology
is that our dead bodies are needed
to profit your tombstone makers
and your bomb droppers
and your missile launchers
and the rat-a-tat-tat song
of the made to order machine guns
and like a true showman of illusion and deceit
you hide behind the curtain
and pretend the problem
is more or less control
while in the dark back alleys
that lead to children sweating away
you manufacture bullets of hate and rage
and flood the market with minnows
with bellies full of lies
and it doesn't matter how many times
we change the face of the puppet
when the puppeteers stay the same
shiny new strings don't mean a thing
when its the big hands of big business
and big banks
attached to small minds
that only give a ******
about their own oily hides
that make the marionette dance
and it's all smoke and mirrors
when it comes to the open mic
and the delusion
of the freedom of choice
and we're tired and we're starving
and we're sick and we're feed up
and we're desperate and we're volatile
and we're ready to stand our ground
and we're ready to push back
it's far past the time for a change
and we don't want another needless war
but we can't let you claim to have
another bloodless war
for if there is blood to spill
it's gonna be mixed with yours
and your history of hate
is headed for its long past due fate
and you have failed to divide us
with your repetitive rhetoric
of blaming the poor for being poor
and the sick for being sick
and the old for being old
and you've thrown out all the dignity
of the words
"that all men are created equal"
by slowly trying to strip us one by one of equality
trying to sell fiction as truth
to pass laws to fatten the cats
that scratch your back
you can discriminate
but united will stand against your antipathy
to the color of our brothers skin
and the strength of our sisters minds
and the age of our fathers and mothers hearts
And here we stand together
stark naked and mad
men and women and children
of lunatics

Halloween at Camp LeJuene

So those storage tanks
the ads of late-night-- all talkin' about
some thirty-five years a-leaking like...
some aplastic benzene-apocryphal river

Horror!
tastes like chemo Kool Aide
forever in the mouth
washing over parade route
seeping into boots and wombs
of cadets who can't hear the music
over a child's laughter-- ever

over failing livers
lined up like lawyers marching
onto glyphosate green
to Parkinsonian cheers
to Taps-solos echoeimg off the stone-
of mind and memory

Flags!
Flapping-angry!

“No (wo)man left behind
on the multiple ways to myeloma
Miscarriages
of justice!

A silence waiting

an eternity
of tiny infant cries
emptying....
into Love Canal

There will be...
NO JUSTICE!

Only billions set aside
for funeral-ic devastation

“Significant compensation”
--being read in a woman's face
in a woman's voice

“...suffering from any of these....
after drinking the water at Camp Le Juene”

at the hands-down
heads-turned
greased palms of

     silence

being owned
by military-corpporate
“channels”
of secrecy

...of Pharma-to-government
medical-backwaters
laundered to-governments
of banana republics

Mercenery chemicals
Medicine with missile launchers
strewn
among military over-runs of...
…of high power rifles,
night goggles, and F-15s

What am I missing here?

...about the rubbery clots and myocarditis?
Has it finally come round to us?

How could I not see!

not recall?
How many years ago--
since I could hear?

the rapid fire!
“The toxic Leaks!”

“...suffered from any of these...”
...feeding tube terrors
Time's tumors
downgrade to errors
deferred...
Now beside the grief as amputees
--take the field of parade
While Misplaced Rage
pages through abortions of blame
in the chemical caldron
where they ****, shower, and shave

...then towel-dry their babies

or not....

Where are the rapid-fire rats and bats
when we need 'em?

Semper Fi!

We have no prime directive
We assimilate or enslave
Have driven many races
Right into their graves

Hyperspeed and wormholes
Allow us to explore
Looking for races
Already at war

We thrive on their fear
Psychic energy abounds
We help with both destruction
And run them into the ground

Asteroid launchers
Photon torpedos
Even rays and waves
That destroys their libido

You cannot run
You cannot hide
You cannot defeat
We stand, grinning snide

The empire is part of us
So are the hutts
The empire is our muscle
We let them kick their butts

We span all the universes
And dominate them all
You may call us
The ever lasting thrall

Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetrate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                           Communists Didn’t Build the DeSoto

The tailfins of a rocket protruding from the sand
          We offer international standard rocket systems  
Out back where we stored the oxygen tanks
          in service in more than 30 NATO
Maybe thirty feet away from ICU
         and other countries (2.75’’ calibre
Thank God for poor Chinese quality control
         also called 70 mm) Operational on

Lots of countries in the rocket racket now
          more than 500 aircraft and helicopters
“Hi, honey; so how was your day at work?
          this rocket system is equipped with maintainable
The children have been waiting eagerly for you
          lightweight composite launchers with removable detents
And how nice it is that our children aren’t dead!”
          This rocket system provides full range of rocket types


The tailfins of rockets protruding from our souls
         offering extended range and terminal efficiency
I haven’t an answer for any of this
          Associated large portfolio of ammunition

Are we talking absolutes here? **** right!
Those rich, slave holding white male landowners
made it clear: "the right of the people to keep
and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
and never mind that "well regulated militia," crap.

You're eighteen years old and a law abiding citizen.
Or maybe not. Either way you are "the people"
and anything less is a slippery *****.

First they come for your nukes,
then your rocket launchers, then your bazookas.
Then it's your hand grenades, then your assault rifles
and, before you know it, they'll take away
your right to breath, eat and blow stuff up.

So stand up patriots. Tell them crazy Dems "Hell No!"

Come, think with me,
we are friends, partake with me a caffeine
break, not better than
Starbucks, by any means, only less trendy,
in the sense
of being in the know, in the flow of human
concurrencies of fortune,

which, fortunately, lately, since literally
came to mean, as it is written,
so it is,
when the idea is clearly wasery. Mere wasery.
Hist
hiss, here, hiss, snakey lick hear this,

Yes, that as well, find those fingers that know
these chords,
think steps, His mind dancing, Black Elk old man
prancing

High oh, told you so

High oh, told you so


High oh, told you so

live a little longer,
High oh, told you so, outlaws hung where I hang now,

what makes coincidence unre
cogitatible, re think the time, to after 2020,
any day now,
this is that release, the any day, now, let go

let God, no lie, I try to make up happy minds,
using **** induced happy thoughts, and it works,

once paranoia has no power to *** me, I am
the same old ***,
free
by any current or former force fit to pull or push,
one thing
thought, ping, pfft, as in origin  of wisdom,

the tale we shall trade for venison.

We shall tell the losers how to win as we have won.

The master plan, entertain a thought, as a we,
attain
we state, stage one, begun, gun, response gone,

launchers, beamers, senders, shields and points,
joins junction function fun

pfft, fun-c-tions, is funky in some sense original
funky sweat sox, stocking feet

stepping soft, from shadow into somewhat
thick bits of elumin-essence

light, to bright, blindness,
is not precisely blindness black colorless shadow
whither no eye
has seen,
now,

we, the commonly augmented majority of consumers
at the highest level tech has flooded
in search of meaning,

meaning meaning, on average what we agree I can
know and you may know otherwise,
or not at all.

We all fall down, we all age beyond this plane

visual tactile me,
bringing idle words to the for,
reason, in the last ditch effort
umph-oomph primal scream of the selfish gene.

Expunged of all blame.
One who wrestles with angels in word forms
indiscernible from deity or immortal info
locked in mental limbo,
during the roll out of the Breton Woods,
- through the woods, trans sylvania
- to grandmother's house we go

new world
ordered to these specs, with, as these little buggers are
known, easter eggs having Ready Player One options
available to every player after,
now, pull-
it is finished, the fix is in, aim AI mmmm good shot

imagine we won, and when we rethink the whole
history
the formation of the pattern in the everyday dance,
the peace we make is consumed
on contact and we presume
this is the result of all the was in the wasery we agreed
could be stored for ever use in idle words
patient, ready, locked and cocked,
to be deemed meaningful to an emptied mind…

old hunter memes, cave learned, in fire light
stories lead us
into the wild,
we do not know what we all find but each does go,
come and see.
A life, a blur.
So fast, forty days, who knew, time is flexible,
and whole truth structures
pop

as the strand, the lido, and the state theaters
flood my mind
with movie links to movies that I know,
- you saw those places named
- temples to the imagination,
- projections of republican dreams of Socrates
- being real
- and Plato but a secretarial disciple
- re-hung on each word.

I never saw as seeing since, I am the blind man
healed in a world lit by

--- smorke, is this a joke, are we trippin'

I trow not, y'know at a mean point we all think we know,

that is commonly not included in sheets
of things to take and eat.

The banquets let you bring a doggie bag.
Then we can meet some

point in the future to pick meat from the bones
of the monstor
mind fleeing freedom from a wedom you imagined
awe could norm m from, inform
formation in
absence of any thing good, ok, I claim I
saw this white space
perfectly empty, and if you never read this
this is still what I finally saw,
when I considered someday, you might wonder why.

Answer. I am old, and I can do a thing I once imagined doing.
Making order dance to my tune, on the order of
beautiful sunsets, in the daily transitions.

Maternal grandfather of mine
long since passed among the living;
He left his Motherland
before onset of Holodomor,
a policy of the Soviet Union
aimed at the destruction
of the Ukrainian nation,
the 1932–1933 genocide in Ukraine.

The present doth bear witness
to repeated assaults upon
scapegoated innocent people.

Russian soldiers in general
and Vladimir Putin in particular
perpetuate outright injustice
against Ukrainian population.

Impossible mission to comprehend
the mindset of belligerent, egotistical,
indignant, *******, tsarist
self anointed totalitarian zealot.

Gross violation of human rights
blatantly carried out
courtesy diabolical genocidal horror
directly linkedin to Kremlin
official residence of president
of Russian Federation since 1991.

Jackknifed world wide web
teeters on the brink
of economic collapse
as mayhem rents asunder
western country Ukraine
the general Slavic word
for 'frontier region'
and 'marches' which referred,
most likely, to territories
of Kyivan Rus'.

Violation of basic covenant
imposes life and death
decision for multitudes
to flee their homeland
forsaking personal property
and cherished mementos
irreplaceable treasured trappings
left for invaders to ransack.

Those very villainous vultures
(metaphorically speaking or writing)
namely enemy Russian soldiers
bolster weaponry equipage
with disproportionate advanced
terrorizing precision machines
such as warplanes and Kalibr
(Caliber) cruise missiles,
carried by warplanes;
and Iskander missiles

allowing, enabling, and providing
a range of up to 500 kilometers
(around 300 miles);
The Soviet-designed Grad (Hail),
Smerch (Tornado) and Uragan
(Hurricane) multiple rocket launchers
designed to fire a salvo
of powerful rockets
to destroy concentrations
of troops or military equipment;
Cluster munitions and
thermobaric weapons.

Mass exodus of population
floods neighboring countries
Poland, Romania, Slovakia,
Hungary and Moldova
dazed and confused refugees
making journey across borders
crammed analogous to sardines
nevertheless hospitable strangers
welcome them with opened arms.

Without question scads of people
vulnerable to psychological ills
oversaturated with melancholia
concerning countless losses,
albeit violently wrenched
out their homeland,
whereat sons and father mandated
to stay behind and
defend the motherland
against surfeit of military might.

Meanwhile daughters and mothers
the latter saddled, and encumbered
with small children and pets
trundle toward safe haven
instantaneous citizenship guaranteed
no holds barred, nor no bolds hard.

Contrast the above with other
persecuted peoples most
allotted with melanin
and insync with attendant
definitive physical characteristics
populating marginalized jinxed
African, Central/South American,
Haitian, Mexican... regions
suffer worse fate than death

beleaguered, destitute hardship linkedin
with cutthroat fearsome insidious
lurking opportunistic ravenous
United States agents ready
to deport and send them back,
where certain misery
and interminable suffering
predictable as Earth will
rotate along 23.5 degrees
from plane of its orbit
around the sun
come the morrow.

Though aghast at grave atrocity
within the killing zone of Ukraine
will subsequently reconfigure, rejigger,
and reshuffle the Russian syndicate
of extreme wealth including Putin
controlling, governing, and
manipulating the franchise.

I jogged 6 miles to defend the sewage-treatment plant from ******
attack, with 5 ****-launchers & ***-sprayers to keep the plant intact