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acm Oct 2018
slave to
c a p i t a l i s m
Crimson forces of dawn,
Pardon cowering failed night;
Change of reign again!
Shlomo Jan 27
Perpetual occupation. Thoughts o’Disgust.

A path into oblivion. Who can we trust?

5% of the world population.

20%, prison population.

More thoughts. More of disgust. Despair. Hope? Less.

And less! Each day I think I forget. Its there.

Orange TV show personality.

As the leader of the free world?! What kind

of world is that? What am I supposed t’think?

Oh right. Because he’s free to tweet trash, garbage,

putridness, calling everyone out other than himself,

calling people dogs? That’s freedom. No thank you.

In the meantime, go fix your ******* self!

Before you try to fix everyone else.
My first attempt at an iambic pentametre.
https://shlomotion.co/plays/the-leader-of-the-free-world/
Samantha Sep 2013
...
Today I have adopted
a new Dream Occupation:

No longer a Buddhist Monk
On a Mountain Peak in Nepal
but Henry Miller, I will Be
And shall dance the
Worlds Circumference
With no brain in skull but a pen in
between crooked-only-on-the-right teeth
Mark my words today in
pencil please
So tomorrow I will have a
reminder and in a fortnight I will have
an eraser;
Henry Miller never
Wrote drafts in ink
Scarlet McCall Feb 2017
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
It's inevitable. We aren't all the same country anymore. A country of 300 million cannot be a democracy. California has more than 30 million people and can grow its own food. Why would they stay?
Every day
I listen
I reply

Every night
I enjoy
Moon light

And my diary
Continues
For a same reason

Now, tell me
Yours
If something
Different
Genre: Autobiography
Theme: Living a moment
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
their recent deal met with shouts of betrayal:
the new Neville Chamberlain,
The refrain quickly sounded on Capitol Hill.
sympathy should be qualified.
speaking in accurate French
This is our moment ... our chance to join together
But then when is it not a moment?
repeatedly mispriced and misapplied,
often with disastrous consequences.
A complete list would fill a book,
but here are a few items:
the spectre of war
the American invading forces
the border with China
the British appeasing ******
the whole woeful Suez adventure
the occupation of the Rhineland  
the Cuban missile crisis
the fire jobs, in which hundreds of thousands civilians were incinerated;
the saying “extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice.”
the hailing of Ngo Dinh Diem, as the Churchill of Asia
the Kennedy administration giving a nod to the coup
the latest culture of appeasement
the drawing of Jimmy Carter carrying an umbrella.
the mirage of a peaceful alternative to war
which is really a defeat,
peace in our time?
Why do I think that isn’t going to happen?
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. - source https://newrepublic.com/article/115803/munich-analogies-are-inaccurate-cliched-and-dangerous
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
You can feel it spinning
                                         fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                           ­                             punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                             ­                 overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                              I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                         where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexicoxs greatest and most beloved leader. 

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                            ­                                   shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                       ­                                                       chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, childrenxs games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                              ­                                                inertia.
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                         While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                           ­       Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                           daily meditation.
                                                     ­   The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                        who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                               The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                           together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                            ­                         versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                              And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
"The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments."
--Wikipedia,  "Benito Juarez"
-- Altieri , Miguel A., Foreword to Enduring Seeds: Native American Agriculture and Wild Plant Conservation, by Gary Paul Nabhan, The University of Arizona Press, 1989

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Nicholas Mar 8
Oh,
how you have begot routine

An occupation entered most
unexpectedly

Consuming a once
vivid and polymathic soul
Seeped into your bones
Left you forgot,
a flickering and
dying star

Yes,
you're here every day,
but you're heart feels vacant;
gone away, or really still at
home, wherever that is

Your body's traveling the
world, but your mind's spinning in
circles,
too fast to see past the
fugue

Will you reminisce of these days to your future
children?
Or will you skip this period,
for this is
not really you to begin with?

Hope
your intermission will come to an end

May you someday return, spirited and
renewed
Gone are the former lovers
Who held you against your will
Sediments can **** you too
We are all aware of that
As ancestors fill you in
On their escapades
Beyond the veil
We hail taxis
And light candles
Wear our sandals
In the winter
Do you dare
Approve of my uselessness
And my foolish endeavors
We are slow as snails
Gone to gather rainwater
We are healthy failures
Financially ruined
At upscale funerals
We demand the water bearers
Be heard
Firm against the herd
Birds throw stones
In our gardens  
To find their own way home
Close the televisions
You are yearning
For individuation
Satisfy my occupation
With strategic capacities
I speak my own language
My own code unfolding
From the depths
Of the subconscious
I speak in categories
And hear myself
Interpreting the Silence
False Poets Feb 2018
complexity bias

how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex

poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews

Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%

perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -

give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences

I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces,  you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied

25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born

there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future

this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden

my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder

my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under

so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority

you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions

resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length

compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Al Jun 1
A small candle flickers as darkness descends.  Her photograph hangs upon the wall.  Faded by time yet the memory stays strong.  The days linger.  Together we await the future, but not in awe. Watching the hands on the clock has become a full-time occupation.  Time is elastic, every minute longer.  Shadows of a former life flicker on the walls.  The flame is fading, darkness is descending.
SilentAce Mar 2015
"What a beautiful ring"
isn't it though
The two kind looking young men smile at her. Genuine.
In their mid twenties she assumes.
"Thank you."
she replies. Twisting the ring absentmindedly
as though she suddenly remembered its presence.

"Who is the lucky man?"
A slow smile spreads across her face
a glimmer in her eyes
But they'll mistake it as a look of love.
They always do.
"No man."

The gold band sits slightly too large on her slender finger.
"Woman?"
She can taste the curiosity in their voice now.
She loves it.
"No, I prefer a more masculine touch."
"So you are not engaged then?"
They ****, eyebrows creased now.
"No. I am not."
She bats her eyes with a smile revealing nothing,
"Promise ring?"
Their eyes burn into hers.
She smirks.
"No. It's a family Heirloom."

"Then why wear it on the ring finger?"
She twists it harder, the sapphire catching light in a halo of crystals.
"General preference, and to keep away unwanted attention."
She lies coolly.  
They laugh lightly, clearly satisfied with her answer and leave.

Truth is she keeps it there as a reminder,
of the family she left behind.
a life of servitude overturned.

She turns back to the bar
"A drink from the man across the room."
She thanks the bartender but ignores the glass
little do they know she is under aged
too mature for her age
a ripe sixteen.

She runs her hand through her hair then turns
She meets the eyes of her pursuer and smiles.
She glows in the neon light.
as does the ring.
His eyes tense but grins and raises his glass in response.
He notices the ring but is evidently not thwarted.
She raises an eyebrow approvingly and smirks.

This is why she wears the ring.
Because try as she might she still undoubtedly hates men.
Their love is unbearable.
And her family is to blame.

She was taught that *** was not meant for women
that no man would wed her.
Lust was a sin
she knows that.

She twists the ring sharply
because despite her hatred, she doesn't want to hurt them,
The ring repels the decent ones and attracts the *******.

She smiles back at the man who could care less about her occupation
or her for that matter.  
He doesn't ask about the ring,
Doesn't even consider her age.
He's perfect.

Their love is unbearable.
but the lust, she can handle that.
She gets satisfaction when she sees the ring, that beautiful sapphire,
on the same hand that has yet to undo a man’s belt.

She wears it, so that no ring will replace it.
Some women wear their hearts on their sleeves.
instead she wears her reminder as to why she never will.
like a big ******* to her past really.
how poetic..

"What's your name?"
His eyes bore into hers.
She knows she can say any name in the world and it won't make a difference.
"Samantha."
and with her truth comes bravery.
"But you can call me Sami."
She takes his glass and sets it to the side.
He looks at her puzzled but amused
She offers no explanation and takes his hand.

Next thing she knows he is pulling her to him
She needed the buzz.
She feels his lips on her neck and knows
This is fine
Her breath hitches.
His lips find hers with an untold urgency.
Her hands shake
and she knows
This is her only solace.
A memoir of the more rowdier nights of my unfortunate youth.
The ring is still worn shamelessly.
Ralph Akintan Jan 27
Harmless showery harming
Drove of peddling mongers.
Harmless harming torrent
Harming horde of hucksters.
Humming a melody of venting
      distraction.

Pouring brimful harmless rain
      like glacier racing across the
      cliff of rocks.
Shutting doors of coop out of
      the sphere of ataraxis.

Watching helplessly from the
      refuge of dislocation for
      receding arms of a
      tyrannical torrent.

But spitting fire produced no
      venom of fire.
Heralding floods of occupation
Colonising footway of the bloc.
Emissaries of fertility from the
      sky hoarding tranquillity.
Marking time out of attention.

Rain no more !
“Long live Palestine!”
we chanted every morning at primary school.
We were innocent,
Focused against the occupation,
hate,
violence
and oppression.
We truly loved our country.
We never forgot the keys
to our original homes from which we were forced.
We all were Palestinians.

Until things changed.

They taught us to love Palestine above all else,
to die for it,
to sacrifice what we had for it,
to oppose the occupation.
And we did
but they didn’t!

Instead they fought each other,
dividing our loyalties,
splitting our identity into factions:
green, red, black and white.
Each party stole a color from our flag,
Turning our unity into a war of hues.

Our resources they plundered.
Our hearts they broke.
Yet on our behalf they say they speak.
They transformed our patriotism
into self-destruction.

We still dream of our occupied cities,
But now there is more for which we long:
Peace, a decent life, dignity.
Before, our oppressors were the thieves;
Now our own people have joined them.
For unity we pray—one flag once again.
Long live Palestine!

Mohammed Arafat
24-02-2019
I wrote this poem as a reaction of what's going on among the Palestinian factions in Gaza, trying to urge them to unite for the best of people.
We had a very happy conversation about family matters.

Mom, Dad. I’m OK.
They’ve been really honest with me
but they’re perfectly willing to die for what they’re doing.
And I want to get out of here
but the only way I’m going to
is if we do it their way.
And I just hope that you’ll do what they say
Dad
and just do it quickly.
I really am alright.
I just hope I can get back to everybody really soon.

My little girl.

Catherine and Randy gave impeccable dinner parties.

I am an Establishment person.

I am being held as a Prisoner of War
and not as anything else.
I mean I am being treated
in accordance with
international codes of war.
I’m not left alone, and I’m not just shoved off somewhere.
I mean, I am fine.

Also, since I am an example
and it’s really important
that everybody understand that
you know,
I am an example and a warning.

And so people should stop acting like I’m dead.

Mom should get out of her black dress,
that doesn’t help at all.
and just hurry.
Bye.

Patty honey I want you to know
that your father is doing everything in his power.
Millions of people all over the world are praying for you
I know it’s been a long time sweetheart
but keep up your courage
and you keep praying
pretty soon god will touch their hearts
and they’ll send you home.


Mom, Dad.
I've been hearing reports about the food program.
So far it sounds like you and your advisors
have managed to turn it into a real disaster.
Anyway, it certainly didn't sound like the kind of food
our family is used to eating.

I called him a couple of weeks ago and said,
Hey, Randy, let's play tennis.
We haven't played tennis in months
and he said
Gosh. I just can't. I'm busy.
I know he's got a lot on his mind,
But, I think he's pretty obsessed with this.


Mom, Dad.
Tell the poor and oppressed people of this nation
what the corporate state is about to do.
Warn Black and poor people
that they are about to be murdered
down to the last man, woman and child.
Tell the people,
Dad
that the removal of expendable excess,
the removal of unneeded people
has already started.

I have chosen to stay and fight.
I have been given the name Tania
after a comrade who fought alongside Che in Bolivia.
It is in the spirit of Tania that I say,
'Patria o Muerte, Venceremos.'

She was one of the prettiest young women south of the Mason‐Dixon line.

Q. Okay. As a matter of fact, when you got to 1827 Golden Gate, or this apartment on
Golden Gate, you were not being held in that closet all the time, were you?
A. Yes, I was.
Q. You were?
A. Yes.
Q. Was there a previous closet in which you were held?
A. Yes.

DEATH TO THE FASCIST INSECT THAT PREYS UPON THE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE

She is a winsome beauty and her sweetness of manner has endeared her to all who know her

Whatever happened to the real men in this world? Men like Clark Gable? No one would have carried off my daughter if there had been a real man there.

She was somewhat of a revolutionary savant.
We kidnapped a freak.
I think that she was spectacular.
At that point, it was against her will to go home.

Q. And you moved in a car, I take it?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you blindfolded?
A. Yes.
Q. And whose car was it, do you know?
A. I don’t know. I was put into a garbage can that was ******* and put in the trunk of the car.
Q. And then, was the garbage can taken into the apartment on Golden Gate when you arrived?
A. Yes.
Q. Were you in it?
A. Yes.
Q. And you were placed in a closet immediately, is that correct?
A. Yes.

I. She’s an amoral person
thought that the rules did not apply to her.
She lied to nuns at school
about her mother having cancer
in order to get out of an exam
engaged in ****** activity
at an early age
and experimented with drugs
such as LSD.

II. Velcro Theory defined the aimless, lost souls
such persons, he said, who float around
in an empty moral space
and then find stuck to them
the first random ideology they bump into.

III. She is a celebrity prisoner of war
but the other thing
is that listening to her voice
is kind of hypnotizing
and not at all unpleasant
she speaks in this whisper
the well-enunciated voice
that someone called
the rich girl’s voice
The eerie voice of an heiress
and it's hard not to admire her composure
considering the ordeal she just went through.

We didn't know whether we were looking at a live girl or a robot.

Greetings to the people.
This is Tania.
Gabi crouched low with her *** to the ground.
Perfect love and perfect hate reflected in stone cold eyes.
To shoot first and make sure the pig is dead before splitting.
I died in that fire on 54th Street,
but out of the ashes I was reborn.
I know what I have to do.

Catherine was mentally and physically exhausted after the kidnapping. No wonder she developed a drinking problem.

Q. Okay. And is it true, Miss Hearst,
that you in the presence of Thomas Mathews ejected a live round from the M-I
that you had near you
and inserted that in the clip,
and put the clip back in the weapon?
A. I don't recall, it is possible.
Q. It is possible you may have.
And did you, in fact, also at that time
load a couple of live rounds
into the chamber of a revolver, a pistol?
A. I don't recall.
Q. Did you give Bill Harris a pistol
in the presence a Tomas Mathews?
A. I don't recall.
Q. You don't recall?
A. No.

I’ll think of it all tomorrow—I can stand it then.

I think this has been extremely ******* her
She's what the kids call ‘spaced out.’
Her religion holds her together.
And when you talk to her,
you see reality escapes her.
All she can say is that people are
‘persecuting’ Patty.
That's the word she uses,
‘persecution.’
We all love Patty,
and God knows she's had a terrible time,
but the whole complexity of the situation
seems to escape Catherine.

You're being told this
so you'll understand why I was kidnapped.
The S.L.A. has declared
war against the Government
I'm telling you now why this happened
so that you'll know
so that you'll have
something to use,
the knowledge
to try to get me out of here.
Bye.

I’m the happiest mother in the whole world.

I hope that you'll make sure that they don't do anything else like that Oakland business.

Q. Do you recall you spoke those words, Miss Hearst?
A. Can I see the transcript?

I don't believe Patty's legal problems are that serious. After all, she's primarily a kidnap victim. She never went off and did anything of her own free will.

From the moment I was kidnapped,
they consistently attempted to
discredit the revolutionaries.
After the first communique was received,
the pigs reacted by hauling out the stress machines.
The machines indicated I was being tortured
and kept awake 24 hours a day.
I guess that all the pigs expected me
to keep my mouth shut,
but I was furious.
They put away their trickology for a while.
If you believe the media,
you'd think I was totally weird.
According to them, I never mean anything.

Catherine, while still blond and attractive, has aged around the corners of the eyes.

Greetings to the people,
this is Tania.
Our actions of April 15
forced the Corporate State
to help finance the revolution.
As for being brainwashed,
the idea is ridiculous beyond belief.
I am a soldier in the People's Army.

I am Tania and We are not fooling around.

What could have been a tremendous instrument for change—Patty's kidnapping—has failed, and their old attitudes toward life—I guess it's called ‘conservatism’—are back

The kids who went to public schools
were not the kind of people
we should have close associations with.
As a result, I spent twelve years
almost totally surrounded by young people
who were busily developing
ruling class aspirations.

She has nowhere to go,
as resulted in only a change of captors.
But at least now,
as long as society is her
captor,
she does not have to worry about being killed.
Freedom may be a more awesome
alternative
-- you are not here to decide that.
We have a framework,
the SLA predicted this trial.
If we can't break the chain
at some point in their predictions,
there are going to be other Patricia Hearsts,
the blueprint is plain,
it works

A year and a half after her kidnapping,
she's in the safe arms of the law.
So, what does she do?
Patty gives the revolutionary salute,
even when she's in handcuffs.
And when she's booked,
she's asked her occupation
and what does she say?
Urban guerilla.

Bailey, I just –
I don't know him,
you know,
like he just kind of drifts in
and you know,
says blah, blah, blah
and I just go,
oh,
okay.

It was never true that our objective was to reconvert her.

You can almost see how Patty couldn’t relate to her—you know, trying to be so self-righteous and so upright.

Well, I always knew
that the Lord was in my life,
kind of on my shoulder.
I started to stray off
I always knew His hand
was there to bring me back.
I got to the house,
put my bags down in the entry,
went right to the kitchen
and the first thought on my heart was
I need to hear Jesus.
I picked up that Bible
and started in Matthew 1:1.
For that whole five days
I read and cried
and read and cried.

In short order, she returned to being the Patty Hearst of Hillsborough, California, the heiress herself.

It's kind of fun because back then,
there's nothing else to do but paint your nails.
It's really exciting.
I have been crocheting now.
At least, my mother came in and she asked –
she had asked me,
about my hair,
you know,
like
can I change it back?
She asked if there was a beauty parlor.

Her eyes are,
for the most part,
downcast,
as if she were sharing a secret with
herself.

She’s such a devoted, old-fashioned Southern lady, that we just died watching her facade break. That hysteria wasn’t just grief that Patty was gone—it was guilt, you know, ‘What have I done wrong?’

I'm being treated in accordance
with the Geneva Convention
and one of the conditions being
that I am not being tried
for crimes which I'm not responsible for.
I'm here because
I'm a member of a ruling class family,
and I think you can begin to see the analogy.

She writes these dramatic
love letters to her boyfriend saying,
"I want to keep up the fight for the revolution."
And she wants to overthrow the government in America,
which she spells A-M-E-R-I-K-K-K-A.

Q. And you were reading a paper, were you not, when they were in the store?
A. Yes.
Q. And you looked up from that paper, did you not, and you saw that William Harris was being held on the ground by someone and being detained, isn’t that true?
A. Yes.
Q. And you picked up an automatic weapon and shot in the direction of Mel’s Sporting Goods Store?

OBJECTION

I have a really nice brown pantsuit.
Al got it.
He has really good taste.

Trish Tobin
is telling her
that she is about to head off to Switzerland
to go skiing for three weeks.
I mean,
so what you have
in this compressed circumstance
is the old life skiing in Switzerland
for three weeks,
and Patty is saying,
I've got a life now.
I've got a new life.

The Hearsts are really ramping up for this one.
He is a bright guy,
but in terms of just his manner and his dress,
you couldn't help but be struck by
how square he was.

Q: I've become conscious and can never go back to the life we had before." Do you recall saying those words?
A: I don’t recall seeing a transcript of that tape.

I have chosen to stay and fight.

She is still an uncommonly handsome woman, prettier in fact than any of her daughters.

It’s a miracle she survived at all.
The ordeal nearly killed me,
Mrs. Hearst once admitted and,
asked what sustained her,
she answers instantly: My religion.
Yet her victory over despair
sometimes seems more apparent than real.
After her divorce, she moved to Beverly Hills,
where she supported Catholic causes
and joined the Beverly Hills Garden Club.

I just want to tell you like, my politics are real different from way back when.
Obviously, right.

Q. Is it not true that you ejected
from your automatic weapon
a live round and placed into it
an additional clip?
A. I did not have an automatic weapon.
Q. You did not?
A. No.
Q. What type of weapon did you have?
A. It was an M-I carbine.

She’s a victim of thought control by terrorists. And all I can do is hope and pray that God will bring her home again.

She was de-programmed and de-radicalized,
returned to the persona
more similar to what she was
She was essentially brainwashed
by her side team and her lawyers.
By the time she walked into the courtroom,
nail polish,
nice pair of shoes,
very well dressed,
it was impressive.

I'm terribly happy. More happy than predacious.
Do you have any notion what you'll say to her when you see her?
I'll tell her I love her.
Are there questions that you want to ask her?
No questions in my mind.


I want to see my parents, and my sisters... I'm really happy to be going home.
Growly Wolfus Jul 12
You act alright, but deep inside you know something is wrong.
A silent fight over everything; it's lasted so long.
Little have this, little know, the sadness within you very soul.
You feel heavy; you feel the guilt.  You've never felt so low.
You panic, so frantic.  I laugh at all your measly pleas.
I'll never let you go, even while you beg on bended knees.
I am anger; I am torment.  I'm your every fear.
I am emotion; I am feelings.  I am always here.
You can't escape, you can't run from any of this temptation.
I'll be here waiting your return.  This is your occupation.
Take your time enjoying life looking over your shoulder.
I'll be watching at all times as you grow older.
Go to a bar, get drunk, stay out late, and sleep in,
but you'll never forget me, the sadness within.
This was meant to describe the guilt of hiding your depression from others.  I myself do not have this infectious disease, but I do know many who are suffering from it.  Don't be afraid to tell someone.
I hope you know, I hold our fond memories together close to my heart,
all that I shared with you about my childhood dreams, my first love,
the songs I serenaded you with melodies celebrating nature,
our endless nights together admiring the stars decorated around the full moon.

I remember how tall you stood, you were so strong
Like Lebanon’s mountains, even with our land’s ancient ruins
Facing the Israeli occupation, you stood with so much pride,
I remember how we rejoiced with family and neighbors during the sweet liberation.

As you know, my Dad planted you with his hands, he nurtured you with his sweat,
His love, he was so strong and now times have changed him,
He’s grown older, thinner, more fragile, his speech is slurred,
The eyes that once held thousands of untold stories are now dim.

You are part of God’s oath, Noah’s mission with the Ark,
You are a sacred plant, a symbol of love, life, peace, friendship
And generations of culture passed down,
Your roots run so deep in mine and my Dad’s hearts and minds.

I’m begging you old friend, lighten up my Dad’s golden age with your kind heart,
Lend him support in taking more steps towards life,
Keep his spirit alive so he can continue singing the song of a new life,
Give him the strength to swing on the porch to admire you again, for every new day and new sunrise.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright
Dr Peter Lim Oct 2018
Brushing off
not others
but my old self
my true calling
I found
how my past
did confound
in ignorance
and futility-
the next chapter
would just be:
no strife
nor contention
but life
stripped of
its artificialities
self-deception
lies
and false images-


why hang up
a mirror
(so well-kept
polished and precious)
yourself to admire?
discard
smash it
you aren't a little child!

ah, what dross
that needs to be separated
from the grain!
self and self-occupation
is the most grievous pain-

cast away your books
leave your study-room
remove your sun-glasses
sweep away the dust
with a self-made humble broom
forget your Visa or Master-Card
(do you really need such?)
a cup of coffee
or a piece of bread
it doesn't cost much--

throw away
your pack of ***
(smoking causes cancer
it's really bad)
don't get drunk
just because
you are sad
you are still alive
be glad-

ride your old bike
it's dusty in the shed
it will bring back readily
happy memories
of growing-up years
when life was never frets or tears

do without
your mobile phone
the Frankenstein that plagues
and would never leave you alone-

go out there--it's spring!
in the glorious green
flowers are bursting
more alluring and enticing
than a Renoir or Monet's painting
the birds are chanting
the trees are dancing
birds are at full-throated singing
gentle breezes are caressing
lovers at the quiet corner are kissing
old couples hand-in-hand
they are walking and talking
in the park as the sun is shining
children are one another chasing
while their mothers are watching
the world seems well and thriving
and nothing seems wanting--

there I am
by the tranquil stream
not thinking
not contemplating
not reminiscing
self-forgetting
an experience
life-transforming
in a half-dream
as though
in the cosmic scheme
of things
I have come
to my own being-
my awakening.
* amended a bit
Jake Sims Oct 2018
Victory is of the self.

Another threadbare exchange to leave my spirit in poverty.
Nothing I remember but the time we drifted near my planetary ego.

Planet.
You know the Greeks called it aster planetai? The star that moves.

Why be something I’m not?

It was always about me – the bloated body expelled into space.
I can be less grotesque. I can be less absolute.
I can be less dead sooner over later.

But why be something I’m not?

I am the object of my own worship, and I shall take no gods before me.
In lieu I’ll take them with me.

They the minor idols, capsuled icons, escape pods burnt in the crazy science fiction fires of atmosphere re-entry.

Everyone was all the time fleas flaked off my solar bodyship, seeking exaltation in pursuit ex nil ad nihil.
I’d apologize for my deceptions, but I’ve got a lot to learn about remorse and little time to learn it.

Horror genre, body to cosmic. Gaze you, the invited subject, upon the approaching sun from the whet of my exhausted maw.

Burn out your eyes.

Who is greater than the sun? Who can talk more than me? It's become my occupation.

Matches made with flesh and fuel wait for the final fade to white.
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