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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?

like an m and m
in a party game jar
explicitly
crammed in
the ping of the muffled voices of the outlanders
and the amplified
clang of the screams
as one chocolate morsel
shuffles against the next
BLUE!!
YELLOW
RED
BROWN!!!!!
BLUE
RED!
we all know there
ain’t anymore elbow room
to go around
and we all know
what’ll happen
once the faces outside
stop squinting
we have to
take a
sta--YELLOW!

The connection walks with the crowd
down the road of many miles
with the track winding back
and the future still showing lack

the casualties of the past
seem discounted in the now
never count these out of hand
foundation laid by consequence

tens to thousands stepping forth
these travelers more than kin
strangers standing outside of blood
while their own is put upon

the single digits evoked a flood
now the masses are the crush
connections walking to be heard
with outlanders of common cause.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191102.

Outlanders (& lowlanders) from the European continental shelf shall expand weftwise till theirs is the girth of elephants. We shall call upon one & another to stultify mistrust & dysplasia & dyspepsia & dysentery. Our hips establish carriage—smooth glides & the wherewithal to sashay. Until Americans buckle- & batten-down, no one in Mexicali can be employed. Now's el momento when goodness, righteousness & piety count. Celebrate claustrophobic bends, needles in the pinpricks & medications of fabled remission. Choose not to spin when there's nowhere to turn. One follows another as by natural edict. The guppies that were flushed down our loos in 1974 live in our hearts within 1,000 oils of these revolving tenderloins & caudal *****. People appear @ the funeral home who have nobody dead to visit with. People vaporize in an instant when there's no need for hasty departure. Living our lives to the cruelest is of, & corresponds to, the fragile will of our prompters. I shall speed into slots with a baked face. I shall review Jim Jones' C.I.A. funding blueprints. “Fear not the reaper!” I should replace my olden connections with spiffy prayer-beads. Moving our bowels & furniture honors a keen fashion-sense.