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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
ISSAI MASHINGO Apr 2014
I remember the rains that day,
A shower of hate that won’t go away,
The day seven of the year ninety four,
When pain suddenly opened the door,
And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore,
With machetes and guns they marched,
Aiming for our limbs to detach,
Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp,
They swore that all would experience their wrath,
Genocide it was called but the truth not told,
The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh,
Cries from a distance heard but ignored,
No one would even dare talk or whisper,
**** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker,
It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre,
Women and children are alienated from their land,
Refugees in camps away from their land,
The African holocaust had began in Rwanda,
It took a while for the world to ponder,
The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet,
They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence,
They waited until we all lost our patience,
It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning,
It was the season to prepare for farming,
But I can bet the world saw it coming,
But none gave a **** from the beginning,
And so began the killing,
Brothers and sisters turned enemy,
Neighbors turned into strangers,
**** ****** mutilation humiliation torture,
Tribal hatred fueled by the west,
When will Africa come to rest?
And understand that we are one race,
One love one place one earth,
Let’s have love and peace,
BY ISSAI
I WROTE THIS IN MEMORY OF ALL THOSE WHO LOST THEIR LIVES DURING THE GENOCIDE IN RWANDA 7TH APRIL 1994 REST IN PEACE. IT IS MY HOPE THAT WE CAN MAKE THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE BY LOVING EACH OTHER IN SPITE OF OUR TRIBE, RACE, OR COLOR LETS LOVE ONE ANOTHER!!!!!!!!!!
SassyJ Jan 2016
Human directives, veracities unverified  
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality

My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts

Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed

A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch

Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination

The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling

Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom

Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt *******, offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master

A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
We are in it together.........
So much inequality in the world before and now. Why can't we live in peace.
Stanza 1: Introduction to human autocracies
Stanza 2: Dafür (Sudan) ongoing civil war and people are dying of hunger.
Stanza 3:Guantanamo bay detention. The prisoners of "war in terrorism" are treated in an inhumane way. Who is the terrorist now?
Stanza 4: The Rwanda genocide where divide and rule led to civil war. Tutsi the fewer in numbers were killed by Hutu's.
Stanza 5: Honor killing where people are buried in pit and have stones thrown to them.
Stanza 6: Indentured servitude where white people/ caucasians were forced to sign contracts and then shipped as slaves to various locations worldwide. The wages earned were used to pay for their freedom.
Stanza 7: Slavery of black people. Sold and yorked as labour force.... owned as an asset.
Stanza 8: A failing global world where inequality is everywhere (disease, hunger, child abuse, human trafficking, violence, war.....) For if we have no peace I have none, If we have no rights I have none!!!
AntRedundAnt Jan 2014
"Not too short on the sides,
not too long on the top."
I've prepared my little speech,
dreading the inevitable small talk
as the hairdresser's fingers fly
across the jungle of my dome,
her scissors like mini machetes
cutting down the foliage to see
what is hiding in plain sight.

I love the Bob Marley shirt I'm
wearing, so it's bittersweet it'll
immediately be taken off when I
get up from the chair. "One love,
one heart, give thanks and praise
to The Lord," laughing as I type this,
autocorrect shows Siri's faith in
human invented religion and God.

Hair litters the floor, and I know my
turn is next. The beginning of the end
starts

now.
when words are few,
or stuck in dictionaries
unused or unknown
like
compassion,

tyrants and wife-beaters
scream
with iron fists,
silencing fluent lips
in clotting streams of  blood

...and machetes,
severing lucid limbs
from able bodies
in active states of articulation

...and guns,
the kryptonite of cowards
and buffoons,
the callow voice of philistines
and goons,
blasting cogent words
and vocal women
into oblivion

....and laboratories
where forensics of
fingerprint and dna
scream loudest,

sending tyrants and wife-beaters away
to sleep with the devil
in a shallow cell
on earth
or
hell below...

~ P (#Pablo#OTAWB)

(8/11/2013)
Ignatius Hosiana Jun 2015
I reached safely where you sent us
It's a lovely place for any traveller
Problem is the people who came along
Those you said should be my brothers
They're bad & insert tubes in the heart
To **** out every little bit of our blood
We'd be brothers if only we connected
God you believe we're Hoppers and locusts
We should be but some became crows

These people have hearts of scorpions
And ache to fight and spread their poisons
Their loathing is deep and their hearts hard
They laugh by face and frown inside

There's one with joy filled to the brim
Simply because my pockets are empty
His heart finds peace when we're troubled
And end up clamoring for their assistance
They set traps everywhere, up and down  
They rip us and are hungry,yearning to bite
It excites when you're helpless and despair
It's comic to them watching your struggles
They never remember when you helped
They celebrate when they see you dying
They already have me painfully manacled
My pains are flooding their hearts with bliss

These guys have hearts of scorpions
Which ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts hard
They only laugh with their teeth
Yet they are frowning deep inside

They are worms inside the gullet
Slowly ******* and ******* pretty hard
Forgetting if their host dies they also die
Those are the people we live with
They have machetes in their cloaks
Hidden,so we think they're carrying babies
And get our ignorant necks real close
They are out here ready to betray us
That friend of yours you truly love
One you're breaking a piece of bread for
Is responsible for rumors that all you eat
Is stolen, and the one craving your defeat

These guys have hearts of scorpions
(I'm scared)
And ache to bite and spread poisons
Their loathing is deep, hearts are hard
They just laugh with their teeth
But they are frowning inside
Trying out free verse
Adellebee May 2012
Golf clubs for fists
And hockey sticks for machetes
In this world, anything will print you for the records
And violence can be picked up at your local 99 cent store
And charged to a players club card
As cancer is an entree for your 6 course 5 star meal
And smoke stacks are sold in 20 and 25

Another toothpick lined up for check-up
r Oct 2014
thinking only of work
- eating my own business
minding my food

and manners

people small talking too
loudly with mouths full

- best get back and busy

- all this talk of ebola
isis and clowns with machetes -

slender man and little girls
- kidnapped girls forgotten

collateral damage
- somewhere else
someone else's -

hard to concentrate
on  important things
like metrics and data calls -

site density- history
- work things and holidays -
you know

i should buy pumpkins
on the way home today

- halloween is coming soon.

r ~ 10/15/14
\¥/\
  |      •
/ \
Niveda Nahta Mar 2013
They call me a canker,
they say I'm deceptive,
with an absinthe in my hand,
They call me a cahoot,
Abandoned in an abattoir,
They made me a psychopath,
They hurt me and beat me,
With all they had,
I said I am what I am,
They say am possesed,
With black magic,perhaps,
or maybe just a dark spirit,
So collapsed,
They say I look daunting,
Someone who's flummoxed,
Someone who's forlorn,
And a little hoodlum,
but i simply can't make them understand,
I am a labyrinth,
Full of difficult,
passages and paths,
Through which finding out is complicated,
I've had macabres,
which i handled by machetes,
The madder i got,
The smarter they,fed it,
With heaves of sickness,
they got me misspelt,
They didn't know that,
I, a psychopath,
was "okay" in my own way,
they mistreated me,
Misplaced me,
Misunderstood me,
Underestimated me,**
Look! I've come up!
still they were they,
They didn't stop,
So I cut them,
And beat them,
And scared their crap out!
Hit me with a dagger,
Hit me with a knife,
I'LL STILL BE ME,
EVEN IN MY NEXT LIFE.
This poem is a cry of some people, who are treated, in different casts, religions maybe societies,I don't know,
but are taken in the shadows for maybe being LGBT or just what they want to be....mixed emotions are the only emotions they've got....
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
Twelve days on the isthmus,
trudging through the gap,
we sliced & diced
vines along the trail,
through a world all its own.

Iguanas & butterflies
accompanied us,
along with the tarantulas,
toucans & monkeys.
Everything was in tune,
nature at its finest.

But the bearded-dudes
we encountered
seeemed way out of place,
different from the nature
that was around us.

They were unusually
focused, out of touch
with their long line
of saddlebagged-mulas
& fully-packed mochilas.

The automatic weapons
& machetes finished
off the picture
of these serious hombres,
the runners of the jungle.

We traded Marlboro's
& Johnny Walker Red
for some tea & sugar
& they waved us on by,
gave us safe passage
into Colombia.
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
Don't wait till I'm tired to encourage me,I won't move on
Don't wait till I'm crippled to tell me about miracles,I won't believe
Don't wait till I'm frozen to warm me,I won't appreciate
Don't wait until I've stepped the trap to caution me, it won't help
Don't wait till I'm shattered to tell me I can be whole, I won't listen
Don't wait for me to yawn to give me food, I won't eat it
Don't wait until the treasures are depleted to tell me if I dig I'll find
its useless to tell me passion will drive me insane after I'm out of my mind
Don't wait till I'm famous to praise my pieces, aren't you seeing them now?
Don't wait until the Antelope has turned tail to hand me the bow
Don't wait for the birds to fly off the tree to hand me the catapult
Don't wait for me to step on the live wire to lecture me about vaults
Don't wait for me to slip and fall to tell me the place is slippery when wet
Don't wait until you've wronged me to preach "forgive and forget"
Don't wait until I'm in flames to tell me not to play with fire, bury my ashes
Don't try shutting stables after they're gone, instead run after those Horses
Don't wait until I'm soaked to give me an umbrella,I won't accept
Don't wait for the storms to wreck me to show me how to sail
who can listen to instructions while battling waves and hail
Don't wait until the snake has stricken to tell me about the venoms
for a dying man has no time and ears for caution then on
Don't wait for the war to devastate and ruin to preach peace
bombs would have deafened or the machetes cut me piece by piece
Don't wait for me to plunge to ask me if I've worn a ******
like a kidnapper freeing hostages prior demanding for ransom
Don't wait until I've dived into the Sea to ask whether I can swim
Don't wait for the end of days to find out whether I believes in Him
Don't wait until I'm bleeding to tell me about the beauty of scars
or until a clear night to praise the beauty of stars
Don't wait until I'm malnourished to bring me aid
until I'm dead and gone to praise the words I said
Don't wait for my life to flood to dredge the silt
that wouldn't be kindness, that would either be mockery or guilt  
Don't wait for me to find someone to feelings for me admit
Don't wait to offer a helping hand when I'm totally deadbeat
why wait to raise a wall when you can fill the crevice
you have something to do, to instill, to say, to caution, to give
do it now while I smile, while I'm strong, while I live
Don't  speak about the adulterations after I've drunk from the chalice
Holly Salvatore Dec 2012
Molasses is
The most red
The most gold
The most vibrant
Least cold
Fall of my life
And it’s a new ****
Maybe he wears a trucker hat
Or maybe he wears bibs
Maybe he’ll be some dark horse
New candidate
I don’t know yet
He could be one of these
Over mountain men
Filtering through the woods
Appearing in the hills
Ghosts of Hatfields past
Fur on their faces
Instead of skin
Strong and sturdy
Growing up from the ground
Like the cane we’re cutting
Down
And it ain’t about money
Out here in God’s country
We’re just willing and
Able
Enjoying the rich soil
And machetes
Carving calluses
While the sugar’s pressing
Staining, straining
Green and sweet
Skimming, boiling, browning
Finally draining
Into glistening mason jars
The day is going dark
Sail away ladies
Sail away
And say darling say
Playing banjo
In a moonshine-induced
Hallucination
Till all the bread is gone
The molasses gets carted off
And now it’s full dark
The spooks come out
All the wicked witches
Spitting hairballs
At their victims
That thing making noise
Moving in the bushes
Might be Matt Kinneman
Tells me I’m a good woman
I’m a human wall
And my pigtails make good handholds
When someone needs to reach his knife
The mountains grow
Apart at night
And the hollers pull us in
Molasses tastes like being
Home again
For Lou
sadgirl Apr 2018
o, rèmy martin dreamer,
with cheap hen on your breath.
the good brown is not the backwoods
or juul pods in virgina tobacco,

&

maybe the good brown manifests in my hair,
before the ammonia, touching my scalp
and turning it as red as my tongue after
a strawberry lollipop. everything
tastes like you.

&

i wish i could touch you again,
just hold your hand, brush your
elbow, play with your hair.
but i also wish i could drive a thousand
machetes into your flesh, while screaming

&

writhing with trash-sickened fervor .
you are *****-inducing. you smell
like a thousand patchouli-burning
stoners, but you feel like velvet
and taste like sugar-sweat.
you might be popping a xan right now,
knee-deep in beautiful girls.
and i'm still dope-sick.
About a guy I met this summer. He was trash. But aren't we all?
BTW, the and signs are actually ands, not just decoration. Read it like "Everything tastes like you, and i wish i could touch you again."
Charles Barnett Feb 2011
We beat the paths that
are laid before us with
machetes and gunfire
Loving violently, loving
violence like Roman citizens
at a colosseum.Cringing
heroically at dismemberment
and pain.
And we're all just the same.
Harold r Hunt Sr Aug 2014
Why must I Die
Today I see babies born
Just to be torn and killed.
Thousands of young and old
Yelling why must I die.
I did nothing wrong.
Is it hate or is it joy
They don't know the fate.
Rwanda 's genocide killing all those that stand.
Swing clubs and machetes. Cutting them all down.
But they don't know why i must die they think.
The blood rolls in the streets.
Who can stop it we want to know
Peace is the answer not the dope.
Edna Sweetlove Nov 2014
Yes, it's yet another magical "Barry Hodges" poem!*

Some people think that Jerusalem is an interesting old city,
Full of pretzels, gefilte fish and more matzo ***** than you could count
(albeit not the best place in the world if you fancy a nice pork chop
or indeed a tasty plate of bacon and eggs with some black pudding
and don't even think of eating out on a Friday night).
But there is another side to this vibrant metropolis
With its interesting mixture of east and east.
Dear reader, believe me, I kid you not! For I have been there
And I have seen it in all its hideous horror and violence.

I was there, wandering gaily near that boo-hoo wall
(all that remains of the old temple, thanks to Titus),
With my young nephew Ignatius, a total ****** of immense girth,
Who had moreover a staggering stutter and a load of ****** boils,
(which meant he sprayed people with pus when he spoke).
Oh alas and alack! A gang of ill-dressed American youths,
(probably the sons of immigrant businessmen or diplomats
or even the illegitimate descendants of head-nodding rabbis),
High as kites on Pepsi-cola, or some other plebeian muck,
Came running at us with their plastic machetes at the ready,
And I wisely scarpered like a cute choirboy with a priest on my tail,
Leaving fat Iggy to face the music tutto solo in his wheelchair.

Now, prepare to weep tears of laughter, for they left him
Lying in the gutter, like a giant squashed pizza,
His legs broken to bits and his head half sawn off,
And for what, I hear you ask? Well, they were envious
Of his neon combined skullcap and hairpiece (it made him look
half-human, a major improvement on his normal hideous state).
Poor Iggy dragged out a miserable half-alive existence
For a few awful months in a dilapidated infirmary;
Dear God, he will not be going back to Jerusalem in a hurry;
In fact he'll be going nowhere except six feet under.
(I was thinking of donating his wheelchair to the Gaza Relief Fund
but they can't afford the UPS charge for the transportation,
and it's a bit blood-and-brains-spattered anyway.)
Josh Koepp Dec 2014
Here
I made a video right here to help you understand
Well i mean, you technically made the video...
I just uh...
Borrowed it?
I can see that you're...mad
But you know now right?
Please
Sit back down, you can wag your finger after
This is important

This is a video your child took of you mowing the lawn in 1994
Her big strong  parent, fumbling with this heavy-as-hell-is contraption
That sputters, and whirs, and kicks back
But like some superhero you...start to shove it along, and conquer the beast
And it sprays curiously alluring smog, that like a well behaved child, she knows not to breathe in,
Knows not to touch because she's not old enough
Or strong enough to pull that chord to trigger the bells and whistles
That she, nor i, nor probably you understands.

But i digress...

So here you are, with your child on the stoop, taking might i add some
Fine, stable footage you should really enroll her in some classes,
And you traveling around your suburban front yard, chasing away a squirrel with the lawnmower, harmlessly of course
And laughing with your daughter
Talking to your neighbors over the roaring engine,
Emptying the bag of fresh cut grass into the bin...

And that's where the battery died
No! Don't leave yet
I want you to watch again, listen again
Here...
Listen closely...








Did you hear the grass screaming of their judgement day, beneath the lovers kissing each other goodbye, wrapped around each other, as we hold hands, still entangled in  the mass graves you made for them

Beneath the ants cowering in their homes, begging their laborers to come back inside before they are noticed, before they are eviscerated and the foreman is forced to pay settlements

Beneath the subtle sound of your daughter breathing deeply of the sweet smelling gas that you told her to stay away from, that we learned to be repulsed by, that she has been told to be repulsed by

Beneath the...
Here, i'll rewind again
Here
You see the label on the lawnmower?
That manufacturer? That bar code? That order number? That factory? That steel purchase? That mine?
Did you hear the songs of the forced laborers there, the modern slaves that bear striking resemblance to the songs you learned in high school history class, except softer, pushed under the magazines

Beneath the squirrel complaining to the squirrel police about dangerous and disrespectful conduct it's neighbors have been performing when he comes to say hello and finally meet someone in the neighborhood, that he's lived so long in, just to be told it's not "Illegal,"

Beneath the slightly offensive joke you made towards your black neighbor, who missed the punchline over the roar of the engine, when you asked him why he was so light skinned, and whether that was a "slavery thing,"

Beneath your child hearing everything

You didn't yet...
You made that happen, didn't you?
This isn't me judging your character
I don't blame you "O' causer of destruction"

You were not given the tools i was given
And similarly i... was not given the tools you were given

You were given a lawnmower, and a camera
A beautiful daughter, a home, a job
Gas! The ability to live where you want!

I...well...
i was given the opportunity to talk to the grass...

And well...

In 1994, that same year, in Rwanda an atrocity was committed, a genocide.

And the characteristic machetes used to massacre the Tutsi people
Contained the same steel blend, from the same producer
As the blades in many lawnmowers at the time.

This isn't a conviction
I did this because i wanted you to know and be okay with being complicit because you exist a certain way
Innocent because you never knew, and couldn't have known

Because we love you
Because we need you
Because we need you to know now
Jordan Gee Aug 2020
my heart is on fire
one half cup espresso, a vape
and a song that drapes my heart in a purple fire,
with the same purple glow inside the go go bar
where that dancer handed Bukowski a dried lily
But only for a moment.

lesson #104 and the
music rides a sine wave into
my left ear.
I sat upon a lotus pad and kept
a straight back
the Angelus Novus couldn’t (insert link)
close its wings against
the winds of Paradise so
elated were the Gods by the
progress of man.
so high the rubble of the wreckage the
view from its summit rivaled the
vantage gained from
standing atop the Six Grandfathers within the
Four-headed Dog from across the pond.

national broadcast in the jungle and
all the box would do is
talk
and all the cockroaches would do is
persist
and all the machetes would do is
hack
and all the bodies burned
and Felicien Kabuga was kindly granted asylum by the West
and remained at large for over 25 years.
THANKS A LOT SWITZERLAND.
(insert link)
may all the kings be strangled with the entrails of all the priests
En la mañana sale el sol,
despertamos con una ilusión,
ver a nuestra isla ser una nación,
lucharemos por nuestra tierra después de la puesta del sol.

Ya es de noche, reina la oscuridad,
vestidos de negros, jamás nos verán,
con las sombras nos confundirán
y cuando menos lo esperan muy tarde será,
porque ya pronto tendremos nuestra libertad.

Mi pueblo está cansado de ser oprimido,
y ustedes invasores pagarán por lo que ha sucedido,
nuestra tierra la han destruido
pero de nuestro corazón se siente un latido,
aún no estamos en el olvido.

Nuestra cultura quisiste eliminar,
pero la mancha de plátano es difícil de borrar,
armados con fusiles y machetes iremos a luchar,
y en esta noche la muerte de Filiberto y Albizu vamos a vengar,
ya pronto la supremacía americana va a terminar,
por fin mi pueblo podrá respirar.

Escrito por: Yamil Rosario Vázquez (16-feb-2012)

Este poema es dedicado a todas las personas que en sus vidas han puesto un granito de arena para lograr la independencia de Puerto Rico, y a aquellos que han muerto luchando por ella.

En especial a:

Pedro Albizu Campos, Filiberto Ojeda Ríos, Ramón Emeterio Betances, y los a los estudiantes de la Universidad de Puerto Rico recinto de Río Piedras.
For my people... I'm a freshman at the University of Puerto Rico, Rio Piedras Campus, studying Pure Mathematics. I 'm also an elite gymnast with dreams of one day winning an Olympic Medal.
MR Aug 2014
This morning
I awoke from a tangle of dreams
from wild feelings
in the jungle of my heart
The morning sun
sliced through
the slumber
like machetes
just in time
to bring me to
a clearing
to my reality.

(c) 2014
I went for a walk this morning in New Hampshire & I had to stop and snap this picture. Here is the inspiration for the poem.  http://s1285.photobucket.com/user/marlenarawfee/media/8257_10151403134856656_1348413472_n_zps2a1c95fe.jpg.html
Savio Mar 2013
Is that death?
coming through my open window
gasping on my coffee breath and cigarette eye *****
blue to the touch of Chicago days
Michigan waits on an owl head
the perched up body of subconscious me
I grasp onto November
and eat the birds
that have gone south
follow destiny by her hair
long long road highway legs
Love is nothing to be proud of
clocks lay willingly
***** by times palm and ****** fingernails
I am a wolf
I am the candle sitting at your tombstone
money and a job waits
the tie the belt the tucked in shirt
gravel and oil in your mouth
you dribble my words
like a baby
not so ready for earth
the orchestra explodes with human emotions
yet is mute to the tongue with words
and the outside city blue man lighten lights that shimmer like gold in Nevada creeks that end up in California gold rush ****** by pistols and machetes and guitar songs sung by the not so ready boys of the world singing french songs
and love
songs
and songs that replicate the Greek goddess' that we once prayed too
but now we
sit alone on rooftops
and gargoyles
mock us
as we stone taxi cabs and young men for being
gay
for being true
for being life
but what is life?
Doesn’t it hang by a fingernails that god chews on when a man is born with 12 fingers?
I say we are all destined to live
everyone  is destined to die in a hospital room
watching cable television
and the songs of Christmas leak into the bathroom walls
and cockroaches leech onto food molding like the blinding eyes of Beethoven
but the angels
of alligator city still sing and curse my name for loving them in night showers
of Kansas toxic snow rain melting at the cognitive touch of my ashtray fingers
I lay down and sink into the bottom of the cities ocean bed
I look for fish
I look for tombstones with my name
I look for Neruda's last word
maybe its
in the rain somewhere
encoded in the ****** markings of a lover
that I once kissed
and danced with
with wine
as the birds and bears were away in the dark forest eating berries that rhyme with colors
and we are all dancing to the same song of deaths tune
and gods  choreographed workings
the coffin business is high
the  gravel stocks are up
we are all burying something in the backyard
whether it be
useless crystals
great grandmothers necklace
turquoise eyes that shimmer like native American destiny
walking in deep snows
coughing in up down out diseases
**** the cowboys
**** the office
**** the temper
**** the Christians
**** the rifle owners
**** the politicians of Washington city

my mind is made up
I will sit drunkenly
in a apartment room
with a wine glass
filled with
piano keys
half off sold for a 30 cents each
and my cigarette and my mind
will be left alone
for the spiders
and the cable television
to devour
like a poor boy
eating a peach that he found
after it rained
for 3 days
oh how it glimmered purple
in the grayed city vision.
Like a painting
perched up in a home
a cabinet with nothing to eat but bread crumbs
and a sip of
expensive
whiskey
left out for the fruit flies
and the insects
that gave way
to human emotions
oh how we all
dream of nothing
and sit on bar stools
drinking beer
drinking ourselves
drinking women
drinking ******
drinking ****
drinking me
drinking Beethoven's last dream gasping for a another song but the defining ear sound of
deaths call is too loud
and even the fire flies
hide beneath the shadowy light of my palm
looking for ideas
too give
to their mothers
instead
they
got to pawn shops
and sell their golden necklace
for a pack of red
cigarettes.
He told his sister to feed the dogs,
His twin sister; Sophia Bogvoskya,
As he was to take out the herds
Of horses, sheep, donkeys and cows,
Out to the plains and hill land for grazing,
She never took a ****, she locked herself,
Up in the ante chamber of the main house,
She took the mirror and began looking
At her beauty, Russian model beauty
She began picking her nails,
As the dogs were starving in the sheds
They whined but no succor came forth,
A fiat that coincided with arrival of ogres,
The great Western Ogres, the tongues wagging,
They had a plethora of eyes and mouths,
Noses and ears, limbs both hind and fore,
They ate all the young sheep,
They took away Putin’s young brothers
Crimea and Ukrainian, both were taken away,
By the ferocious NATO ogres they were taken
In a whelp and desperate kicking for freedom,
Dogs stood aloof as ogres thrashed Sophia
Into thin lacerations of red flesh,
They ate as they roared with laughter,
Then they went away with their loot,
Vladimir came back home, found nothing
No sister, no brothers no sheeplings,
Only two white sepulchers glared at him,
The graves of his mother and father;
The former cooks of Lenin Vladimir,
He mourned and mourned grievously,
Then he sang a dirge of his forefathers
From the herculean land of Bosnia,
And also Moscow, he dirged;
We were born in the wee of the night,
When the bear is whelping,
And we were suckled by the Tigre
When our mothers were taken slaves,
For no man or creature
Will ever make us victims
Nor subjects of fear,
He recovered from the moment
Trial some moment of loss and bereave,
Then he chose to go after the ogres
But with a strategum of no match,
He began arming himself first
Before  he could set on,
His mobile armory full of deadly weapons;
A bunch of wasps, wild bees, black ants,
A thousand slings, spears and sickles,
Machetes, poisonous saps, and toxics,
Wild dogs, five hundred snakes and scorpions,
Bows and arrows as well as cudgels,
Clubs, stones and chains,
He also learned how to use the hands
In the most lethal manner,
Then he went for combat,
To rescue all that was taken,
Taken from him by the ogres….
Ann Beaver Sep 2013
Take secrets
Sprint out the door
Burglar alarm malfunction
Wrong turn at a junction

Machetes cut a new path
Do the math
It isn't that hard
To draw the right card
I throw in rhymes
So maybe you'll listen sometimes.

All these things happened
I try to piece them together
To answer: why can't I find a single feather?
Ignatius Hosiana May 2016
Isn't home a place you run to when the world betrays you
isn't home the peace you seek when your heart's at war
isn't home the sanctuary that hides you from the hurricane
isn't home the road you take when there's nowhere left to go
where you finally sit to dust your tired feet
wash off the sticky perspiration and get some relief
isn't home a church, mosque or temple where
you run to when you need to refill the gas of your faith?
Isn't home the light in the darkness, the answer to questions
isn't home the pillar of freedom which when crumbled wrecks our life?
isn't home the beautiful moments curved in stone of memories
like sculptures for a tired mind to remind itself years later
Don't they say east or west, north or south there's nothing better
than the comfort that awaits in the passionate family embrace at home?
Isn't home the pat you need on your shoulder to be strong?
But what happens when the pillars crumbled
when there are no warm arms left for you to return to
no beautiful smiles to welcome you after a long tiring day
of doing nothing, for there is no resting from doing nothing?
what happens when home is a battlefield to be
when Jet fighters buzz like flies and military roam like cockroaches
in an abandoned latrine with piles of **** that gave up its smell
what happens when home is a playground for ugly politics
  that reeks like poorly preserved rotting Nile perch
or Mukene, what happens when home is lost to shameless aliens
when all who live are too afraid to appreciate your milestones
what happens when the landmarks that guided your way home
are all eroded by the flashfloods of deception
and the moments that mattered are buried by the landslides
of looming political turmoil and the wails of those crippled by the regime?
when the earthquakes of greed have buried family under the rubble
when those who can come to the rescue are ruffed up like insurgents?
what happens when the centrepiece that once held home together is shaky
when things are surely bound to fall so far apart?
shall we all run and leave behind the huts we've built
and if we do so shall we ever live a life free of the burden of guilt?
shall we say  goodbye to all this beauty and turn tail
like little rodents frightened of the storms and hail
or shall we stay and defend our home like our forefathers did
like the lions defend their Den with anger and greed
and bleed rivers of blood because our land isn't for sale...
shall we? Shall we fend off these outlanders back to the bush
back to dictating over the cattle or are we still content and
enduring the inhuman lashes leaving bruises on our tattered history
are we going to demand for the reforms we're entitled to
or shall we keep living like the paupers we have been reduced to?
where shall we go when the leopard starts making for us
after the ravenous old beast has eaten all our livestock?
There's no more home in this place, the savages have their machetes
right at our necks,
simply because we're all so afraid of bleeding
forgetting some of our ancestors bled for the home we've lost
and that if we're all afraid of blood, none will be a butcher
if none is a butcher none will eat meat like they say...
who will fight for our home, who will dare face this beast?
Where will we turn to if we can't find warmth home?
Who will welcome us when we have nothing to go home to?
Who will listen to our cowardly story if we never try
who will understand after the pearl's cracked and lost her value
Who will even be kind enough to hear our cry?
Where will we go when our home is too ruined to recover?
+
Suppose the North Star is flickering
at the end
of
it’s
wick.
How many men have set out,
machetes in hand
into frontier lands
to push back the darkness
stirred within
by the wonder
of their hearts,
only to become lost?
Then that luminous stain
on night’s curtain
is drawn
and north
finds them.

A five letter word
that beckons all sense of direction
when mixed
with a fireball
light years away
that may
not
even





exist.

So strange to think of how nothing
can save something
when we give it a name.
Strings of ones
flying out of zero.
A mathematical ideal
Owed to the lines we draw
between two points.
Spatial binary
                                                       for the unsuspecting dancer                                                          
­if it could be said that you exist
well here it is
Zero
 one
one
until you fill the ballroom
with wallflowers
then
tw
o



and their bodies finally know how to make the world move.
in the foyer of midnight
bleeding into the lucid gallery of dreams,
a cluster of curious voyeurs
wait impatiently for the floodgates to open

they shuffle in the misty air
swirling through the room
dimly lit
like a theater in session
feasting the hungry eyes of patrons
with gore du jour

blood red drapes ascend
as my guests are seated
in the dark still of night

a staccato drum roll shatters the silence
signaling the intro to...

scene I

a recurring theme of
the one-eyed carpenter
hammering a nail into my coffin

tap...
tap...
tap...

"It won't be much longer now, sir pablo," he snaps
between gaps of rotting yellow teeth

"I'll save the best nails for the house-warming...."

what a charmer.....I muse....hugging my pillow tighter

scene II

a gang of my favorite seafood - giant king ***** -
is chasing me
down flatbush avenue in brooklyn;
they are brandishing broken bottles, bricks and machetes,
chanting, "payback is a biyaaatch.......payback is a biyaaatch!"

my peeps in the streets do nothing
to save me from the crustacean beat down;
they stop and stare and clown
as the killer ***** corner me downtown
in a cul-de-sac...

with *****-f$#k!n friends like that....I cuss...
huffing and puffing between the sheets

scene III

the fat nurse with a cataract in her left eye
bangs on the door to my small private room
in the psych ward at byberry

"It's time for your meds pablo.....make sure you're decent now....
I'm coming in...."

I'm curled up naked like a fetus
in the far corner
teeth, hands and feet shaking
under the nervous spells
of mania and parkinson's

she jams a long needle into my back
and fills me up with anti-psychotic cocktail
my crack for the week

she leaves and locks the door

I roll on the floor
it's moving
shaking up and down
there is a quake in my head
It's a 9
the bed's coming to get me
I'm losing my mind
there's a fat lady sitting on my spine
I can't move
she has a gun
stuck between my eyes
It's loaded
a 357 magnum
she has a cataract in hers
It's cocked
mine gets bigger

she pulls  the trigger....

ringgggggggg!

my alarm goes off.....it's 6:00 am

I yawn.....stretch......roll out of bed

wiping the cold from my eye...


blood red drapes descend


~ the end ~

~ P
Bows N' Arrows Jul 2015
Blazing and looting and *****'s
Screaming "surrender!"
Machetes through a violent haze.
A group of scoundrels rioting,
Crashing and trampling as they
Wildly start howling while
Throwing bottle bombs.
Uncomfortably cramped into a secret crevice;
Violets, soothing for a moment.
Then bodies toppled over and
Singled out
Is such an existence for one to
Be devout to?
A sudden breeze, caress the aftermath of  
A loosely worn disease.
Sleepy eyes, seemingly far off and
drooping low; solving puzzles.
Gazing with purpose and intent;
A veneer that's out lost upon a pier.
Swinging to a requiem,
Pacing In a retelling.
My friend, again, speak amends and
Shine a light that transcends my
Fears and my tears that prevail;
So misguided In deed.
So sure so certain that
What's done is right
But now the meanings all disguised and
Out of sight.
tayo Apr 2021
''Is it proper for the dog to stand in the same space as the tiger?,
We shall not hear the end of it.
Two hundred machetes, Two hundred spears are here gathered,
To war against the heavens.
It is the heavens that will over come them all.''

Oloun'yo incanted.
...
@incognitaio
Excerpt ''afilu''
Mercurychyld Aug 2014
Life throws
live bombs at you;
abuse,
cruelty,
manipulation by
‘so called’
loved ones,
betrayal of trust,
****** of innocense,

all contributing
to the grand design
and creation of a
sorrowful, raging monster;
a special breed.

You come to
discover and sharpen
the only real
weapons
you possess…

YOUR WORDS.

These words
become like machetes,
cutting and chopping
through bone.

These words
become the lethal
bullets that
penetrate
deep into the
crevices of
heart and mind.

Somewhere,
within the vast
depth of yourself
you find a strength
and courage,
in between
the layers of
rusted scars,

creating a new
persona,
one who will
stand up for you,
when your fragile
‘self’
cannot.

This creature
takes the brunt
of the hurt
and fear
directed your
way.

Those that pretend
to love you,
yet cause only harm,
witness this savior
you’ve borne,
and have the nerve
to be offended.

Often these
Pretenders
find it quite
entertaining to
watch and listen

as you tear
another apart.

That is,
until you turn,
and point your revolver…

at THEM.

Bang! Bang! goes
that gun,
and down they go,
obliterated
by your own hand,
and you can
only offer up
an amused grin…

as they
bite the bullet!


~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Retaliation, revenge, Karma
They live as a clan in the stone fortress
Barricading themselves from diversity in humanity,
They accumulate all manner of weaponry for strong reasonlessness,
They primitively accumulate arrows, Swords, simis or pangas,
Machetes, clubs, trunctheons and poisonous harpoons,
In full tribal and ethnic neurosis of amok level hatred,
Their behavioral fibres finely tuned towards killing massively
All those of different clan, blood, names and tribal earlobe tattoos
On their misfortunate happenstance of crossing the land
Of collective paranoia; where all but strangely doubts a visitor,
From inside their tribal cocoon they hate without knowledge
They detest all those of alien confession, they hate and doubt,
In stupid fear they believe that sons of foreign land are jeopardy,
We must **** them ere they step on our ethnic comfort.

Your paranoia makes you blind to natural truth
Barely open in the diversity of fauna and flora
On both land and oceans, air and below the earth,
For the bird extant are all but varied; eagles and kites,
Wild beasts are only a myriad of differences,
The trees in your mother’s woodlot are not homogenous,
Life in the seas and oceans is strange variation,
The variation which makes life worth its worthiness,
Rise above the folly in your collective paranoia
Pedestalled  on the neurotic fear of human diversity.
They gate crashed to our home in the late morning,
Dressed in the red-shirts, wielding clubs and machetes,
Howling loudly that they are national party officers
Protecting peace and development, that is never seen,
Our country already is crushed to forlorn state
Under the heavy lord of anti-human leadership,
They shamelessly extorted money from my poor father
Which they called compulsory party fees, for what?
A political party whose name is as horrifying as leprosy,
My father hadn’t enough money, they took away in addition
Our only one red cockerel which was learning to crow,
It worked as our family clock on its crowing in the morning,
We had too earmarked it for the next **** fight fete.
Our family hopes for money hinged on its wining the prize
The Proceeds with which hopped to succor ourselves
By funding our mother’s cancer treatment bills.
Max Neumann Nov 2019
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
Dean Allen Mar 2013
I drive alone at night
Cutting through the dark
Shadows as thick as the jungle
Headlights like machetes.

(2012)

— The End —