"patrols" poems
Every time people start to rise up, a whole buncha problematic mess gets thrown around regarding VIOLENCE.
So, what is "violence" really?... It's the use of force. Plain and simple.
What makes folks uncomfortable (who are otherwise comfortable in this system) is that UPRISING IS A SOMETIMES VIOLENT (read: forceful) REACTION TO SYSTEMATIC VIOLENCE: Yes, just like the Hunger Games...
Thus, there are many types of violence...
The fact that we are paying taxes that are funding the genocide and ****** of people of color (here and abroad) is violence.
People with guns (former slave patrols and overseers, now cops) who come from outside our community and treat our folks as criminals on the daily is violence.
Capitalism, i.e. wage/property/ecology-based exploitation in the name of profit is violence.
The fact that LA County spends more $$ than anywhere in the world on prisons and police is violence.
The fact that the US locks up more of its own people than any other country on record is violence.
US aiding/funding the genocide of Palestinians at the hands of Israel is genocidal violence.
From Congress, to the boardrooms, to the classrooms, from the gaze, to the unwanted touching, to the **** to the pay, Patriarchy everyday, is violence.
A few people jacking some **** at Walmart or breaking a window is really minimal violence in comparison.
A couple people throwing **** at armed cops is not serious violence.
The idea of owning property that other must rent to live is violent.
Systemic, chronic, global insecurity in the form of material poverty is violence.
Wage slavery is violence.
Gentrification is violence.
The War On Youth, i.e. the School-to-Prison pipeline, and, thus the War-on-Drugs with its attending 76% recidivism rate in the prison-industrial complex, whose populations are disproportionately black males, is violence.
The fact that people can't go to the doctor and dentist, or eat food every day is violence.
Deportations are violence.
Homophobia is violence.
The world's largest global military that vaporizes people without due process in dozens of countries violating their biophysical and national sovereignty is violence.
The United States government sanctioning the ****** of non-white, but especially Muslim bodies across the world... is violence.
So, when you condemn violence, do you mean resistance?
Because there is a whole lot of violence you should be condemning instead.
Adapted from Emilio Lacques-Zapien
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Millennials at Work and War
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Now thrown into the existential struggle
Surrendering their youth and taking up life
They muster in the fields and factories
And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars
Uniformed in an unappreciated sense
Of duty and dignity while scorned by those
Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth
And fling cheap mockery at millennials
Who take up tools and work and love of life
Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped
While generals dismiss their casualties as light
Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos
Who never got closer to any war
Than a John Wayne ketchup-bloody movie.
Some work long double shifts through university
In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery
Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts,
But expected to trust those who condemn them
For not being the greatest generation
As defined by those who never served at all
And while being criticized they will grab
A quick cup of coffee for the night shift
Staffing the hospitals and police patrols
That keep their sneering critics alive and safe
They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work
They drill for oil, these useless millennials
While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops
And YooToob computered jokes about them
Millennials have no time for coloring books
Or comfort animals or revolution
For they are weary with study and work
The best of them make no demands, but, sure
A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice
If only the scripted singer-songwriters
Would pack up the tired old stereotypes
And see millennials as they truly are
But darkness falls – they must go back to work
On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift
They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards
Instead through work they illuminate this world
And build it up with continued sacrifice
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
crossed over to the island of found dreams.
there is no way to know how to get there without the means
and the schemes and the dreams
slit their throats and pull out the teeth for good luck -
run boy , run ,
slip into the otters skin and don't you dare look back
watch out for the sontaran hive ,
it's a nest.
up on the cherry hill tree
we find only the
stop , he borders the patrols
it's not the edge , it's not the time - we've got many moons to go but we need to **** well learn how to fly
this is the date to mark in your books ,
but summers last drop of flesh has been drunk and the slips become stumbles and the stumbles become falls and the fall is upon us,
down is up - up is up.
once more. stay feet on the ground , hover only a little -
tell the weak from the weeds .
much difference in shorn sleeves.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
Once upon a time in a far off Village lived a Tribe of people called the "WITH-ERS". next were the Tribes named *Nearest, *Nearer, *Near, *Searchers and the *Lost.. The WITH-ERS LIVED in the very Center of the Tribal Areas. Each Tribe had it's boundaries marked by Barbed wire, Concrete blocks, Electric fences, Guard dogs, Warning signs, Armed Patrols, Flashing Lights and Laser beams... The *WITH-ERS Tribe Boundaries were marked by Every tree that GOD has ever made. Each Tree was always in full bloom and showing the brightest of Green.. Sweet, Soft Music came always from the Center of the WITHERS community, YET NO BAND could be seen.. The LIGHT from the EYES of each of the WITH-ERS tribe members seemed to glisten to ANY OBSERVER. When standing next to a WITH-ERS one could feel the Energy, love, fellowship and helpfulness that always seemed to be present. The WITH-ERS were envied, hated, despised, loved, adored, threatened, praised, and Talked about by ALL the Surrounding Tribes and they especially liked to call them "PECULIAR".. THE WITHERS* GLADLY ACCEPT any who "WOULD-CHOOSE" to join them...BY THE WAY,,,Which Tribe should we decide to JOIN,,,,THE CHOICE " IS OURS ".......
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 4:38 AM UTC
Meadow Fresh
Our fuel for life,
Redzenergy
and the 500mL V
“William, William
stay where I can see you ok”
Stop (neighbourhood watch patrols operating)
In here
Enter the fusion
Stay clear of the fire
Sprinkler inlet
Open
a Woman’s day
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 6:02 AM UTC
Once upon a time
There was a Girl and a Wolf
One in hunger
The other on the brink of fear
The girl shivers and cries
Collapsing as her legs go numb
She wipes away her tears
And she clears her eyes
To see glowing eyes at the forest fringe
A place she was told never to venture
For a she-wolf roamed that wood
One with no pack
One that her grandfather told stories of
One whose hunger could never be satiated
She has heard the horrible tales
Ones that caused a tradition
To spring in fear of it
It was said the beast could never die
There was a chilling curse
Set on that tangled wood
That caused this she beast to be immortal
But the little one had to go
A child's curiosity is never quelled
So she edged ever so close
Leaving a trail in snow
Battered velvet dress
Starting to tear
Fingertips moving at a crawl
The eyes at the edge have lost the sparkle
She can see the beasts battered fangs
No growl, no howl, no sound at all
The white wolf did not pounce
Not like one should
The child had prepared
Steeled her fragile heart
Waiting for fangs to puncture
Moving her small hand ever so slow
She reached under her frozen dress
Revealing her father's ****
Laying it the edge of the wood
To feed the she-wolf
The wolf's eyes never blinked
Frozen as the weather itself
So they sat gazing at one another
The girl gazed and gazed
Inside this creatures black eyes
She found the reason
Why the wolf patrolled the edge of the wood
Like a fleeting shadow
Inside that wolf was not a beast
But a woman instead
Beautiful she was
That brought tears to men's eyes
This princess of sorts
Was the Lord's daughter
Who also sought what the forest covered
But her curiosity became her everlasting doom
She patrols this wood
To protect ones outside the fringe
From the curse that transformed her
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
The trees talk
the leaves walk
mountains stand
rain commands
the wind patrols
but we are the controls
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 2:04 PM UTC
Bonnie, Bonnie Burning Bright
Patrols the wilds of her yard
Where frogs and lizards live in fear
And fearsome squirrels must ever guard
They shrink from Clydesdale for her size
Though Bonnie is the faster
Perceiving her as less a threat
Unknowing, court disaster
When Bonnie gives in to the chase
A shining blur of black and white
Yet in the sun stretched eyes half-closed
Seems farthest possible from flight
For Bonnie's vices stem entire
From being fully cat
As clearly all her virtues do
And Clydesdale's too, at that
My Bonnie is my wayward child
My friend belonging not to me
For even purring in my lap
Her tyger soul is wild and free
14Apr99
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 1:18 AM UTC
We shall not ask for the precious pearl of the Duke of Sui,
nor for the priceless jade disk of Master **
We merely ask for the recent news of our homeland.
The Palace of Spiritual Illumination must be still there,
surrounded by desolation.
What's happened to the stone statues buried deep in the grass,
still guarding the Imperial tombs?
Is it true that our people left behind in the occupied territories
are still planting mulberry trees and hemp?
Is it true that the rear guard of the Barbarians
only patrols the city walls?
This widow's father and grandfather were born in Shantung.
Although they never held high office, their fame spread far and wide.
I remember when they carried on animated discussions
with other scholars by the city gate.
The listeners were so crowded that their sweat fell like rain.
Their offspring crossed the Yangtze River to the South many years ago.
Drifting in the rapids, they mingled with refugees.
I send blood-stained tears to the mountains and rivers of home,
And sprinkle a cup of earth on East Mountain.
I imagine when Your Lordship, His Majesty's envoy, upholding the Imperial spirit,
passes through our two capitals, K'ai Feng and Lo Yang,
Thousands of people would line the streets and present tea and broth
to welcome you....
Announce that the Emperor's heart aches for the suffering people---
they are his own children.
Let them understand that the Will of Heaven remembers all living beings.
Our sagacious Emperor offers his trust which is as brilliant as the sun.
There is no need to negotiate many times after the long chaos of the years.
1.8k
Kissed his student.
Punched his friend.
Accused her lover.
What if China's navy asserts control where our navy also patrols?
Should we concede the South China Sea? Not on your life! Or maybe.
Lives may be lost but so what. There's so much biomass in the
crosswalks.
Lord have mercy on my soul
Which means bring my confusion into an expressible state before it's
too late.
Sal went to jail. I belong to the loved ones. Never may the anarchic
man's thoughts be my thoughts. Not one.
It could be cancer or just a cyst
That killed Frost's considerable speck
Instead of considering its considerable intelligence.
Although bottomless ancient night stretches
From your short life forward, remember
It also stretches backward without measure.
There are few straight lines in nature and only one alternative to
ageing, so **** it up!
Suppose everything's fine and you've wasted your time wearing
sackcloth over your soul?
Start now knowing joy.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
The Afghan army insisted things
Were more secure in 2013
But they had to close down the schools
One man said the Taliban threatened to attack the schools
Now the men fight with Soviet era weapons
The American troop levels reduced
In one village
The people can farm and work freely
Because of patrols by the Afghan police and
The police took over the patrols after the Americans left
The police report what is going on to the military
The people want clinics and schools
To be built
The army leaves day to day security
In the hands of the National Police
The Police Chief says
They have gained the trust of the local people
And they discuss how to punish the warlords
May God be with the national army and police force
May they protect the people and keep them safe
Some Afghans
Living in Pakistan
Were forced to return to Afghanistan
After a school was attacked in Peshwar, Pakistan
The Afghans suspect
That local officials are taking advantage
Of the situation
To expel unwanted refugees
More than 33,000 undocumented Afghans returned from Afghanistan
In the first six weeks of 2015
Even some registered refugees
Have been driven out of Pakistan
Many returning Afghan families have nowhere to go
In Jalalabad, the closest big city
On the Afghan side of Torkham
Families pitched tents along a canal
Lacking any other resource
Their children pulled turnips from a nearby field
The most reliable source of food
One woman is worried
How her children will fare
They no nothing of the country
And what it is like
Their is great mineral wealth in that country
Perhaps that is the main reason why
The U.S. has plans to stay there
For an extended period
I doubt life for the Afghan will ever get better
Or be more secure
The Taliban are there to stay
33% of people live below the poverty line
I doubt that figure will ever improve either
Even if the country prospers from their mineral deposits
The common man won't benefit
Well, that's just how the cookie crumbles
In Afghanistan
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
morning
the city is gruffly petted with heat
buildings quiver in the primeval whither
wide mouthed and whiskered
the catfish thrive in the sewers
taking aggression to the air and fixing to the trees
the insects speed into vigorous breeding
in the populated afternoon city is sternly scored
pressed down on its wilted fur pushed from back to front
each itchy person is its own greasy hair
salt beads from brows and stinging eyes are blinded
scolded and bonded the witless humans slow
natures patient pace is not kin to their will
antsy
ticking noises and electric whines whittle the air
discomfort makes life immediate
a deal to be flustered with
every enduring breath is consciously felt
alive and in suffering
i crouch my form in shelter
a jilted couch to lean against bordering a grown over lot
watching the foxes patrol in sweltering sun
what expected prey brought them into the light ?
i release my hurt understanding (it patrols also)
my hurt snakes through the long tough grass and tacky broken glass
it moves further raised in a mirage hover
over welting heat from the melting tarmac
this way i please my way into nurture
this way i ease my suffering
hum with the wires
and smile at a good day putrefying
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 6:24 PM UTC
You’d spark my core
Like a bomb in war
My apologies
You, I couldn’t ignore.
They controlled the way I think
I’m sorry
They erased your indelible ink
We were magnetic poles
Our minds were watched
Like border patrols
You meant everything
Whispers of truth began to sting.
Flashy debates and conversation
Like electromagnetic radiation
I captured your vibration
She injected me
With the poison inside
They knew we were attached.
My feelings, I pushed aside.
My thoughts, I would hide.
Why did I do it?
Suicide, I did commit.
When we split
I’ll always swim in regret
Wishing we’d never met
I emerge ****** and wet
In pain and upset
I look at my silhouette
I see you.
I’ll never forget.
Dec 17, 2009
Dec 17, 2009 at 7:11 AM UTC
The gazelle sits in quiet repose,
In its flighty heart, it knows,
There is no predator nearby,
And it scans the sky with an eagle's eye.
In the grass, fifty feet away,
The lion waits in the heat of the day,
It stalks the gazelle with the silent tread of a ghost,
As it patrols on its outpost.
The gazelle tenses quickly, it knows there's something there,
It stands in the grass, looking everywhere.
There! Near the tree! The tip of an ear,
It starts to bound away, the lion very near.
The lion starts as the gazelle runs,
It licks its lips in anticipation of great fun,
The chase is on! The lion gains,
Its tawny coat covered in mud stains.
It takes only a moment, but the gazelle turns,
The lion skids to the side and the soft ground churns,
It leaps after the gazelle, the tail of which is seen,
The lion jumps on the gazelle's back, their tussle is lost in the green-
A moment later, the lion jumps up, the gazelle lying dead,
The former grabs the broken body and begins to walk ahead,
The vultures shrilly cry,
The gazelle had been killed in only a blink of an eye.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
An arrogant, cold-hearted vigilante stands on one side of the border,
while a free-spirited security guard patrols the other side.
Oh? You need me to look after your son?
Yeah, maybe I could do it. If the price was right.
How can you trust me with your own flesh and blood?
You are on that side of the border, and I am on this side.
When you meet my son, it won't matter.
I guarantee you will love Him and want to protect Him.
Your son?
Okay, can we change the subject?
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
It is in that wooden place
Among the too-close trees
Under a canopy of woven reasons
That block the lancing stars
Balanced on the edge of possible and improbable
We choose from a bouquet of what-if tales
Paths to tread carefree
Always avoiding the cold shining steel
That patrols around the edges
And reflects images of reality
In a clarity
Nobody wants to see
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
there are trolls
who are out of control
they daily go
on their trolling patrols
these trolls can't be locked away
they're ever patrolling
as they so may
out of control
out of control
we must not let anymore of them
take over the place
there is already a few occupying
this patch's space
the trollometer
is an accurate gauge
it has registered
some trolls on the page
if you see trolls
who are acting suspicious
you'll know that their patrols
aren't any too auspicious
out of control
out of control
them trolls
sure need
to be bought
under our control
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 8:37 PM UTC
I am outside the circle of *** Just as well. Population control,
the biome's survival instinct. Or I'm old. Look
in mirror, skin over bones. Young girls
on bicycles, running, have that granddaughterly smile for me,
all is safe, well. Much is well.
The neighborhood safe,
the nation a non-violent helpmate among nations. Until
food shortages, weather crises, nuclear mischief apply.
Police patrols. I was proud of Massachusetts
voting to decriminalize ****** Let's go all the way:
free all non-violent offenders from their cells! Force police
out of cruisers to walk the streets and say hello.
What else can we try:
Open the border with Mexico. Let labor
flow like capital.
What has this to do with the self,
the temperamental, fragile self. The one that leaves no footprint
in eternity. No smell.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
A sullen , blue eagle sentry patrols stone fruit orchards
Black and tan beagles braying for the hunt filled morning
Orange Alabama horizons , China goose down caught , drifting south
Collard pods rattle white -washed homesteads , pollen entombs tiny towns with ragweed ferocity , cattail gardens and fog induced rainbows ...
Dove mourn blackberry winter , dew washed back roads drift quietly into lake country ....
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Two actors locked in a bubbled world
Imperiously divided by theatrical fatigue
Smearing their world's apart
Fortitude leaking away
Minds and prose encrypted
Acting of seated voids
Spoof audience tones
Droning recordings
Repetitive reactions
Expressive duplicity
Stealing a march
Volunteer or hypnotize a plaque
Shaman inspired acting
Building up the spirits
Delirious and entranced
healing and inspired
A humorous response
Globular concoctions
Two fingered gesticulations
Chains of merriment
Prisoner block tour
Headache and anxiety
Exposed and bare
B cell patrols
Safer
Upbeat beliefs
Armed for the fight
Muggers beware
Heads apart
Virtual Readings
Hygienic face pacs
Social distance now Embraced
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 6:53 AM UTC
In 1945 The War was over
The survivors were trying to make life work
And occupation forces here and there were set
To guard the roads, the rails, the city streets
And so it was that Master Sergeant Hall -
Normandy, the Moselle, Belgium and the Bulge,
Munich, Dachau, Thuringen, and Zwickau -
Was sent to old Marseilles to be a cop
A watch commander, assigning patrols
And sending men to their various posts
Even to directing traffic in the streets
There was a complaint from a traffic hub:
The American soldier in charge there -
Sometimes he chose to block all traffic there
And swagger about and cuss ‘em out
Then laugh, and all at once turn ‘em loose again
And then one day there came an alarm:
Machine guns shooting at that intersection
A soldier from the colonies gone wild
And murdering people in the street
They sped to the scene, the scene of horror
And helped - but they could not find their soldier
Posted there at the beginning of the watch
Was he among the dead? The wounded? Where?
And they didn’t know until the end of the day
After the soldier returned, alive and well:
“When the shooting started, I ran down the street,
Found another spot, and directed traffic there.”
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC
I am trapped in my body, watching the figure that patrols it around doing what she wants and saying what she will.
My mind feels muddled as the words 'I do not care' pierces them.
Is this who i am?
I pull at the the bars that trap my mind around others,
my anxiety skyrocketing.
But the person in the cockpit simply replies to my worries and woes, "oh well, I'll worry about that sometime soon"
Jun 6, 2021
Jun 6, 2021 at 4:39 PM UTC