"megaphones" poems
I don’t think history is romantic.
I’m “American”; this means I’m unburdened
with having to be nationalistic or patriotic.
Don’t have to be prideful about hundreds of
years of ******** and mythology.
It means I might hate Bukowski,
but I find him way less repulsive
than Shakespeare. I had to stab a
pathetic sense of “spirituality”
[religion?] in a public place with prejudice,
to truly gain a sense of enlightenment in
pure hopelessness. Something like that.
I might be deaf to some other culture,
but I’m hearing megaphones in America.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
he's terrified of her voice
that whips his eardrums like kashmir switches
and tickles his diaphragm until he convulses
in nervous laughter inside his head
the way it inquires broadly,
like an opera written in tornado sirens and megaphones
and the brightness of lighthouses,
for conversation he thought
had drowned long ago and only
reemerges as bubbles on the lake's surface
a boiling body popping deafeningly
with anxiety, and plumping
bravery pasta, which smells seductive,
which he loves...
he's just not hungry right now.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Clinging to the eternal truth
That manaña never comes
But put all faith in the dawn of tomorrow
All the eggs in the sunlit basket
Because here, now,
In the dust of the crushed buildings
The pettiness, the bite of bullets from rooftops
The megaphones screeching their siren songs across
The dredge of forbidden earth,
Here and now
We embrace,
In the dawn of mañana a mother feeds a son
Toasts are made
The Spanish smile and
Gesture to the sky;
They are undefeatable
In the face of defeat;
In the face of mañana.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
They get the holidays they stole from us
They get Ostara, Yule and Samhain
Easter, Christmas and Halloween
They get the crosses on greeting cards
Their bibles in store aisles
They are praised for those crimes against us
How they hung and hunted us
Drowned and undressed us
They get to stand on their pedestals with megaphones
Outside of schools and businesses
Door to door through neighborhoods
And preach about their hate
Tell us no matter what we believe
If it is not God then it must be sin
That if they do not stop us
Then Lucifer will win
Warts on noses, green skin and greasy hair
That is how a witch is pictured everywhere
Cackling and cursing, evil, wicked and vile
That is the image that they gave to us after they robbed and ***** us
They mock us in their media and treat us like comedies
Turn our magic into fiction and throw out the science
They make a mockery of our practice, spread all these lies of what it is not
Take the death card in tarot, the Tv says it means you’ll die
But a witch will tell you it means a new chapter of your life
Double double toil and trouble
Just once I’d like to see their plans foiled
Fire burn and cauldron bubble
Watch as we rebuild from the rubble
Never ask us why we have such anger
Why we don’t want to stand around your manger
Because when people say the word witch
They say it like they call a woman *****
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 1:04 AM UTC
Tangible toys to trifle with
Telescopes and televisions and telephones
Teaching us to tick and tock
Telling us time
Trading touches for tricks
Though doesn't it seem just so?
The collective ties then tears
Tucking individualism into sleep
Terrors of the twilight to wake and hint
Tweaked in turbulence to set the sails smooth
Trying at contentment to dig up but contempt
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Telepaths and tellers on muted megaphones
Teething a societal infant proves troublesome
Tight jawed and spoonfed
Track the time travellers, the ****** heretics
Tennessee in '33 preached inequality
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
From his balcony above a man watches down on a little town in Missouri,
he pinpoints a bleak silver container as it slingshots into the darkening shadows above.
It yells to him,
"help, get me out of this awful place."
A trial of slate grey smoke follows the container as if it were it's overly attached mother and within a second pulls it back down into the atmosphere.
After descending the container skids across a schoolyard, rolls off the sidewalk and crakes into minuscule pieces.
From the cracks tear gas spills out in all directions covering the once quiet little down in terror, relinquishing it of any tranquility that remained.
The man on the balcony sits and observes the events that have unfolded.
From his perch he can not tell black from white.
He can not tell man from women.
Turban from top hat,
child from elder.
he can not see if interlocked hands declaring their love and denouncing death that blares from police megaphones, are hetero
or ****
He can not see who's pride is enflamed by blue uniforms
or who's mouth's are covered by dew rags to prevent themselves from speaking a death sentence.
The gas covers it all.
He can only hear footsteps running away,
guns shots following the footsteps,
and unfinished prayers as bodies stain the side walk.
In this moment,
the chess game of life becomes not black versus white
but human versus human.
And the man wonders, from his balcony above,
why it must take weapons that destroy equality,
to make us see each other as equal.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:02 PM UTC
an interminable illness
strands us in this terminal.
outcries echo throughout
MCO, a call-and-response chorus
encouraging us, “no hate, no fear!
refugees are welcome here!”
iron bars drop down
caging the tax-free stores
and those left inside.
swine in blue stand guard,
serving the specter of capital,
protecting private property,
leaving us to fend
for ourselves.
we march, a thousand strong,
in solidarity with those across
this divided State,
climb on their tables
and roar into our megaphones
a twenty-first century update
to Pastor Niemöller’s poem:
first they came
for the Muslims
and we said,
“not today,
************
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 12:38 AM UTC
The eyes behind a head inclined reflect a universe
Of shanty towns and kings in crowns and parties in a hearse,
Of heaping mounds of coffee grounds and pennies in a purse,
Of heart attacks in shoddy shacks, of motion in reverse,
Of reasons why pale kids must die, quite trite and curtly terse,
Of puppet people at the steeple, kneeling down averse,
Of ****** tones and megaphones with empty words and worse,
Of life’s begin’ in utter sin and other things perverse,
Of lewd taboos and residues contained within the Curse,
While poets blind, in gallows’ rind, carve epitaphs in verse.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 4:25 PM UTC
I am tired
of being told
that I shouldn’t
express what
I think and
who I
am
yes,
I know it’s
in my best
interest
the world is never
ready for somebody
to challenge their
ideas
but I’m tired of that
this needs to happen
if I won’t speak up,
who will?
passiveness got me
no where
activeness has always
seemed to work
I know the risks,
the issues, what
can happen if I
go to far, but I
live in an age
where anyone
can say anything
and that alone
is worth exploiting
so I will say what I think,
what I believe in, how the
world should be!
I will scream it from the rooftops!
from the hills and in the valleys!
my voice will reign through the land
and as more ears turn
to face me and learning
sets in I will give one
fair caution to those
out there listening:
I may not be right,
I may well be wrong
don’t worship my prophesies
take them, and make your
own
Mar 14, 2011
Mar 14, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
Quiet White Boys
wearing awkward glasses
sporting clean haircuts
and boring polo shirts
keep to themselves,
don’t know how to draw boundaries,
don’t know how to reach out,
and don't know how to reach inward.
They eschew the material world
in favor of a false digital one,
and there, in the simulacrum,
they find a modicum of validation—
a reinforcement of a kernel
of a horribly flawed idea:
that they have somehow been more victimized
than the victims all around them—
the women,
the racial minorities,
the people afraid to practice their own religion,
the people afraid to live as their true gender,
the people suffering with mental illness,
the people suffering with domestic violence,
the girls who were sexually molested,
the girls who were *****
and so on,
and so forth.
The Quiet White Boys
learn that they are victims
from other Quiet White Boys,
and together they conclude
that, because they have been victimized,
they may therefore
act heedlessly, aggressively,
hatefully, mercilessly
in furtherance of
what they view to be justice.
But it is a distorted, fractured
version of justice
that they seek—
fetishized by the red, screaming faces
with loud megaphones
and debilitated, sickly hearts
in the digital basement
where the Quiet White Boys have chosen
to live.
A torch-carrying mob
has never delivered real justice—
not once in the entire history of human civilization, in fact—
and a slate gray Dodge Challenger
barreling into a crowd at fifty miles per hour
is not an instrument of justice, either—
it is just a reflection
seen through a shattered mirror.
And shattered mirrors
don’t come unshattered
simply because other
Quiet White Boys
are gazing into them with you.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 3:40 PM UTC
there once was a girl
who wanted to fly
so she put on
her prettiest white dress
a left her mother a note
to say
that she loved her and that today
she was finally going to fly away
(salt water blurred the ink
into a bit unreadable mess
but it's the thought
that counts)
she could have taken the
subway
but the sky was such a
******* beautiful
shade of blue
(what an
absolutely
positively
wonderful
day to fly
she thought)
so she soaked it all in
and dreamed
of the red running out
(mother would be
so very unhappy
about her
pretty white dress)
as she said a
few final farewells
to the city
that never knew her name
the traffic was loud
but her thoughts were louder
and with each flight of steps
she rose
above the chatter
finally
finally finally
she saw the door
the entrance to freedom
to the roof
(the exit)
they tried to stop her
with their loud megaphones
(still her thoughts were louder)
she heard from below
the sounds of wails and moans
but she was above it all
the skyline was before her
the possibilities
that ******* beautiful
shade of blue
held for her
so tempting
and then
with eyes closed
she flew
(fell)
the rush
freedom
the wait
agony
she wanted
nothing more
than she and
the pavement
to collide
two seconds later
as the engines cried
without bang
nor whimper
the little girl
died
(oh, how her mother cried
over that pretty red dress)
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
Accolade me steadfast surfeit of theology
Transcend me arousily
Whilst a rainbow we shalt climb as touchstones
Hand signs and megaphones!!!
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Welcome to the militarized police state
Big military vehicles
Armored jeeps and tanks
U.N. troops and U.S. troops
Riot troops
Military men on megaphones
People being whisked away to FEMA camps
I'll be in the mountains
Hoping to survive on protein bars and water
To the globalists you have no rights!
They have ruined our nation
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
Quite the start to the weekend
There it goes, watch it ends
These pages are made of dust
What is half read is still unread
Tree of paper leaving glue trail
In search of the perfect bookmark
I found a place for receipts to recuperate
I locked eyes with Jupiter
On a wooden coffee table
The great counterclockwise storm
Ticking away with each drop
Disaster, sky without a star
Heaven receives blessings,
On slow workdays
When martyrs are lucky enough to live
We swore by that which divides day and night,
and fails to conquer either
That Faith must not pass the gate
Until they call for prayer
Until the square of crossroads is clear
Sometimes I feel like a disbeliever in Jerusalem
Prayers manifest duality as one
So shoulders can shrug in unison
Banal attempts to restore faith
Outrage is out of reach
The mind sets red-tape traps,
We call that mindless assertions
In the climate of trumpets and megaphones
Nothing escapes poltics
Vicious cyclones of “Breaking News" cycles
"I see pictures of children in faraway places that wreck me for a day"
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 5:25 AM UTC
*Jesse, I am already tiptoeing
With my tap shoes on.
Here is your 'i love you' poem:
''I love you.''*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 4:09 AM UTC
I COULD HAVE HATED YOU.
WITH CRACKED DOORS AND OVER-THROWN SOFAS.
RUMPLED SHEETS AND BROKEN SILVERWARE AS
TIDAL WAVES MOVE ALONG TO THE BEAT OF YOUR POUNDING CHEST.
I COULD HAVE SHOUTED MY HATRED FOR YOU USING MEGAPHONES RIGHT ON YOUR EAR SO IT STUCK PERMANENTLY.
I NEVER USED TO LISTEN TO AUTHORITY BUT I FIND MYSELF EMBEDDING EVERY WORD SHE SAYS ONTO MY SKIN AS IF IT WAS THE LAST BREATH I WILL EVER TAKE.
I COULD HAVE HATED YOU AND RIPPED MY HEART INTO SHREDS AS I WATCH YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME WITH A BOUNCE ON YOUR STEPS
FINALLY FREE FROM SOMEONE LIKE ME.
OH, DARLING, I NEVER EXPECTED YOU TO STAY BUT I NEVER EXPECTED TO FALL IN LOVE EITHER.
AND THAT WAS MY MISTAKE.
TO BE THE ONLY ONE JUMPING AND HITTING THE WATER WHILE YOU STOOD ABOVE WATCHING ME DIVE INTO MY OWN MISERY. YOU KNEW ALL ALONG, DARLING. YOU KNEW IT ALL ALONG.
I COULD HAVE HATED YOU BUT LOVE DOESN'T JUST LEAVE YOU WHEN YOU TELL IT TO. IT HAS ITS OWN SENSE OF TIME.
AND IT IS STILL STICKING TO ME LIKE A ******* PARASITE.
I COULD HAVE HATED YOU BUT WE BOTH I KNEW I COULDN'T DO THAT.
YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF MY LOVE AND DROPPED ME LIKE FIVE YEAR-OLDS DO WITH RICE GRAINS AND YOU NEVER BOTHERED WITH THE FIVE-SECOND RULE.
I COULD HAVE HATED YOU
BUT I LOVE YOU AND DARLING,
THAT WAS MY BIGGEST MISTAKE.
m.j.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
It's chaos, chaos everywhere!
The economy has collapsed
All the major cities have been attacked
The U.N. and military is on the street
Our food supply has been cut off
They are hauling people off to FEMA camps
They tell you to go the camps
There is food there they say
But they are executing people there!
Stay away
Run, run
Where to run
People are acting like animals
America, our America is ruined
Some political dissidents were taken
From their homes in trucks
Their weapons seized
And all I have is food and water
For a few days
My can opener
A knife
I'm not a master survivalist
I would have bought everything
But I never had the money
I want to live
I want to live
I will live
I will live
They try to make you scared
With their guns and megaphones
And martial law
Martial law across the nation
And will I stay at home
Will they try to seize our emergency food
Or will I flee
Flee to the place of refuge that I know
Have mercy on me Lord, a sinner
Terrible trials have come upon us
I pray that I will do what is right
In your eyes
Our America
What has become of our America
Of this nation
The terrible times
I think they are near
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
A demure sound to ****** my veins,
Only sorrow this heart has gained.
A deep longing in thousands bones,
Heartbeats are blaring on megaphones.
A mile of skin and a thousand veins,
That siren is he trying to disdain.
A caress in ear or a stubborn whisper,
My beloved, my back stabbing twister.
A seducing melody demands surrender,
It says, blood is better off six feet under.
So my beloved, my noose calls,
It says, tie the throat and do not fall.
The blood longs to run in wild as free,
For the veins sream, ***** me.
So demure sound and more and more,
I am making myself close one more door.
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 4:11 PM UTC
Love feels like fire
Like fire in my skin
It's tingling,
And aching all over
But it's warm
Love feels like lightning
Like booming thunder
Rattling and nervous
But after the storm,
Comes the rainbow
Love feels like water
Like water levels rising
And it's frightening going down
But the currents are calming
And the deeper you go, the more to discover
Love tastes sweet,
And bitter, and salty, and sour
It's a flavour no one has ever truly tasted
But everyone will say it tastes like everything
Everything and anything and nothing at all
Love sounds loud
But quiet too
Like hushed whispers,
Sweet nothings,
And screaming into megaphones
Love is the colour red,
And blue, and green, and yellow
Love comes in a spectrum of colour
Filling each space like colour-by-numbers
It's everything we see
Love is everything.
Sep 12, 2019
Sep 12, 2019 at 3:52 AM UTC
there are many megaphones
this is mine
a small contribution in the ear
of Mankind
the whispering voice echoing
love.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
Everywhere you stare
You see them over there
Catching a glare
Trying to keep us in scare
Citizens ain't feelin' it no more
We at the verge of war
Spiritually scarred
Mentalities barbed
With wires embrace the higher
Learning
Stop smokin' kush it's
Just burning
Out ya brain cells
Get your freedom before ya be in jail
Watch me sail
On these punks
They ain't for us
They against us
Followin' covert and occultic policies
Can't get a property
Because they control the monopoly
They keeps eyes over the poor
We got money for celebrities commercial rehearsals
But ain't got ain't got enough money .to ball us out
And we rob the big banks
We see our destiny begin to sink
My eyes don't blink
Cuz I gotta keen sight on the battlefield
Don't worry my tactics won't fail
Make em surrender
With out liftin' a nail
In the midst of the moons pale
After midnight is the perfect strike
They sound sleepin
But we steadily creepin'
Once the force is laid
They'll be reapin' and seapin'
In they own blood .not even
The news will be able to give clues
We blew their fuse
Took over the satellites
Nothing but megaphones
Paranoid civilians holding they weapons tight
So realize and visualize
For the revolution
Won't be televised
#murdertheworldpolice
If you don't understand what I'm saying
Then I advise you research
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 10:45 PM UTC