"racked" poems
A flawless red curve of
Seductive lips
Your bold tongue
On the cusp of mine
I savor your words
Reckless declarations
Breathed down my throat
Slashing my soul
A wound that won’t heal
Exposed to the memory of
**********
Memories that make it my ruin
The way you wrenched my heart
Racked my mind
Molested my soul
The desolation you left me with
When you were done
I look for Pink
To comfort and inspire
My emotional essence
You will see if you
Look into my eyes.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
i have racked my mind
trying to figure this whole thing out
the staying, the going
the threads we claim hold us here
& the people who've stopped to play a tune on them
i sometimes relate it
to waking up in waist deep snow
in our former selves
the us we wish we could give one another
the children we've sat on the shelves
trapped, like the looks
we leave behind in snow globes
i sometimes imagine ships
dragging the bottom to the sea of "me"
for sleep & pieces of my old self
to sell to the new one
like history doesn't repeat itself
it gets me wondering
if you too want an apology from the rain
or if you dream of burning family photo albums
and wearing the ashes like perfume
if you're anything like me
how i hope god chokes
on memories of me blowing out candles as a child
i know i shouldn't reference my reader
but don't you know, the only difference
between alone & lonely is you?
that if my hands could talk
the only thing they'd be able to say
is "dear god we've missed you"
and how can you tell me it isn't love
when even the rain refuses to fall
in places where i've kissed you
i remember the day
you found my smile at a yard sale
it reminds me of how you'll leave
i wonder if when you go
you'll tell yourself
the person in the rear view mirror
is closer than they appear
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
You already know, young Dan pops the heater
Come and slam a ***** like a WWE Diva.
I go H.A.M on the track, tote the mac
Any ***** talk **** Imma smack him with the strap.
So racked up, I could buy the mall
Come through, shop at Mr.Big and Mr.Tall.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
I signed up for the race you see. I was drafted to run.
They chose to pay my tuition so I could sprint at the gun.
But here's the problem that plagued me from the start.
I seemed to have left my confidence at an entirely different mark.
I showed up at the race and I didn't think I would win.
Even the sun shining down on the game looked a little grim.
What happens when your falling without any aid?
When there's no life support and you don't think you'll be saved?
What happens when you've signed on for too much?
When you can't be the athlete you want to be and you've got a limp with no crutch?
I had to figure it all out, a dark field and no map.
I had to find my confidence before I could score on attack.
I faced the coaches and dealt with their disappointed faces.
I had to move past the fact, that I had racked up some disgraces.
I cried in the showers when nobody could hear.
Letting anybody know I was weak was my biggest fear.
Because it doesn't count you see, if the shower's on.
There's already water running down and my tears always joined the marathon.
But I surpassed the doubt. I learned to dig deep.
I became that brave player on the field.
And I only cry in my sleep.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
A hymn to paired planethood: Venus hits Pluto
as death, in cold orbit, collides with biology
smashing to fragments: demonic astrology
(more a black hole than a love-star, it’s true though).
Cynical cure for Eve’s womanly grievance
Concupiscent consequence: lust’s bitter fruit –
ah the thought… changing Sin into mere inconvenience.
Margaret sang her seductive refrain
about weeding the garden and progress and light.
Her sisters should view her with scornful disdain
but instead have adopted her murderous rite.
With sang-froid she promoted her racist eugenics
(as if she had never herself been a fetus),
condemning her heirs to postmodern polemics
while nurturing ardent desires to defeat us.
Suppressing the lives that she flushed down the drain
she would liberate Death – and resistance was vain.
As a midwife to modern life (though on the “anti” side)
Old Matron Margie racked up quite a legacy
singing the praises of sanctioned infanticide
calling the shots for the coming sick century.
Planning, quite calmly, to “cleanse” certain races
her zeal was empowered by murderous graces.
She labored to bring us such pearls of subduction:
“dilation and curettage”, “women’s autonomy”
“viable fetus”, “procedure”, a “suction”
Hippocrates retches to hear the taxonomy;
words that turn Life into mere reproduction.
She enters the realms of the ****** and the motherless
roundly condemned by her feminine otherness.
Man’s first protection: the God-given womb
which no infant should have to regard as their tomb.
Dismembered dark cherubs, assembling, greet her
as demons (in scrubs) holding baby-parts meet her.
Long may she burn with the medical cynics
this mother of Moloch, this founder of clinics.
Convenience is king when abortion’s the Queen
and the profits swell big with each nubile teen…
yet the fruit of such carnage remains to be seen.
I send her this song as a funeral wreath
and a card inked in blood. You may read what is there:
“To the Matrix Supreme of our culture of death
from the souls of the infants you slew on the earth.
May your torment increase with the children you bear.”
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
I remember best coming out of that factory into the
night
none of us saying much
glad to get out
but needing the job
---getting into our old cars
one could hear the grinding of the starters
the sudden roar and explosions as
the worn engines fired up once more
---as we backed wearily
out of the parking lot
to pull away
leaving the factory back there
---each of us to a different place
---some to a wife and children
---others to empty rented rooms or to
small crowded apartments:
as for me
I never knew if my woman would be there or
not
or how drunk she would be
if she was home
---but for each of us
the factory waited back there
our timecards punched and neatly
racked.
for me somehow
the best time was that moment
driving from the factory to where I lived
stopping at the signals
looking at the crowds
suspended
between a place I didn't want to be
and a place I didn't want to go
---I was caught between my two unhappy lives
but so were most of the others there
not only from that warehouse
in that city
but in the world
entire:
we had no chance
yet still we all managed to continue and
endure.
5.5k
he, hardly fit,
sleeps fitfully
he, like a baby,
up and down at 2am
the cerebrum racked,
like a street *** so needy,
for a low caloric,
non-alcoholic snack
pickles - the almost zero solution,
dill in particular,
or even the slightly bad boy cousins,
the buttered variety
so in his customized original
100% sleeping skin gear,
standing in front of the shiniest fridge
gleaming,
his unfortunate reflection somewhat
steamy,
indecisive, which, his pickle, to to choose,
which to eat, completely complete,
to celebrate his dietetic restraint
so she, the yoga ballerina lioness,
finds him upright but not uptight,
leaving him in an awkward
so to speak, poem, pickling,
naked and speechless,
as the mouth is fully engorged
and on point
she summarizes
most eloquently,
the ****** and the crudités and the et. al.,
with a succinctly pithy observation:
*"ah, I see (me wincing),
still crazy after all these years*
...and other stories*
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
How can we not feel Adam’s pain
See the features of this creature
Tortured by people’s disdain
And not weep at his wretched state
Frankenstein’s creation
From his strange life equation
Electrical innovation
In that once marvelous now dead age
How can we not feel Adam’s pain
The child with no real name
Only a borrowed nomenclature
To define his human inhumane nature
Torches and Preachers calling for his head
Love denied never finding peace
This so called beast could rip us to shreds
Tear our flesh asunder and squash our heads
But when he speaks racked with life’s pain
A horridly embellished mirror of my own
My defenses break opening the floodgate
And the monster makes me cry
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
The last time we had *** it caused something of a
deforestation, I realized that I love men so much that I could not
possibly do their work for them. Double the amount of
calluses on my fingers and toes than there should have been:
two for every inch of hair cascading my back
when fifty-year olds would grab me and make an ocean of trees.
I cannot count how many times we have left someone
ourselves or others for ourselves, there is no difference because I
feel goodbyes in the same way that I do when I think about
missing my subway train or having hot tea
burn my esophagus on the way down. We leave people as often
as I fall in love with my thirty-six inches of hair cascading.
Moments that did not matter, forgetting I was the one who
could have a second heartbeat in my belly
even stronger than the pulse felt in any man’s ****
I do not want to remember you as the man who broke my heart
not long after breaking my ***** so I emptied everything
for you and pretended it was only the phone bill
I racked up that we had a problem with.
Every call amounted to a page worth of reasons why we did not
break up when maybe we should have, there were fifty
year olds making my hair cascade like rain down my back.
A precious later reminded me that I am a woman
and so I do not have to be empty:
as full as a god, there could be two lives inside of me from you.
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
I tremble, I shake, I convulse,
My body is racked with pain.
You have the cure.
Free my body, free my mind
From this anguish. Bring me
Back from oblivion.
Give me Your Medicine.
Your touch, your breath, your body, your soul,
Your mind, your thoughts, your desires, your essence,
Your passion, your love, your ardor, your fervor,
Your fantasies, your tastes, your spirit, your laughter,
Your glances, your voice, your sweetness, your will,
Your warmth, your smile, your curves, your charm,
Your moods, your temper, your hates, your tears,
Your furrows, your frowns, your wrath, your fury.
Your peace.
Your serenity.
Your compassion.
Your surrender.
Please allow me Your Medicine-
You have mine.
Come, let us heal the world with our cure.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 9:54 AM UTC
plants do not require papers that state from where they came
they are caught and pulled by the bite of birds,
seduced by the between-legs of bees,
seized on the legs of the wind and animals by thistles and burrs
and the blessed are pollinated by the hummingbird
I do not know where I came from (really?) (really.)
or where nature and nurture intertwine within me, precarious balance from discipline and my genes
I twist bunches of grass between my fingers, feeling the good in a strain
racked on top of white bones, pushing sheets of freckled skin
out, spreading cancerous aluminums under my arms because
an artificial flower smells better during *** than human sweat,
what a pity, we are unable to reveal with the bursts of Walt Whitman (!) in
our own organic mechanism's ability to produce salt. The ultimate flavor.
I grin. Inhaling deeply while alone and unwashed, Whitman would've been into it.
Maybe I can find someone into it too. Someone who'll read me Henry Miller.
But instead I'll wear expensive perfume. I grin, again. Sardonically.
And I've been told I have a beautiful smile.
I should,
that smile cost blood and five grand for something cosmetic and quirky,
train-tracks over teeth, I now stain yellow with obsolete cigarettes.
I wait in the tropical heat, languishing while I bake, a freckle factory
and tan--adrift--awash with memories recalled by the smell of green
and the fearful hum of bees.
Why did I start smoking again?
I look at the red hummingbird feeder, and wish I could trade
standing still as a hummingbird, I lie and say I cannot wait.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
I admit that in the past I was a nice guy
But I think it's time I better make a switch
So you'll find that nowadays
I've changed all my ways!
I've slaughtered, spilled their blood, oh yes a switch!
Oh Yes!
And I fortunately don't care about you
It's a feeling that I do not posses
Oh my fans, I think it's time
To end them all just like those Limes*
Of all the Trolls so the story can progress
Poor Unfortunate Trolls!
In Pain,In Need!
D--> That one longing to be less Sweaty
This one wwants to get the girl
Should I help them?
NOT AT ALL!
Poor Unfortunate Trolls
So sad, so true
they come flocking to the fourth wall crying
Please Hussie, Please!
and do I help them?
NO SIR E!
Now it's happened once or twice
I did something really nice
but then next update
I RACKED EM CROSS THE COALS!
And I hear your sighs and complaints
but I simply am a Saint! (I made them after all)
To these Poor Unfortunate Trolls
---
Every Troll in either Session will be Slaughtered!
There's a lot of trolls to **** that's for sure.
The Kids in either session may stay
but I will **** them another day
and if they die then they'll go god tier yawn bore
Until you all adore you Huss
say goodbye since Haitus, my dear fans
In a sweep, and a song
the story will move along
and the pain, yes the pain will start again**!
Come on you
Poor Unfortunate Fans
Go ahead
hail your Huss!
I'm the creator
Their Maker
and I've got Eternal life***
If you speak against me
then boohoo
You Poor Unfortunate Trolls
Life ***** for you
If you want to go adventuring
then you have to pay the toll
**** it up and get to dying for me
since I'm in full control!
And with my precious power, dear
All their heads will roll!
These
POOR
UNFORTUNATE
TROLLS!~
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Two people once residied in a flat in London city,
A man who had a drug addiction, things did not seem pretty,
His ***** at eighteen, barely grown who worked the streets at night,
She slept all day while **** guy flushed her veins with coke mixed *****
Now, girl would wonder what life would be like if she were home,
A georgian three up, two down house, with trees and garden gnomes,
She wondered how she got here, reminiscing on times better,
A stupid fight with mum, some awful words, a goodbye letter.
So many times she tried to get away from her **** guy,
But cravings soon kicked in, so she would pierce her veiny thigh,
She saw the flyers on the walls, she knew her mother missed her,
She pleaded with the **** through lips all swollen full of blisters.
Two people now reside inside a house so filled with sorrow,
A mother,racked with sadness for her girl who evil borrowed,
A dad who knows his brother fills his neices veins with drugs,
The money that dad makes from her will never make him snug.
A flat lies empty, desolate, void of two more souls,
A child lies dead from overdose,
Her uncle full of needle holes...
Aug 25, 2010
Aug 25, 2010 at 4:28 AM UTC
Good times...right?
then surprise
darkness surrounds
flashes and fighting
strength g o n e
strapped down
engine roar
environment of light
teary onlookers
racked with pain
hazy recollection
questions abounding
cause, drugs? no!
Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests
unwelcomed results
Tests..Tsets..Tetss..Tests
solution, drugs? i guess
life ruined
secret, hidden
flash and smash
secret, well, revealed
best
year
ever?
. . . . .
Right?
But doesn't life go on?
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 7:32 PM UTC
My head was pounding
My body ached
I was a stumbling, mumbling wreck
I needed help
And badly
And decided, what the heck
I ventured to St. Peter's
to get warm from the snows
You see, I'm not really religious
and the truth, the church was close
I sat there in ****** silence
My head just throbbing silently
I didn't even notice the woman
Who slid in next to me
She nodded, and knelt down a bit
You could hear her when she rose
Her body racked with aches and pain
Like me, from head to toe
She smiled, started praying
I sat dead still, but listened in
It's not because I am religious
I wanted to hear her sin
She finished, rose and smiled
Lit a candle on her way
I smiled back through cloudiness
I didn't have that much to say
I figured I could try it,
I'm one for anything new
I mean, talking out to no one
What harm could my talk do
"Dear father, forgive me for my sin
Our father"... I tried to start
"Just say what's in your insides son
That's the best way for a start"
Behind me, sat the woman
I didn't hear her come on back
"He's listening for all you ask
He'll get you back on track"
I told her, I just came in
To get dry and get warm
She smiled, said "so, while you're here"
"tell your tale, wait out the storm"
I said it would be worthless
I was past the point of no return
I would not go up to heaven
I was going where you burn
She said "Everyone is worth redemption"
"Even though they do not think"
"They are still a child of Jesus"
"He'll return you from the brink"
I sat and talked for hours
Told her all about my woes
She got up twice, lit more candles
I told her of my highs and lows
She said "regardless of your preference"
"God, won't ask your name"
"You do not need a reference"
"And you'll be really glad you came"
She told me how to start a prayer
To share my story with the Lord
I knelt, followed directions
I was really quite absorbed
I finished, rose and turned to her
There was now a man where she had sat
I asked him if he saw her
In her black scarf and blue hat
He said "The seat was empty"
"I saw no lady there"
I said "a little lady"
"with black and silver hair"
He smiled, said "come this way"
He took me out into the hall
And there I saw her picture
In a frame upon the wall
"She died so many years ago"
"She died of well, a broken heart"
"Her son's died in the Great War"
"It tore her soul apart"
"But I saw her, she was talking"
"She taught me how to pray"
"She was as close to me as I to you"
"She taught me what to say"
He said "son, she's no longer here"
"she's the one who comes the most"
"she finds souls who need redemption"
"She's our church's holy ghost"
I thanked him, head still reeling
I would have to think on this a while
But, as I left, I took one more look
And I'm sure I saw her smile.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
I waited for an elevator
It was an exceptionally long pause,
And there was a group of three arguing
Over the meaning of a clause.
I knew the answer to their query,
But questioned if I should reply.
Social stigmas can be strange
So I decided to be shy.
They searched their minds,
They racked their brains,
And I just stood there -
The answer boiling on my tongue.
My elevator arrived just then,
And I reluctantly stepped inside.
The doors closed slowly, slowly,
And I heard their voices die...
...So it is with my faith.
Many people are searching
And I have the answer,
But I am too afraid to speak.
So I step inside an elevator,
And lift myself above their problems
Pridefully rejecting the searching
Of those who need an answer.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC
Fly so fast the years they do
and my mind is not as once it was,
forgetting things such as dates and names
and going round as though I´m lost,
in every room I stop and wonder
why did I come in here,
what is it, that I´m looking for,
not a clue I fear.
Have you seen my reading glasses
Yes! she says, you´ve got them on your head,
and what about my car keys
I´ve looked everywhere, including in the shed,
and when I bend, why is it
that I always grunt and groan,
and my back today, is not the best of backs
I am so racked with aches and pains.
My eyesight´s not as sharp these days
and my hearing, Sorry, what d´you say,
no longer do I walk upright
and my thinning hair is turning grey,
but although the body´s ageing
and the memory´s fading fast,
my brain still thinks I´m eighteen
and I can do things, as I did in the past.
So I´m off to run a marathon
and the channel I shall swim
and when I get home from clubbing
I´ll be heading for the gym,
I´ve parked my zimmer in the corner
and my pillows I have plumped,
the douvet I have pulled up tight
as I start to snore and dream, and trump.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
people never care
but always say they do
everyone thinks about themselves
their priorities racked up on shelves
I'm on the ground
sounds echoing around my lifeless figure
like poor raggedy ann
i cannot stand
i'm motionless and lie there
robotic expression, stitched smile that's fixed
but my emotions are mixed
their erosion eluding to my mind's disintegration
the segregation between mind and body
so pronounced.
thoughts constantly bounce about
while i lay helpless without direction
intermittent reflection
due to others deception
i wish i could perform inception
plant ideas in their heads
setting the seed, of not greed but the idea of needing ME;
it sets me free.
raggedy ann's legs seem to gain strength
she stands on command
and finally sees the only thing she needs
is the courage in herself to keep her up right
the insecurities and disappointments shut tight inside raggedy anndora's box
not to be opened
she stands tall even on the floor
takes a step ready to unfurl
what's yet to be discovered and take on the world.
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 12:54 AM UTC
Soapy, soapy, bubbles in the water.
Dishes lined right up all along the sink,
Ev’ry one lined up and starting to stink.
Dishes made long ago by a potter,
And a sponge floating ‘round like a yachter.
Washing all the dishes, quick as a wink.
Do not take all too long to stew and think.
Turn on the faucet and make it hotter.
Dishes are covered with water and soap,
Scrubbed away is all the dirt and the grime,
Along with all of the finishing hope,
Washed down the drain like a student’s spare time.
Now rinsed and racked upon every slope,
Dish dryer for hire, pays not a dime.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Perilous voyages of small watercraft at sea , amphibious landings on well defended beachheads , Clipper ships whaling on distant oceans , military vessels in armed conflict , night of relentless cannon fire , explosive reflections across shark infested waters , treasure maps and chest laden with gold , rubies and pieces of eight , the cry of Viking warriors on the rugged coast of Newfoundland .. Pirates just off the shores of the Carolinas .. Forts Pulaski , Sumter and Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas ..
Oil platforms racked by ferocious winds on the Gulf of Mexico ..
Union and Confederate battles on Mobile Bay , Riverboats traversing the Mississippi ..Tending barges along the Ohio ..On high alert through Georgia's intracoastal waterways ....
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.
Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -
between the rocks that form his cage.
His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.
Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.
Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.
Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep
“Is this victory, or defeat?”
Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.
Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.
Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
497
He strained my faith—
Did he find it supple?
Shook my strong trust—
Did it then—yield?
Hurled my belief—
But—did he shatter—it?
Racked—with suspense—
Not a nerve failed!
Wrung me—with Anguish—
But I never doubted him—
‘Tho’ for what wrong
He did never say—
Stabbed—while I sued
His sweet forgiveness—
Jesus—it’s your little “John”!
Don’t you know—me?
1.7k
A dull ache
A familiar pull
Twisting guts
How many hours spent
With my head in a toilet
Straining till my eyes stream
My heart racing
This is the last time I say
Never again
Racked with guilt
Tears covering my swollen cheeks
Bulimia you say
"The one where you throw up"
Yeah it's just that ... Nothing else
No racing anxiety
Failing mind
Scared to see a reflection
Not caring if that
Little beating ***** continues
Praying for a helping hand
Why
Why
Why
Consumed by thoughts of food
Never allowed to rest
Keep moving
Never stop it says
Nothing is ever
EVER good enough
It tortures your every waking moment
Fat fat fat
It says
Everywhere
Greedy - ugly
Bulimia
"The one where you throw up"
If only that was just it ....
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:06 PM UTC
THE STORY OF OUR SAVIOUR'S BIRTH
IS ONE WE'VE ALL BEEN TOLD
HOW THREE WISE MEN CAME FROM THE EAST
THEY WERE BEARING GIFTS AND GOLD
THEY TRAVELLED FAR ACROSS THE SAND
FOR MANY DAYS ON END
AND WHEN THEY WERE ABOUT TO QUIT
THEY SAW IT ROUND THE BEND
T'WAS NOT THE MANGER THAT THEY SOUGHT
FOR IT WAS OUT OF SIGHT
BUT WHAT THEY FOUND WAS JUST THE PLACE
WHERE THEY COULD SPEND THE NIGHT
THE SIMPLE PLACE THAT THEY HAD FOUND
WAS MADE OF MUD AND STICKS
IT STILL SURVIVES ON TO THIS DAY
IT'S NOW CALLED MOTEL 6
THEY SPENT THE NIGHT
AND THEN MOVED ON
TO FIND THE KING OF KINGS
THEY NOW HAD MORE TO GIVE HIM
WITH ALL THEIR PRECIOUS THINGS
THEY WERE RACKED WITH PAIN
AND HAD A CHURNING IN THEIR BOWELS
IT WAS CAUSED BY GUILT YOU KNOW
BECAUSE THEY'D STOLEN THEIR ROOMS TOWELS
IT TOOK TWO WEEKS BUT THEN THEY FOUND
THE MANGER THAT THEY SOUGHT
THEY CAME ON THROUGH THE LITTLE GROUP
TO SHOW THE GIFTS THEY'D BROUGHT
THE FIRST WISE MAN, HE GAVE HIS GIFT
A SMALL CASE MADE OF GOLD
"IT WAS LOVELY TO LOOK AT AND REAL NICE TO TOUCH"
"BUT I BROKE AND T'WAS SOLD"!
HE LAID IT DOWN BEFORE THE CHILD
AND HE MADE A LITTLE SPEECH
HE SAID "MY LORD, YOU'LL SOON GROW UP"
"AND THE WHOLE WORLD YOU WILL TEACH"
FRANKINCENSE WAS THE NEXT GIFT
THAT THE MAGII DID LAY DOWN
"WE'RE NOT SURE WHAT IT'S USED FOR"
SAID THIS WISE MAN WITH A FROWN
THE FINAL GIFT THAT THESE THREE GAVE
WAS MYRRH AND THIS I FEAR
IS SOMETHING WE THINK PEOPLE
ALL DAB BEHIND THEIR EARS
A BETHLEHEM STAR REPORTER
WAS WRITING IN HIS PAD
"THE CHILD LOOKS JUST LIKE HIS MUM"
"HE DON'T LOOK MUCH LIKE HIS DAD!"
THE BABY JESUS ROSE TO SPEAK
AS THE MAGGI LEFT FOR ROME
"MERRY CHRISTMAS GENTLEMEN"
"HAVE A VERY SAFE TRIP HOME"!
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
A mother who listens to soft classical Mozart
Reclined against the soft, worn pillow from ages
slender fingers easily flicking through a catalog,
while a father is hunched over
in the cold den, racked with coughs and pains, trembling fingers trying to hold on to the metallic foil of medicine.
And a child, barely 4
playing with stuffed animals on the couch
a victim of Tay Sach
A car, and a windowpane, that have both seen too much,
ragged advertisements fluttering in the wind,
advertising a movie coming out yesterday,
A burger shop ad that had already long closed,
and deals long gone.
The downtown urban forest, turned into a junkyard
full of scraps of rusted silver and infected bronze.
A bystander who can do nothing but laugh
as a boy's nose gets crushed in,
a ****** lip,
A swollen, purple eye
A boy of 18
who is still waiting for her somewhere
to see her colored smile
and eyes of glass
bitter and emotionless, glazed over with sterling silver,
who has a family, siblings,
who is now turned into nothing but a ragged playtoy for the sick, sick entertainment of others
A broken air conditioner that can do nothing but clack clack clack over and over again, metal blades spinning vainly for nothing,
while a broken family is screaming in the other room,
and a child is crying, hands to his face, covering his eyes
as a father hits his wife, knocks her against the sharp, tiled kitchen counter,
and the screaming intensifies, accompied by the hurtful insults that are thrown at each other-by the father and the teen.
and still the air conditioner goes on and on
oblivious to nothing.
A world that is so breathtaking and cruel at the same time
where little, insignificant families are torn apart without a second thought,
where the 'strong' prey on the 'weak'
Where the most beautiful sprawling cities turn into rejected second handers just because of a rumor
And,
A mother who listens to soft classical Mozart
Reclined against the soft, worn pillow from ages, ages ago
full of tears and stiches
slender fingers easily flicking through a catalog, searching for the most effective medicine, eyes flickering in worry
while a father is hunched over
in the cold den because
he doesn't want to risk spreading his sickness to anyone else
racked with coughs and pains, trembling fingers trying to hold on to the metallic foil of medicine.
Working hard to support his family because the economy is going down again
And a child, barely 4
playing with stuffed animals on the couch
a victim of Tay Sach,
dead at 6.
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 5:53 PM UTC