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Homunculus Jul 2016
**** North Korea (Sorry, Not a Poem)
A few days ago, North Korea said that the imposition of sanctions by the United States amounted to an open "declaration of war" and went on to state that in response to military exercises to be carried out by the US and South Korean armies, that they are "fully ready to cope with them with nuclear weapons any time,” Okay. Let me just make one thing abundantly clear: these jokers have been talking this game for the last four decades, and it has all amounted to precisely nil

As regards Kim Jong-Un, I will ask that I be excused by my reader for the brief detour into contemporary African-American Vernacular English that this piece will now take. (crack knuckles, clear throat, hawk phlegm, adjust junk) Dear Kim: You ain't ****. *******, and your little ***** *** on some old *******. You ain't ****, you ain't never gon' be ****, and you never was ****. Furthermore, you ain't standin' on **** but a failed state and a fast-fading personality cult. All we hear is talk, talk, talk, talk, every year from you and your decrepit, syphilis riddled father before you; and quite frankly, it's getting old. Boring, even.

Do it, we dare you. See what happens, you glorified, overfed man-baby. You blurry greyscale xerox of Mao's bloated corpse. You, who have mistook a flimsy house of cards for an ironclad fortress. You naked emperor. You, whose very 'empire' is the deformed and emaciated plant which reluctantly sprang from a salted and desolate earth. You, whose 'hermit kingdom' constantly shrinks toward zero while the entire world watches, laughing!

We rest assured of the emptiness your threats. We can topple your house of cards at the flick of a wrist. In one fell swoop, our elite tactical urban forces will subvert and destroy your poorly trained, weakly organized, and honestly pitiful excuse for a nation. Why, if we wanted it, you'd be gone in a New York minute. And don't even try to come at us with tough talk about nukes. *****, we been had nukes, and here's the thing: ours are bigger, better, and more numerous than yours. You push that button, and we bomb your sorry little ***** back into the stone. You EMP us, our allies bomb you for us. Bearing all these considerations in mind, I once again reiterate:

WE AIN'T SCARED OF YOU. COME TEST US!

(drop mic, walk away)
But in all seriousness: There's just something deep down in the collective consciousness of this country, perhaps even humanity generally, that secretly yearns, that requires, desires, and *pines away* for the glorious spectacle of the theater of war, isn't there? Something in us seems, beneath a surface layer of fear, to ask, nay to *implore* with all the swaggering braggadocio of a drunken frat boy: "Fight me. I dare you. See what happens." That subconscious, primal need to attain brute superiority in outward, tribalistic displays of dominance projects itself onto the global stage: But how, then, are we to understand this mechanism, and what are some of its consequences? Upon closer inspection, we will find the practical consequences of this act to be twofold. On the one hand: By generating this spectacle, the media are able to use it as a tool for maintaining within the public a mixture of frenzy at one pole and detached complacency at the other. By giving them a violent conflict to participate in vicariously, the war at once (a) creates for them an abstract, nationalistic identity, (b) sublimates their violent impulses, and (c) distracts their attention away from the material conditions of life in the country where the spectacle is being broadcast; effectively stifling the imperative to rebel against those conditions where they might otherwise have been taken as unjust. War pacifies, war stupefies, and above all war unifies. On the other hand, the previously mentioned tendency to outwardly display dominance serves as an effective means for geopolitical elites and those striving to be such, to affirm reaffirm their hegemony on the world stage by making ****** examples of those that would presume to cross them. In this regard, there is perhaps no greater or more apt an example than the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the second world war.

There is much more to be said about these matters in seriousness, but for the sake of brevity, I leave it here.
#war #social #america #politics #commentary #satire #irony #bombs #korea
Continue reading...
James Bradley McCallum Feb 2012
Homage to Homs
1.

From our
safe windows,
we crane our necks,
rubbernecking
past the slow
motion wreckage
unfolding in Homs.

We remain
perfectly
perched
to marvel at
the elegant arc of
a mortar shell
framing tomorrows
deep horizon,
whistling through
the twilight to
find its fruitful
mark.

In the now
we keep
complicit time,
to the arrest
of beating hearts,
snapping fingers
to the pop
of rifle cracks,
swooning to
the delicious
intoxication of
curling smoke
lofting ever
upward;
yet
thankfully
remain
distant
enough to
recuse any
possibility
of an
intimate
nexus
with the
besieged.

2.

From our
safe windows,
we behold the
urgent arrivals of
The Friends of Syria
demanding
clean sheets
and 4 Star
room service at a
Tunisian Palace
recently cleaned
and under new
management
promising a
much needed
refurbishment.

The gathered,
a clique of
this epochs
movers and shakers,
a veritable
rouges gallery of
ambassadorial
prelates, Emirs and
state department
bureaucrats
summoned
with portfolio
from the
darkest corners
of the globe.

They are
eager to
sanctify
the misery
of Homs,
deflect and
lay blame
with realpolitik
rationalizations,
commencing
official commissions
of inquiry,
deliberating
grave considerations,
issuing indictments
of formal charges for
Crimes Against
Humanity
while
remaining
urgently
engrossed
in the fascination
of interviewing
potential
process servers
to deliver the bad news
to Bashar al-Assad
and his soulless
Baathist
confederates,
if papers
are to be
served.

Yes, the diplomats
are busy meeting
in closed rooms.

In hushed circles
they whisper
into aroused ears,
railing against
Russia’s
gun running
intransigence
and China’s
geopolitical
chess moves.

Statesmen
boast of the
intrepid justice
of tipping points
and the moving poetry
of self serving tales,
weighing the impact
of stern sanctions
amidst the historical
confusion of the
asymmetrical
symmetries
of civil war.

Caravans
of Arab League
envoys roll up
in silver Bentleys,
crossing deserts
of contradictory
obfuscations,
navigating the
endless dunes
with hand held
sextants of
hidden agendas.

The heroic
Bedouins are
eager to offload
their baggage
and share
on the ground
intelligence from
their recent soirées
across Syria.

They beg
a quick fix,
the triage of a
critical catharsis
to bleed their
brains dry
of heinous
recollections,
pleading
release from a
troubled conscience
victimized by
the unnerving paradox
of reconciling
discoveries of
perverse voyeurism
with the sanctioned
explanations
of their respective
ruling elites.

The bellies
of these
scopophiliacs
are distended;
grown queasy
from a steady diet
of malfeasance
an ulcerated
world parades
in continuous loop;
spewing the raw feeds
of real time misery;
forcibly fed
the grim
visions of
frantic
fathers
rushing
the mangled
carcases
of mortally
wounded
children
to crumpled
piles of smashed
concrete that were
once hospitals.

We despondently
ask how
much longer
must we
look into
the eyes
of starving
children
emaciated from
the wanton
indifference
of the world?


3.

From our
safe windows
we wonder
how much
longer can
the urgent
burning
ambivalence
continue
before it
consumes
our common
humanity in
a final
conflagration?

My hair already
singed by the
endless firestorms
sweeping the prairies
of the world.

How can we survive
the trampling hoards,
the marauding
plagues of acrimony
fed by a voracious
blood lust aspiring to
victimize the people
of Homs and a
thousand cities
like it?


4.

From my safe
window I stand in witness
to the state execution of
refugees fleeing the
living nightmare
of Baba Amr.

The ****** of innocents,
today's newly minted martyrs,
women and children
cornered, trapped
on treacherous roads,
mercilessly
slaughtered and
defiled in death
to mark the lesson
of a ruthless master
enthralled with the
power of his
sadistic fascist
lordship.

I cannot avert my eyes
marking sights
of pleading women
begging for the
lives of their children
in exchange for
the gratification
of a sadists
lust.

My heart
is impaled
on the sharp
spear of
outrage
beholding
careening
children mowed
down with the
serrated blades
protruding
from marauding
jeeps of laughing
soldiers.

I drop
to my knees
in lakes of
tears
reflecting
a grotesque
horror stricken
image of myself.

My eyes have
murdered my soul.

The ghastly images
of Homs have chased
away my Holy Ghost
to the safety of a child's
sandbox hidden away
in a long forgotten
revered memory.


5.

From my safe window
I seethe with anger
demanding vengeance,
debating how to rise
to meet the obscenity of
the Butcher of Damascus.

The sword of Damocles
dangles so tantalizingly close
to this tyrants throat.  

The covered women
of Homs scream prayers
“may Allah bring Bashar to ruin”

Dare I pray
that Allah trip the
horsehair trigger
that holds the
sword at bay?

Do I pick up
the sword
a wield it
as an
avenging
angel?

Am I the
John Brown
of our time?

Do I organize
a Lincoln Brigade
and join the growing
leagues of jihadists
amassing at the
Gates of Damascus?

Will my righteous
indignation fit well
in a confederacy
with Hamas and
al-Qaeda as my
comrades in arms?

Do I succumb to
the passion of hate
and become just
another murderous
partisan, or do I
commend the power
of love and marshal
truth to speak with
the force of
satyagraha?

I lift a fervent prayer
to claim the justice
of Allah’s ear,
“may the knowing one
lift the veil of foolishness
that covers my heart in
cloaks of resent, cure
my blindness that ignores
my raging disease of
plausible deniability
ravaging the body politic
of humanity.”

6.

Indeed,
physician heal thyself.

I run to embrace my
illness.

I pine to understand it.

I undertake the
difficult regimen
of a cure to eradicate
the terrible affliction.

This
pernicious
plague,
subverting
the notion
of a shared
humanness
is a cunning
sedition that
undermines
the unity of
the holy spirit.  

The bell from
the toppled steeples
still tolls, echoing
across the space of
continents and eons
of temporal time.

The faithful chimes
gently chides us
to remove the wedge
of perception that
separates, divides
and undermines.

Time has come
to liberally
apply the balm
that salves the
open wounds
so common to
our common
human condition.

The power of prayer
is the joining of hands
with others racked
with the common
affliction of humanness.

Allah,  
My eyes are wide open,
my sacred heart revealed,
my sleeves are rolled up,
my memory is stocked,
my soul filled with resolve,
my hand is lifted
extended to all
brothers and sisters.
Lift us,
gather us
into one
loving embrace.

Selah


7.

From the safe
windows of
our palaces
we live within
earshot of
the trilling
zaghroutas
of exasperation
flowing from
the besieged
city smouldering
under Bashar’s
symphony of terror.

Our nostrils
fill with the
acrid plumes
of unrequited
lamentations
lifting from the
the burning
destruction
of shelled
buildings.

Our eyes spark
from the night
tracers
of sleeking
snipers
flitting along
the city’s
rooftops.

The deadly jinn
indiscriminately
inject the
paralysis of
random fear
into the veins
of the city
with each
skillful
head shot.

These
ghoulish
assassins
lavish in their
macabre work;
like vultures
they eagerly
feast on the
corpses of their ****,
the stench of bloated
bodies drying in the
sun is the perfume
that fills their nostrils.


8.

From our
safe window
we discern the
silhouettes of militants
still boldly standing
amidst the
mounting rubble of an
unbowed Homs
shouting;

Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!

raising pumped fists,
singing songs
of resistance,
dancing to
the revelation of
freedom,
refusing to
be coward by
the slashing
whips of a
butchers
terrible
sword.


9.

From my
safe window
my tongue laps
the pap
of infants
suckling from
the depleted
teats of mothers
who cannot cry
for their dying
children;
tears fail
to well from
the exhaustion
of dehydrated
pools.

10.

From my
safe window
my heart stirs
to the muezzin
calling the
desperate faithful
from the toppled
rubble of dashed
minarets.

We can
no longer
shut our ears
to the adhan
of screams
the silent
voices that echo
the blatant injustice
of a people under siege.


11.

From my
safe window,
I pay
Homage to Homs
and call brothers
and sisters to rise
with vigilant
insistence
that hostilities
cease and
humanity be
upheld,
respected and
protected.


12.

From my safe
window
I perceive
the zagroutas
of sorrow
manifest as a
whiling hum,
a sweeping
blue mist,
levitating
the coffins
from the rubble
of ravaged streets.

The swirling
chorus of
mourning
joins my
desperate
prayers;
rising in
concert
with the
black billows
of smoke
dancing
away
from the
flaming
embers
of scorched
neighborhoods.


13.

From my
safe window
I heed
the fluttering
wings
of avenging
angels
furiously
batting
as they
climb
the black
plumes,
lifting from
the scattered bricks
of the desecrated
city.

It is the
Jacob’s
Ladder
for our
time;
marking
a new
consecrated
place
where
a New Adam
is destined
to be formed
from the
pulverized
stones of
desolation.

14.

From our
safe windows
we peer into
resplendent
mirrors
beholding
the perfect image of
ourselves
eying
falling tears
dripping blood,
coloring death
onto the
blanched sheets
of disheveled beds.


15.

From our
safe windows
our voices are silenced,
our words mock urgency
our thoughts betray comprehension
our senses fail to illicit empathy
our action is the only worthy prayer


16.

From my
safe window
I hear the
mortar shells
walking toward
my little palace,
the crack
of a ******
shot
precedes
the wiz of a
passing bullet
whispering
its presence
into my
waxen
ear.


17.

From my
safe window,
my palms scoop
the rich soil
of the flower boxes
perched on my sill.
I anoint the tender
green shoots of  the
Arab Spring
with an incessant flow
of bittersweet tears.

Music selection:
John Coltrane
A Love Supreme
Acknowledgment

Oakland
2/28/12
jbm
Continue reading...
Elihu Barachel Feb 2016
Really Tuff TUFF Sanctions!
In Korea of the North, they're going to go a test
They're going to shoot a missile, to see what works the best
-
Will it haul an Atom Bomb? or maybe 2 or 3?
Can they put on it their H-bomb? we'll have to wait and see
-
Does it have the range, to reach Washington DC?
Oh my goodness oh my gosh, Obama's going to ***!
-
He will stomp his feet, and then he's going to pout
He'll stomp his feet AND pout, at Kimy he will shout
-
He'll slap on them some sanctions! and call them naughty names
He'll say Kimy Kimy bad boy, I ain't playin' no more games
-
But what Game does Kimy play? That makes Obama ***
The answer's plane as day, the game is WW3
Continue reading...
Durandus von Meissen Apr 2012
Demonic Sonnets
And who shall care for that o'er which you weep
Or share the burden of this world's foredoom
Seen starkly? Behold, a haunting specter creeps
Among the binding fates spun on life's loom.
You’ll wake them not to that great misery
Which emptiness of pride has reckless wove
But pluck the web for loss and trembling
Of idols in the soul for which they strove.
Put off your glossy youth and early oaths
Devout nativity; raise up your cup
To ***** Lethe and thunder with the strokes
Of fury, treading out the ripened sup!
They will not bear to flay their sacred cows
But shades of death endure and prostrate bow.

Ages in their veins, more raging, whirl
As titanic potentials’ dreadful might
Turns girl to boy, conversely boy to girl
Unlimbing reason for unreason's fright.
That once gone right, here deftly ventures left
As self-conception staggers to its doom
Bursting the bonds of day and night, distressed
With desperate grasping measures, late and soon.
So set on generation's awesome curve
Of ageless heart and mind, how shall they bear
The die they cast at first when madly swerved
Into contesting congresses of care?
Dividing parts, dissolving in the same
The common wealth, no part the whole maintains.

Boast of the times and gilded privilege
Are these pretended guardians of State
Whose politics of power have sought to bank
Their future 'gainst dissenting arguments.
With rhetoric to foist a brave new age
They come as chaos mages on the brink
Of all disposing will, all ends betrayed
To serve their corporations’ nod and wink.
Auctioning the world, their goods are sold
Commercially with avaricious might
That sanctions lust, in quest of pyrite gold
And pirate earnings, staked upon deceit.
At last, the men of mock integrity
Luring the world to covert slavery!

Hurrah, the master men and lords of time-
From time brought forth, they are the world's latest
Whose overweening strut is in the best
Of culminating age, the mind refined!
Now to and fro they go, their lists increased
With every tally; line for line computes
Their beads of enterprise, the while relieved
Of tribulation, fate of hapless dupes.
Learning is theirs, precepts are theirs to bend;
Lawyers, clerics, politicians rest
Upon this pillar; they can split or mend
The finest lines; no guile their thoughts distress.
Step by step they round the universe
And finite lies to infinite converse!

What pride of theirs that strains for fleeting fame
Seeking to wrest from time the wasting plaque
Of recognition, host to every hack
That postures on the stage of the obscene!
Pretending worth, their practiced scripts dispose
In mocking light an empty dignity
While darkening intents; witless disclosed
On lips and brow their self-important glee.
As if full-wrought by truth's heroic wing
Their pride aspires; on vain conceits they soar
Up through the mist while private songs they sing
In self-made praise for deeds of phantom lore.
From belfries of the schools, in broken flight
They shriek away, hell's banshees of the night!

These timely wise, entranced of mind, decree-
Hear all you simple what we shall disclose
Which craft of our discernment is repose
Of wealth in understanding mastery.
A gift to all, these rich-invested beings
Pretending to resolve profundities
Decoct the world with learned fluency
Of torture ways, all gnostic knots untied.
A flair for comedy, their gelded self
Mounts every snorting bore of certainty
Then armchair resting, pants to yet indulge
Another ******* idol’s reckless scheme.
Some stowaways upon the open seas
And polished sextants of academe!

Here is their derogation, born from creeds
Of judgment in self-righteous confidence
That proves for nothing to the innocent
But swamps life's refugees with cruel conceit.
With ages they have built the edifice
Of dogma; every pit and lion’s maw
Is their contraption, set in consciousness
Of the condemning letter of their laws.
Cunning serpents, masquerading doves
They fashion argument, more vicious wrought
With rationales to blacklist those who strove
To flee their institutions’ heinous plot.
Enamored with a fascist benefit
The systems of the world they implement!

Fanatic men, how bold they tempt the fates
That meet to each the fruits of brutish will
Redoubled, which they’ve spent in kind to date
Upon their brothers, sisters…other self.
They make an estimation, rule the span
Between men; lord over equity
With zero tolerance and brazen hand
To smash upon their consanguinity.
Such is the wicked priesthood’s confidence
In its own judgment, ever owning not
The wrong condemned in others, deep dispensed
To every heart, from roots of life begot.
More wretched they, and haunted with the shame
Of hypocrites, bedeviled by the same!

O law of learning, sum of thinkers' best
Now magnified, ensconced upon the power
Of natal worth and privileged social dower;
Once ruled by you, the Earth pleads for redress.
No scruple sought, no reservation found
To staunch against your certifying will
Which point of iron stylus now furrows
The world at large as object for the ****.
So cart away your pleading victim, mired
In ****** wallows of concupiscence
And grace deny, self-dubbed the doubtless squire-
Errant usurper of the human quest.
How dignified, the rake of your ambition
That promises continual division!
Continue reading...
CK Baker Aug 2017
The Day That Robert Newhouse Died
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Continue reading...
Big Virge Aug 2014
" Reaction " ... A Poem written by Big Virge 8/7/2005
After the 7/7 bombing ...
This is part of a Trilogy of poems to remind people about  
where some of their, " Anti-Islam Rhetoric ", started from ....
  
(BTW ... I am NOT, Pro-Islam)
  
What Happened Yesterday ...
Left Many Folks ... AMAZED ... !!!!!
  
To See The London Underground ...
  
BLOWN UP And Ablaze ... !!!  
  
Of Course We've Heard ... REACTIONS ...
From The ... Usual Political Factions ...  
  
But ...
While Things Were ... COLLAPSING ... !!!
  
Where Were They ...  
" G8 " ... Protracting ... ?!?
  
It's ... NEVER Them ... ?!?
That ... Feel The STING ...
But People Who ...
WON'T Be The Same AGAIN ... !!!!!  
  
SOME Have Died ...
While Some ... " Survived " ...  
  
But They May Wish ...  
They'd ... Lost Their Life ... ?  
  
What We ... "HEAR" ...
Is ... " So Contrived " ...  
  
It's AL QAEDA ...
ALL THE TIME ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
Let's Not Keep ...
THE TRUTH ... " dIsGuisED " ...
They Have Got ... Western Allies ... !!!
  
So .....
Where's The Proof  ... ???
To Dispel ... " LIES " ...  
  
That ... Will Be Fed ...
To ... "CONTROLLED Minds" ...  
  
I Haven't Got A Clue ... ?
Try ... MI5 ... !!!  
  
Aren't They The Ones ... ???
Who ... PROTECT LIVES ... !?!
  
They Seemed To Be ... " LOST " ... !?!?!
Did They Need A Guide ... ???
  
It's ... Cars They Drive ...
While Some Have ... DIED ... !!!
  
On ... GUESS WHAT YES ... !!?!!
A ... Double Decker Ride ...
  
But ... " It's Okay ! "
Is What They Say ...  

"Security measures are now in place !"
  
Okay That's Great ... !!!
But The Fact Is THIS ...
  
IT'S A LITTLE TOO LATE ... !!!
  
When MANY NOW ...
Have Met Their Fate ... !!!
  
Isn't  ... PREVENTION ...
Better Than .... " Cure " ... ?!?
  
You'd Better Ask Bob ... ?
Or Try ... Midge Ure ... !!!!
  
LIVE AID Worked ... !!!
It Got A .... REACTION ....  
  
Yeah .....
  
George Bush AIN'T ...
Removing ... SANCTIONS ... !!!
  
Fair Trade Is A Better Way ...  
Than Giving Pop Stars ...  
  
The ... " Political Stage " ...  
  
They Just Want ...
Some More ... AIRPLAY ... !!!
  
Those Who Believe ...
What The Media say ...  
Are ... VEXING ME ... !!! ...
In ... Different Ways ... !!!!!
  
People I Work With ...  
Make Me ... " Laugh " ...  
  
"Virgil, this thing ain't a joke !
Someone in here may have had their heart broke !"
  
That ... May Be True ... ?
  
But Here's MY VIEW ...  

People Laugh ...
Every ******* Day ... !!!
While ... " Many DIE " ...  
In ... " DIFFERENT Ways " ...  
  
NOT ... NATURALLY ... !!!
They're ... " CASUALTIES " ...  
of Things We All See ...
In ... " Societies " ...  
  
Come On Folks ... !!!
You ... Must Agree ... ?!?
  
So ... Don't You Point ...
Fingers ... At Me ... !!!
  
Cos' You ... Like Me ...
Are ... ALL GUILTY ...  
of Making Jokes ...
While Others ... BLEED ... !!!
  
Look At Those ...
Who Had To Sleep ...
In London Hotels ...
  
Beds .....  
DIDN'T COME CHEAP ... !!!!!!
  
These Are The Acts ...
of The ... GREEDY BREED ... !!!
  
I'll Laugh OUT LOUD ...  
Cos' That ... AIN'T ME ... !!!!!!!  
  
People Have ... " Died " ...
  
Yeah It's A  ... TRAGEDY ... !!!
  
But ... How Many Care ... ???
About ... " Those in NEED " ... !!!
  
In Places ... Here ...
In This Country ...  
And Those Who SUFFER ...
..... " Overseas " .... ?!?!?
  
How Many Can Say ... ?

" They think of them ! "
  
Those Living A Life ...
WITHOUT ... " Freedom " ...  
  
It's TRUTH I Talk ...
While You Build Forts ...
To Save ... Yourself ...
From ... " Conscious Thoughts " ...  
  
And Then Want To Act ...
Like ... " You're A GOOD SPORT " ... ?!?  
  
And Think About Those ...
With LESS ... NOT More ... ???
  
Check YOURSELF ...
In The ... Baggage Hall ... !!!!!
  
This FOR SURE ...
I DO ... " IMPLORE " ... !!!!!
  
I DON'T Know Everything ... !!!  
I DON'T Claim To ... !!!
  
But Nowadays ...
  
My Views Are ... " Shrewd " ...  
  
I'm Searching For ... TRUTH ... !!!
NOT .... " Fraudulent News " .... !!!

" It's a power surge ! "
  
REMEMBER Those Words ... ???
  
Cos' Now WE KNOW ...
That Message Was ... BlUrReD ... !!!
  
YES ... With These Words ...
You Must ... CONCUR ... !!!
  
So These Last Words ...
Go To ... " Fake Factions " ...  
  
EVERY Action ...
Provokes A ...
  
... " Reaction " ...
7/7 was a day where things changed dramatically in the UK, and gave artists plenty to say ! .... So, here a few of my immediate views, and indeed reactions to what was fed to the public, by the government, and media news crews !
#dark #london #terrorism #humankind #sadness
Continue reading...
r Feb 2015
putin syndrome
a pentagon study
determined that putin
is an anti-social control freak
kind of vermin

(really? this required a genius
kind of keenness? really?)

darpa should stick to cool things
like the internet and invisibility cloaks
and drones armed with pork parts


a rodina rodent in the grain
needs spankin'
with more than just sanctions

cuz knocking out their incisors
doesn't make them any nicer

- a rat with no teeth
is still a rat.
r ~ 2/9/15
#russia #putin #ukraine
Continue reading...
Giuseppi Martino Buonaiuto Jul 2015
“Greek Austerity”
A question that should be on
Your mind this evening is why?
Why are the people of Greece--
Why is the nation of Greece--getting
Spanked & punished by their EU
German & French economic overlords?
We should be saluting tonight’s
Referendum NO vote results,
The Greek electorate voting against another
Devastating round of economic sanctions,
Voting NO on more years of austere living.
In fact, it should be U.S. foreign policy to
Support complete Greek withdrawal from
The European Union. That’s right:
“Euro No, Drachma naí!”
The EU is fiscal tyranny,
Led by the EU autocrats,
Angela Merkel & whomever is sitting in the
French baby high chair these days.
Isn’t it a strange coincidence that the
EU whip, always seems to be cracking on
Their swarthier brethren,
Their southern European members,
The Spaniards, Portuguese, Italians &,
The Greeks.
The Greeks have had enough.
One would expect nothing less from
These fiercely independent
Hellenistic people.
And you can **** the Greek people
Up their ***** all you want &
Many of them might like it, but
The Greeks will survive,
Survive as they have for nearly 3,000 years,
Give or take a Kalamata olive or two.
We breathe the air of Greek culture,
Deep respiration of so much of
What we still call learning these days.
We owe the Greeks: it was
Greek inception of so much
Math & science &
Countless other right-brain
Spatial ability & logical precision; not to
Mention so many left-brain contributions in
Sociology & ethics,
Politics & democratic government,
Geography & religion,
Education & philosophy,
Sculpture & art, philosophy,
Live theater & literature.
We owe the Greeks.
Had we interceded with the Brits on Greece’s behalf,
Reminding them that we bailed out their sorry ***-cheeks
After two 20th Century world wars, perhaps
The British Museum might have Fedexed
The so-called Elgin Marbles--
Those boosted friezes,
Jacked right off the
Parthenon façade,
Should have Fedexed them back to
"Eleftherios Venizelos,"
Decades ago.
George’s wife, that foxy babe
Amal Clooney sure thinks so.
We owe the Greeks.
The world owes the Greeks.
Let us all help the Greeks.
Let’s encourage them to quit the EU.
To Greeks I say: trust & patience,
You’ve got the sun.
You’ve got the sea.
A clean white landscape,
Ouzo & Retsina,
Spanakopita & Moussaka.
The Greek Islands:
Crete & Mykonos,
Santorini & Corfu,
Rhodes & Ios
Samos & ****** . . .
We owe you.
We love you.
We will come to you.
Continue reading...
Gabriella Kundiona Jun 2021
Who is the life-guard
i smoke a little bud because i am drowning
take a shot of liquor because i am drowning
face it i aint sober because im drowning
everyone needs little relief to save them from drowning
i am drowning

drowning
government eats while the people are bleeding so they're drowning
system is shady wont compensate for the drowning
all alone with nothing to eat because we're drowning
the world is full of hatred so bitter we drown in it
we drowning

drowning
feed the homeless people because they drowning
where's our human rights because Africa is drowning
resuscitate all Africa because she is drowning
you'redrowning

drowning
we don't deserve the sanctions because we are drowning
maintaining your pollution so we drown in it
we can't stop drowning

drowning
we crave stability because we're drowning
still fighting for equality because we're drowning
give me back my identity and prevent me from drowning
diminishing the role of an African Queen to watch her drowning
drowning

drowning
stand up for ubuntu because abantu is drowning
Continue reading...
PiLomus Sep 2018
EXpectations
You should do this,
You should do that,
Why these diktats I do not understand.
Are we living our life to comply?
Are not we here to supply.
Why we are to be part of some creed,
When in reality we all are from the same seed.
We are stuck in a whirlpool of sanctions,
And I do not know how to come out of this expansion.

Expectations are defining our life more than existence do,
And the biggest question humanity is asking
what should I do?
We are blaming history for our misconceptions,
Naming presumptions as The inceptions.
How we are going to move ahead,
When we are becoming a body with just a head,
Shedding our humanity for a mere piece of bread.

We are the creation and creators of our world,
All of us is an existence a real thing,
Our creativity is our ability to think.
Then why should we be like someone,
When we could be anyone.
I want to holler out at the world with this answer
Yes, we can
Because we are not endowed with a taste
We have a whole Selection.
Expectations as a hope are a bliss but as a requirement a living hell.
#life #expectation #society #answer #issue
Continue reading...
Alex Crockett Sep 2009
cynical
Breaking all the rules,

There they are like sanctions,

A double vision to a double end,

Secret lies for us to comprehend.

Freedom bore no place here,

It bears no meaning, nor no hope,

A shackle or a chain are all the same,

These are the courses we take.

And, with each days decisions,

Consequences of pain,

Life itself remains unconquered, you see it,

Amounting to all the same.

True to you is like the punishment recurring,

Yet untrue is immediate and cursed,

These very moments, weaken the weakness and weaker still,

The birds sing the songs I have heard them rehearse.

Light dawns on an early morning, twilight dawns and dawns a burden or a curse.

Another choice drifts nearer, the same set of choices that once were,

They have come with the sun to hurt us.

And hurt, they will, some more.

Conversations play like games of chess,

Tactics in words shifting their pieces with their meanings

Maybe poker, like a bluff or a guess,

Maybe imagination expands on less.

But, truth will out and games all end,

And all the cards will equal the deck,

That is the gamble, and the consequence,

That is life and imperfection.

When love is tangled in a knotted web,

For that moment where Sisyphus takes hubris for his glory,

To play to loose and crumble climb after climb,

He tried,

And  encumber justice of the gods despite the story

Tis man who loses less and less.

Light dawns brighter with shutters drawn,

Peaking in and bringing the truths closer to their place of rest

Distance reminds us of home

And it is further than sleep will allow the spirit to acquiesce.

Sleep or sleep and night of quiet,

Golum comes for his ring,

The key he holds in his desire,

To hide that brute and murderous liar.

Golum waits till slumber, to remind,

We are all souls in desire, and night brings the snake to us all

and the fire.

So daylight breaks, birds sing their song,

They mate and fly and dance along

But, for Job, for Judas and for Peter,

The single man, the breaking bread,

Shaking hands and hanging head

Sacrilege smiles as we wake to glib

And that is life and that is majesty,

It is in those fables we hang our heads.

We are without perfection but welcome are we in company,

And, don’t forget Bessie Smith,

Rich once and poor twice and human through and through,

We’ll cheer the champagne and forget all the evil do,

For we have treacle ****, cars and Andy Warhol to remind us,

There is no soul in art.

That is life, that is the pity of the profound.

A sorry lot if we cared, but, we don’t,

Like children born to be born again

We are here only, to roll around.
Continue reading...
Lucia Feb 2014
urban forest
Swimming through deep water
Heading for the Holt?
Stop and pause to pray or prey?
Opportunistic?
Jean van jean?
In the forest there are no sanctions
Just life and death and hibernation

In the urban forest
The place we call the office
Or the Learning Zone
There is so much more risk
Classes clash; personalities clash;
Priorities clash; authorities clash!

The mob rules
The bullies rule
The demands/needs of the customer; the consumer; the learner
All must be met

Where am I in the urban forest
A tree shrew
A thorny owl
A wild Ottter
Or an Osprey with a mountain view

Soaring high above the issues of the urban forest
Far travelled wild Osprey
I yearn to be yew
Continue reading...
MAJD S Jul 2013
Explosions in the Sky:
Explosions in the sky
That certain rush of words covered with ideas I am not so afraid of
That simple touch of a pen poets picture as their current heaven
And heaven lies within the lies where real people exist and in-concrete dust flies
And flies surround the inner spaces between my heart and yours
Those inter dimensional cracks that keep us alive together
Yet those same cracks cause the
Explosions in the sky
When a million thoughts tremble under shattered glass
And glass becomes rain over a nation
That had no occupation
A station
Where all the emotions find a leak
Where all the leaks lead to leisure
The flood of blood narrated to form a spring out of Arab's fall
And freedom is attained with the sound of
Explosions in the sky
When betrayal becomes the living scenario of a very normal human being
Who believed that his sanctuary is in unison with his sanctions
Strategies structured his not so subtle approach
And after that he fell into her
Explosions in the sky
When a man loses his vision upon a mild smile
When a cry for help becomes an invite for suicide
Come…help me be the
Portrait of clay you'll form with your delicate hands
Shape my image
And imagine a shape for my form
Form a set for me to follow
Follow my moves for if I fall of your track
Track me back to the first point
The playstation of life saves checkpoints
Yet my life is full of glitches…
For when I look at you
I am supposed to be looking at you
But all I'm seeing is
Explosions in the sky
When a trouble-free man becomes the complex notion of a firework
Those little pieces of fiery smoke
Grabs it
And smokes the last buds of life out of his people
The governor governing the covers he created
To alienate the truth
I found in your eyes
And I shall never be mislead
Instead
I shall be steadfast and ready
For you
I shall be ready for you
And your
Explosions in the sky
When a poet has no words left to write
In the right time
Literally the speaker is speechless
He's too busy wondering in total observation
The explosions…
The explosions we create
The skies that unveil
And that little feeling of satisfaction
With the last bits of an ink written
Poem.
Continue reading...
Bob B Oct 2018
****** at the Consulate
At the Saudi Arabian Consulate,
In Istanbul, Turkey, I hear
Something dreadful happened, although
Details are as yet unclear.

Saudi born Jamal Khashoggi,
Journalist for the Washington Post,
Entered the consulate knowing that
It might not be a welcoming host.

An Apple Watch might seem useless.
Khashoggi's Watch, nevertheless,
Recorded his brutal beating and ******,
According to the Turkish press.

But was it an Apple Watch, or had
Turkish authorities bugged the room?
Whatever the case, people are certain
That that’s where Khashoggi met his doom.

We know he entered the building whole.
We're waiting to hear more news releases,
For many fear that the journalist,
Exited the building in pieces.

When asked if he'd condemn the Saudis
If they had committed the ghastly deed,
Trump at first appeared reluctant
To criticize them or intercede.

The Saudis pay billions of dollars
For weapons, he said, to the USA.
And what's-his-name wasn't even
An American citizen anyway.

Later, Trump admitted that
We need a thorough investigation.
But sanctions involving money? No,
That would severely hurt our nation.

Meanwhile, the Saudis **** innocent
Yemenis with the weapons they buy,
And rectitude falls by the wayside
As bank accounts multiply.

-by Bob B (10-13-18)
Continue reading...
Paul Morgana Mar 2013
Shamrock
Another year, another Paddies day,
Here in New York, hope for sun to play.

So the Irish celebration, takes winged flight,
Green is the color in everyone's sight.

Parade in the street, down fifth avenue.
The master of ceremony, we don't know who?

But the master this day, stands as St. Pat,
Clad in green, with a leprechaun's hat.

Hear the bagpipes, the drums pounding loud,
This is the Irish day, to stand and be proud!

A Catholic holiday, dietary sanctions they lift,
Eat meat and drink alcohol, is the Popes gift.

What are we celebrating?  Let's take a closer look,
Power up the computer or crack open a book.

St. Patrick was born under English rule,
His family was clergy, formally educated in school.

Kidnapped by the Irish, and held as a slave,
To journey back to England he must be brave.

He returned one day to the Irish shore,
About the eternal Trinity, the Irish learned more.

A bishop now, native clove he did use,
To teach the Irish, about celestial clues.

About the father and son and the holy ghost,
The three leaves on a shamrock, they will forever toast!

The three leaves of a shamrock, and it's circular shape,
Are the same as God's Trinity, the logic you can't escape.

This is why the shamrock is so highly revered,
Wear one on your vest, or tucked into your beard.

Enjoy the day, celebrate with family and friend,
Toast to St. Patrick, may his legacy never end!

Visit poemsbypaul.com
Continue reading...
james arthur casey Oct 2010
Clearing the Field
They have become defiled
They have defiled the land

"It's so unfair," she said. "Is this a loving God
Who sanctions genocide?
Who commands His people to slay man, woman and child?
A nation condemned, not the first
An entire planet submerged
Heaven snatched away for disobedience
No, I will not tolerate such a Deity."

In dark caves the Canaanite altars drip with the blood of children
The stench of feces and foul ***** taints the air
Yellow pools glisten in torch light
**** drips from the walls, piles up in mounds scattered on the floor
Animals mill about, sniffing the carcasses of other beasts
Each one kept for a purpose, dead and alive
No golden calves here, only warm flesh unyielding
Worthless for breeding, unneeded
For the Canaanites feed on the carrion of their own battlefields
The meat of their own brothers
Sisters, Fathers, Mothers
The feast devoured, bellies full, sated
The leftovers packed in salt for another day

Night falls, soon the stone that seals the altar tomb
Will be rolled away
The strongest of the peoples will enter the huge cavern
To claim their rightful reward
Until then...

The sounds of grunting women and children
None resisting, none even caring
Most feel nothing
The women should be crying, the children screaming
Only the infants' wails stand out against the cacophony
The noise of mindless rutting, the tears drawn by innocence crushed
Man and woman so desensitized
They barely feel anything anymore
But they remember the sensation
They strive to get it back
The Canaanites have become too ignorant to realize
They never will
So they've turned it into a God
Given it life, passed it on, infecting their enemies
Every bit as lethal as the diseases they've unwittingly cultivated
Passed on to open hearts and open minds
And to their infants and children
A malaise that blossoms into deformity, leprosy or worse

On a dais in the center of the cave
Are seven corpses
The Strong Men know them well

A Canaanite woman squats in a field on the edge of the village
She heaves and groans, face red from effort
With a final push she feels relief
The tiny thud of a newborn hitting the ground distracts her
To her it is nothing more than another form of defecation
She wraps the umbilical cord around her right hand
With her left she grasps the slimy casing
With a quick, purposeful **** she tears it in two
Rips, wanting nothing more to do with the burden she's carried for nine months
A final glance at the condemned child
The sand around it's body blotted with blood and issue
It's airless plea unheeded
She turns and walks away, apathetic
She's done this before
Many, many times before

The cave echoes with an ungodly sound
The Strong Men harness the beasts
The noise is maddening
The Strong Men dominate
Their laughter is insane
The creatures, they believe, are their prize
After all, they are the Strong Men
They are the leaders of the land

Friendship is dead
Compassion is dead
Fear is dead
Hope is dead
Desire is dead
Reason is dead
Logic is dead
Understanding is dead
Joy is dead
Peace is dead
Patience is dead
Kindness is dead
Self-control is dead
Faithfulness is dead
Gentleness is dead
Goodness is dead
Love is dead
Dead as the corpses on the altar
Dumb as the animals in the cages
If those creatures were sentient beings
They would beg for the slaughter
If the Canaanites had not so long been numb
They would pray for the same

The Strong Men
Are ready
Now
For the
Corpses

****

A loving God puts a crippled horse out of it's misery
A loving God buries it deep underground

A loving God does not condemn without reason
Without good reason

A loving God does not sanction genocide
But He will clear a field full of rabid skunks
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
Continue reading...
Wade Redfearn Aug 2018
A Poem For Those Who Die Before a Bill Becomes a Law
A bill becomes a law through a process not unlike wet clay curing in the sun, seasonal labor filling the fields in springtime, a drop of sweat absorbed thirstily into a towel, a stain spreading across a tablecloth.

A bill becomes a law eventually, but often, not in time. A bill often fails on the floor, as do some people, as does, just as often,
the attempt to revive them. The attempt looks an awful lot
like a senator's face, energetic and gray and doomed and
looking for any advantage
when the needed advantage is in the ether
and still immaterial until the tenth of February.

I notice the bumper stickers, and I've deputized a Google Alert
to tell me that the popular mass is wakening.
I can also tell when it yawns,
or prods a rib for a pain that wasn't there yesterday.
I can tell when the popular mass has slept funny.
I can tell when it would rather not wake up at all
but the light is streaming in through the window
and the house is full of the sound of the dishwasher.

Pain on both sides, in both ribs, ignored
because sometimes it just happens - pain,
that is - and is a part of getting older,
like how you can't put peppers in your chili anymore
now that they don't grow on this side of the planet,
and there's nobody left to tend them.

I would like somebody to tend me, too,
but the law that sanctions that workforce
is still in committee, and mired in a dispute
about who deserves love.

This one goes out to all of those lying on their kitchen floor
once everyone is out of the house, lifting their legs and placing them on the countertop, listening to their heart ticking
and trying to discover if it reaches everywhere, if they can hear it
in their ankles.

This one goes out to their savings accounts and their kneecaps.

Here's hoping they make it.
Continue reading...
Tammy M Darby May 2018
When the last war began
When the Last War began
It had been 15 minutes since the first missiles were launched and NY had no warning before it hit, entire blocks were obliterated, debris, brick, and stone mixed with flesh as horrified onlookers had only a second of recognition, before they too were nothing but melting skin, then ash as the radiation spread like a broken dam. A firestorm consumed all in its wake and deaths sister continued to rain down poison and rattled the earth in the aftershock of devastation.

New York City, Los Angeles, and Washington D.C. had been hit only minutes apart and the smell of fire and blood filled the rubble-strewn streets, those that did not perish instantly were killed by flying shards of glass, metal, and other projectiles. The smell of burnt hair infiltrated the nostrils of the soon to be dead as veins and muscle were ripped from the bone in an instantaneous flash. The screams caught in the throats of the victims stopped before they disappeared into flames.

Not one, but four nations had launched missiles in response to the sanctions, the isolation and tightening the noose of the military to strangle countries considered to be the "enemy," by the US.

But Trump's inner circle had miscalculated, the military, his advisors with all their combined minds never truly entertained the idea that Russia or China would attack and were confident the might of the capitalist US and its military would always prevail.

Russia, Iran, North Korea, and China had long been secret allies, laid their plans and patiently awaited the day when the US could no longer hide its intentions and made no effort to do so, openly challenging territories of other nations, promoting economic terrorism, backing extremist rebels and destroying governments. as they pleased and with impunity.

The lack of, "freedom and democracy," were frequently used an excuse for the invasion of unfriendly countries, along with the seizure of assets and resources, strategic position, or refusal to use the currency of the United States.

So they fired the missiles and dropped the bombs. The people of all nations had depended on their governments to use diplomacy to negotiate the differences that were the basis of the conflict. They never expected a real nuclear conflict to occur until it came as deaths face to their door, like a flash of red light before the darkness claimed them.

And so the last war began.

My first try at writing a short story

All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby May 5, 2018.
All Material Stored in Author Base



All Rights Reserved @ Tammy M. Darby May 5, 2018.
Continue reading...
Valsa George Jul 2016
Frozen Grief
In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?

In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still

Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool

I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform

In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half

As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want

Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud

I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer

With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown

Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore

As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part

                               *                          *

While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!
The pain of a widowed mother left lonely by the death of her only child is  something beyond one can possibly imagine !
Continue reading...
Anne B Jun 2014
INEVITABLES (biographic)
I believe that life happens between the points of a few good moments
and a few bad ones.
All that’s between are only shades of blue,
grey, whites, blacks and weddings and funerals and christenings.
I don’t know what life is
But surely, it must soon start.
I mean, the clock keeps ticking,
ticking,
ticking…
Tick, tock. Tick, tock…

I believe that the shades of grey are tests
Tests I must pass.
But life goes on.
Tick, tock.

Ok, I admit it. I don’t know.
When does life happen – when we find out to be alive?
-  or when we wish we were dead?
When I cry into my pillows and hope the rest of my dorm won’t hear me, but hoping someone will take care of me.
Take all the weight off your shoulders. Kiss you. Hold you close.
**** me.

No, I didn’t mean it that way. Ok, so maybe I do.
But we’re drifting away from each other – like two opposites, going our separate ways.
Tick, tock.
Stop the ticking, please. Make it stop.
“Don’t you want to get better?” Yes, I do.
“I know you’ve been here before.” Tick, tock.

So, for how long am I supposed to cry into my pillow – loneliness as my only friend; constantly lurking behind me; my shadow is loneliness – my face is lies. Pleased to meet you.
But back to him. I want to talk about him.
Tick, tock.
Shut up,
this is important.

“I’m just looking at the prettiest girl here,” you told me.
If I knew what I know now, I would have run away.
I would never have let you give me compliments; lever let you twist my hair; never let you kiss me; never let you touch me. Never let anyone touch me.
Go away.
Leave me.
The shades are all black.
My shadow creeps up on me.

I smile. And I don’t look happy. The face staring back at me is broken.
Tick, tock. Tick,
tock.
They talk. They know. They keep talking. I walk away.
“Mum, I’m not alright.”
“I know. You’ve been here before.”
Shades are grey – shades are black. The sky is dark. My face still doesn’t look happy.

My family keeps falling apart.
My home is no longer my home.
My friends, no longer so interested.
New friends. New places to hide.

Part one. I’m on a train. I’m standing on snow.
Part two. I’m in a car. I’m falling apart home.
Part three. I’m with you.
I’m alone. I guess that’s another story – but it’s not. It’s just me, and my friends loneliness, and my friend silence, and pillows, and lies on repeat.

So, for once. I understand.
It was a question of time before I broke too.
I wish I was dead, sometimes. But how can I give up when I have tasted the sweetness?
I have seen tiny sunrays; I have smelled your skin; felt your body; touched your soul – and then been crushed under myself and my enormous tumour of social sanctions.
I’m not allowed to love unconditionally.
I constantly find reasons to run.
Part one, part two, part three.
The ending comes later. The sad ending.

He doesn’t want me, I figure. And is confimed.

“It’s – it’s – “
“Please, just say it.” I swallow. “What happened between us?”
“Well, it’s – it’s – the age gap.”
Really.

I push people away.
I break their skulls and their hearts, and I find myself hiding like an unhappy fool.
- Who could ever want me?
They already taught me: the ones who love you will sooner or later hurt you, and let you rot in yourself; let you stay alone.
Destroy possibilities to climb back up – and that’s worse than hurting now.
It’s been worse.
They’ve humiliated me and destroyed me and my hopes and my intentions.
I don’t want to lose myself again.
Part one,
two,
three.

Hug me in the rain and laugh at my objections.
Show me the pictures of your family.
Let me in.
… maybe I’ll let you in too.

We ****** each other (over).
Was that really a good idea?
I can do that completely fine by myself, thank you.
Tick, tock. Really, still?
“… The prettiest”
Your lies are deceiving me. Your smile deceives me.
“Does it hurt?” “No, not so much. I’m okay.”

Please, I beg you.
Make it hurt.

I want it all.
The hurting; the people; the time; the time I don’t have; your smile and your lies.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” “Nothing, mum. It’s nothing.” She starts crying on the phone.
Silence.
But please. Let me in.
Knock, knock.
It’s raining. Please, can you let me in?

I have no home.
I’m just constantly hiding, running and trying to find someplace safe. Someone safe.

We could make it, you know.
“I don’t know what is happening now. I don’t know what we do.” “That’s fine. Me neither.” Kisses.
Where are your kisses now?

All I have is my sorrow, my shadow and my wet pillow.
And it hasn’t been raining. Screaming into my pillow.
Save me – just this once. I’m begging for help.
Can’t anybody
see
me?
Screaming out?

Grow up. Don’t write that.
Are you really that desperate?

Maybe life is only time.
Maybe time is just an illusion that one day another day will come, when time is really just night an day
– not years and weeks, but just empty days and nights.
Maybe life isn’t a linear curve where things get better as I previously had thought.

Just get out of this town.
Just grow up.
Just show them how good I can be.

I failed two classes this year.
I moved away from home;
and now they sell my home for strangers to live where I once played, cried, slept and laughed – by myself. Where my dreams were made.
And now; they seem to be crushed by waves crashing to the shore.

And my wall is finally crumbling down.

Inevitable. I scream into my pillow.
Hoping
for
a
better
day.

And I hang up the phone. Please, just take me in.

**Night to: 27th of May 2014
Stream of consciousness. Written on word. Trying to figure myself out.
#love #abandonment #personal #loneliness #2014 #biographic
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Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
just google for heaven
in their disguised self-centered ways, the faithful are obsessed with going to Heaven and staying away from Hell


1
all the faithful,
these holy believers,
they all fear this address:
No.1 HELL, OUTSIDE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
all the faithful
want to avoid this place like, well, hell!


the non-believers just take it easy;
they have no such obsessions


all the faithful, the holy believers
they all aspire to this place:
ONLY 1, HEAVEN, DIVINE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
they all try and get there
and with their narrow True Only One Way
they think they'd get there anyway
easy as if you'd googled for Heaven


the non-believers just take it easy;
they have no such obsessions



2

and well, if the faithful are always imagining what God sanctions
and says, I don't see why their opposites can't also imagine what this Grand Supposition says



and in their aspirations,
to reach
ONLY 1, HEAVEN, DIVINE UNIVERSE,
POSTAL CODE: 0001
the faithful
***** the planet earth
with all their doctrines
and their aggression
and their violence
and their narrowness and bigotry
and their holiness and their obsessions
and creating constant divisions
and so I can sympathize
with their supposed God becoming sane
and thus declaring to the faithful:
Oh no, I'm not letting you ******* in
as surely you'll make a Hell of Heaven;
I'd rather let in the non-believers here anytime
at least they don't have your hang-ups and perversions





conclusion

well, the poor faithful then, the holy faithful wholly excluded, they'll have to content themselves with Googling for Heaven, and viewing the streets of Heaven on Google Maps of the Divine World
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Cedric McClester Nov 2015
DON'T SAY, "ALLAHU AKBAR!"
By: Cedric McClester

Don’t say,  “Allahu Akbar!”
Because the facts are
That while God is Great
He’s not a God of hate
And if you can’t relate
You have a second rate
Ideology can’t you see
It’s clearly blaspheme

Don’t say, “Allahu Akbar!”
While you blow up a car
To maim and ****
As if it’s God’s will
You won’t reach paradise
Because it isn’t nice
To harm humanity
Read Qu’ran like me

Don’t say, “Allahu Akbar!”
Who you think you are
God doesn’t sanctions you
To do the things you do
You think it’s heaven sent
To **** the innocent
And do it in a Name
That you clearly defame

Don’t say, “Allahu Akbar!”
When you know you are
Just an insane jihadi
Down with al Baghdadi
Who’s merely a snake
So give me a break
Because he’s a viper
Worthy of a ******








Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.
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Mark Lecuona Jan 2012
Where Do You Stand?
Do you want to read it from him, a name you barely recognize
The one who passed long ago with whom you can cannot empathize
In a language you do not comprehend, even if it’s the one you speak
The one that trips your tongue, with words caught in your beak
Do you want to read it from me, the one you do not know
For how can it be relevant when it’s a charlatan who says so?
I will not stand on the shoulders of giants to make you cower
Instead we are eye to eye so you will feel the myths I devour
You won’t utter a word I say from memory because it was important
As you have done so many times with the words that you really want
Not so much because of what they say but rather because of whom
Whose memory is preserved with your approval, his book in your room
Are there no new lessons for you, even if you do not know the mistakes
That loom in your sterile mind which pride knows but foolishly makes
Can your desire for anything but thought be overcome by imploring words?
How does it feel to be trampled when you invited the lost thundering herds?
What error is so grave yet so shallow that you pretend it was as intended?
What day frivolously discarded is so unfulfilling that your worth was rescinded?

Which smile is it today my friend that drifts across your life not knowing when
Yes not knowing when it is appropriate to remain and when it is time to end
Have you received your mark, the one you may well deny some day?
Can you erase it as surely as it was placed, so carefully as you lay?
And yet you do not even know of what I speak yet see so clearly in you
All your beliefs and fears hardening to protect the heart you never knew
You gave it no chance, because what you heard was not what they meant
It grew so fast you had no choice but to endure as your life was spent
Can you imagine yourself doing what it is that I could possibly describe
Even before you know anything except everything you’ve ever felt inside?
Can you make the decision to venture away from everything you’ve believed
If I could prove that it was wrong from the moment it was ever conceived?
Could you believe that the seed was planted with you in mind all the time
And that your anonymity could not conceal you from the idea of their crime?
The one against humanity brought to bear on you alone to suffer endlessly
Because you could only think to follow in the comfort of living callously?

Where is it that you stand, does it provide you the comfort of your worth?
You want what you are not and you deny the truth of your birth
Are you in discomfort because there is nothing here that I have stolen?
Because there is no list of obscure legends in the web I have woven?
The is no reference to the things I say, they are all mine to offer
In time maybe after I am gone you will know that I care how you suffer
But in the instance of these things that I bring to your labored attention
I tell you now that all you can be and all that you are not is my intention
And to think that life is a game to a bitter end of useless knowledge
You can live now, larger than before if you would only acknowledge
That you are the discovery worth pursuing and not what you know of others
For they have their culture and it is time not to join but to leave pretended brothers
For they know you are not about them but about wanting to be like them
In time you will know that you will never be like them because you are not of them
The truth for you to discover are the questions if you can bear to read
For you to discover that what you believe is another man’s creed

And so what national interest is worth the life of a child in forgotten wars?
And so what profit motive is worth the cause of conflict within our shores?
And so what going concern is worth a precious mind that cannot find relief?
And so what flag is worth the pain of a mother's unending grief?
And so what God sets in motion the cause of savage genocide?
And so what mandate sanctions the destruction of an indigenous tribe?
And so who is insane, he who cries before or after the innocent are dead?
And so who is more worthy, he who rules the world or who is misled?
And so what moral code justifies the survival of technical superiority?
And so what certainty sends men to their deaths in the name of destiny?
And so what courage will it take to say, “Never again?”
And so what life will be sacrificed to end the devil’s reign?
And so when will two men with passionate minds come together?
And so why must we hate and cause heartache instead of loving one another?
And so what fail safe point exists to save humanity from our terrors?
And so what decision is rooted in a mistake carried by pall-bearers?
And so what history of life is to be sacrificed to rip a chapter from a book?
And so what memory of the past is unable to see because no one will look?
And so what pride of self is worth the disillusion in the idea of a nation?
And so what lost hope is worth the end of our soul’s salvation?
And so what fear is worth ignoring common decency?
And so what victory is worth torture for expediency?
And so what singular cause is worth the eclipse of those who bring light?
And so what man can decide to shred the Bill of Rights?

Where have all the flowers gone my friend, a nation weeps for you
All we have are words, promises that were never true
A spoken myth passed on, change, a faraway place
Each person longing with nothing but a blank face
The petals wander alone, searching for a stem
Unable to join together, always asking when?
The plow destroyed the garden, war, the hand on the till
We, with our faded memories, take refuge in a pill
The vultures glide above us, silently seeking their prey
We, unknowing, flounder, grasping at honor as we play
Our hearts confront the horror, inviting the bullet home
Take us from this place, it is better to allow our mind to roam
The shores of your mother’s intentions for you are under your feet
Return to your ship or allow the transformation to be complete
In the Diaspora of every emotion you’ve ever felt and denied
The answer lies waiting, but do you know who told the truth and who lied?




COPYRIGHT 2012. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MARK LECUONA
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Dreams of Sepia Aug 2015
Smoke
The city's shrouded in smoke today
smoke coats my mouth, throat & eyes

& I know, I know.
       I should be writing in form,
in rhyme - villanelles, sonnets, terza rima
      some say there's too much free verse, some say, it's like
everyone's jumped on the bandwagon
       yet the most of the magazines still all want rhyme
                 but sometimes this is just the tune
                                    your heart sings, a broken smile
                                    & the way the images build up
                                        waiting to sail like ships in the harbor


& besides, should we really be writing in villanelles when we are the Mad & I see now, the best minds of our generation, the gifted,

the naked wastrels of the coming apocalypse,
talking to lamp posts, screaming of Ginsberg's Moloch

& the wrongs they did us, yet not destroyed even as we scream locked
behind whitewashed walls in razor-blade glint & halogenic

glow of ECT or walk the empty streets at guerilla dawn
& dusk, bearing the ample weight of our drugged-up minds

like those martyrs of the old Soviet Union & clinging
on to memoirs of our stolen, interrupted, spiritual awakening,

searching for the redemption of litter in this hobo life, 
changing countries like some change bed sheets,

others rooted by the invisible chains of familiarity & home, still calling
for the road, oh Kerouac, the fallen angels of tomorrow strung out on sweet

childhood memories & jazz in starved sunsets,
picking themselves up to pick at their scab wounds,

spitting at corrupt governments, bitter with alcohol,
writing poems of unrequited love to poets

far better than us, while Elvis croons
in the background & a Baboushka spits sunflower seeds

in the Russian town of my ancestors
& an open air film plays in black & white

& this colorless summer is nearly over
& they still haven't lifted their sanctions

them with their stone gods of war & psychiatry,
always lining up the next undesirables :

you could be next, yes you with the rainbow eyes
you the believer, you the dreamer of visions

Oh pity them, the children of smoke,
blind to the vagabond, the poet, the lover

lost children always seeking out the same roads
the city is shrouded in smoke

& I wonder if it's not always been there
& if we're living amongst blind men

ones that never read poems
or else how could all this happen
I was thinking of Ginsberg's ' Howl' when I wrote this - ' I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical naked'. & how these days what could be seen as brilliant, creative minds are locked up, labelled & drugged by psychiatry, my own experience of this.
#smoke #ginsberg #kerouac #beatnik #hospitalization
Continue reading...
Fah Nov 2014
Animated atoms
Sojourn at the hinterlands of a fog casket
awoken to be suffocated
put to sleep        to dream
within a dream                         the nightmare of a mother's fear

depression is so easy to slink in
so wary of all those palpable sins
like being yourself -

awoken to be suffocated
put to sleep      to dream
with a dream                           the nightmare of a mother's fear
where pink haired ladies
talk about my dissonance

within a dream about the nightmare of my mothers
self punishment -

for birthing me
questioning                if it was the right decision

if I          was born to suffer
this fate

so i wake                  in the land of dead people
who's limbs fall apart
as they're names are called out by the concierge

to my voice as whisper
to my courage bubbling underneath
a mother fearful of coming close
forgiveness is a blessing
and the tears flow

                       out of the eyes of a child onto the cheeks of a woman
who's life was molested by other peoples sanctions
a woman who stood tall for the voice of others    children and elders
who encouraged chance meetings to be themselves via magazine clippings
and a mother afraid to come close
and a child still living the actions of a ghost                 looming at her with wide eyed slanders of " you ****** up , you *******
you **** up at everything"

it's difficult to look               it's like watching someone be strung up
naked
tied to posts
and the spaces between their fingers sliced
their yoni sliced
their ******* sliced
their heart beating wide eyed screaming
silenced.

My mother
who birthed me
whom i respect
for all of her showings
no matter how ****** up

strung up
and the vision is blinding.
and we're both crying
but i don't tell her
because it's lunch time
and she's ****** up again.
- a meditation dream -
#dream #mama #anxietyawakening
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MARK RIORDAN Sep 2017
LAUNCH THE MISSILE
NORTH KOREA MISSILE LAUNCH
LAUNCH THE MISSILE
FIRE THE MISSILE
LETS BE AGGRESSIVE NOW

PROVOCATION IS MY AIM
JUST LET ME SHOW YOU HOW


THE WORLD ON EDGE
WILL WAR BREAK OUT
IS THE WORLD REALLY DOOMED


PUT ON THE SANCTIONS
TIGHTEN THE SANCTIONS
UNTIL MASS DESTRUCTION LOOMS
NORTH KOREA LAUNCHES ANOTHER MISSILE TENSIONS ARE HIGH
#north #korea #missile
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Jowlough Jul 2013
Cold Electric, hallucinogenic
Night shifts into jet black
city escapes
if it's not insanity,
we don't have an answer at stake.

this product of you and me
was never an accident.
love at its peak
signaling and S.O.S.

you've bought me in a surface.
we don't now yet.
analog fluctuations I wanted
you and I cant forget.

Sanctions we break,
with metal palms we punch.
limitations act as walls
our thirst  keeps me quenched.

My passion, your fire.
will get us above the wires
ambiguous insights to the past.
Passion and fire, you ignite.
Continue reading...
Tessellate Jun 2013
The Pythia
She abides in her circular chamber,
prophet to the oracular God.

Perched delicately a top a three-legged mount,
engulfed in a haze,
an hallucinogenic cloak.
A mystic figure,
clutching branches of laurel in her Delphian hands,
a bronze bowl of water cradled consciously in her lap.

Her hair as dark as the fates she acquaints.
A cape of red flows like the blood
of those who perished from her
manic counsels.

Aberration is evident in her dazed eyes.
At times her body thrashes
with apparent anger and confusion.
Her limbs then go limp.
A painted smile bleeding across her face,
delirium manifested.

A warning set in stone:
“Know thy self.”
Pay no attention to the opinion of the masses:
advice to be heeded.

The hollow-horned shivers
from head to hoof.
Sacrificed for knowledge of the future
yet unknown.

Her hysterical beauty sanctions
the nonsensical prophecies.

“My wife is with child,
if I contend with the enemy,
will I return to my family?”

She stares into the water,
her face distorted,
for the reflection she sees is not her own.

"You will go,
you will return,
not in the battle you will perish."
Her red cape became
more prominent in colour.
Her ambiguity brought a child
into the world
without a father.

"You will go,
you will return not,
in the battle you will perish."
the Greek Oracle at Delphi
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Mariya Timkovsky Jun 2012
Innocent Until Proven...
The defendant approaches the bench
And gently removes the dust from the bible.
The courtroom looks in confusion.
“I’m not putting my hand on that filthy thing,” the defendant says.
“I’d be lying if I were to declare that a book that was written by someone who never knew me is something I can put my faith in.”
The jury, judge, plaintiff, and television viewers were astonished.
The defendant was asked simply to defend the case
And was already not looking very innocent.
But who are these strangers to judge anyway?
The defendant was brought to the court because of refusal to comply with
Orientation Sanctions.
Insert snicker here

Orientation is a path.
Whether you believe it’s God-given,
Hell-driven,
Or some spiritual la-di-da pinning people’s noses upward in the air,
Orientation is an unavoidable path.

Finding it may take some time for one,
And it may have lit someone’s way like a clear day from birth for another.
But no one can deny that each human being’s compass
Has a magnetic pull North.
Some are just not looking for Santa Claus.

Some are still looking for how to get Atlantis to resurface
Because everyone knows
That the depths of the sea
Are not always the best places for
Deep Dark Secrets.

“Someone’s not getting very many presents this Christmas!”
Court Transcriber types: Defendant rolls eyes.
I hope I don't offend anyone with this piece, it's just something I feel very strongly about. Of course, I believe that everyone is entitled to their opinion. This happens to be mine :)
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Wuji Sep 2011
You
You are,
Beyond the boundaries,
Of beauty.

You have,
Surpassed the sanctions,
Of sexiness.

You are,
Past the present idea,
Of perfection.

There is only one thing,
That you may not always be,
And that thing is being belonged by me.

So stay with me,
For I love you and you love me,
I want you to be apart of my,
Family.
1142011<3
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Ian G Kennedy Mar 2018
Is Third G Love Incestuous?
Ian Kennedy and Pavle Pavlović

As Sol the Rouge begins to rise,
it warms Eve’s heart, but Downs her eyes.
A dusty halo round the flame
will touch the dunes and dawn proclaim,
as distant dusty storms reflect
on Eve’s dry eye and her deject.
To get up now it is her task –
No more in Sol-light can she bask.

You must recall: it was Eve’s Gran
who went to Mars to start a clan.
From little pool Eve chose her Buzz
and paired with him, who was her cuzz.
Through porthole now Eve sees no wood,
nor earthy ground for motherhood.
With hasty zeal space courier flies;
A sandy landing ’fore her eyes.

So, as the dawn of morn is broke,
our Eve then hops, with grace unspoke,
goes out of base to Lander Stop
to fetch the parcel she does hop.
Her ‘FedEx’ was by Earth prepaid,
and on this day had come her AID,  
by careful voyage, with prosp’rous end,
the ***** arrived that Earth did send!

Low-G and man-made air do need
the seed to make a better breed.
Incestuously is not a scheme:
a gene pool needs a brand new stream.
We want no feeble Mars-strain seed,
So A.I.Dee is for the deed.
From Earth doth come the flow of genes
as bottled stuff – you know the means!

To make the Martians extra strong
The Earth Decreed all inbreeds wrong:
All ***** from Earth-bound men must come.
Through outer space it must have swum!
In DNA do secrets lie,
tho’ some do think that fated sky
will give them scope to freely screen
the final flux of wanted gene.

“I’m not at ease, but lurk and look –
  I peer at pack from Earthly nook.
  Where linger ye, my family lift
  to proffer me some needed gift
  of fruit or nuts and comfort care?
  The time is right to use what’s there?
  No creature comfort do I need.
  My friends, I’m ready for some seed!”

“My boy must have my Buzz’s face,
  and then our girl should have his grace.
  A pigeon pair with rusty hair,
  and maybe also one as spare.
  We want his freckles on each cheek,
  that all who pass-by touch and tweak.
  Buzz wants them looking just like he
  yet also really be like me!”
                                                        
The­ season’s winds bring rain and freeze
and stirs up dust with just a breeze.
And when Sol’s power does make it soar,
the wind behind rolls more before.
If’s no heat from sunless sky,
with daylight gone, the storm does die.
Unlike her feelings which grow strong,
uprooting thoughts of what is wrong.

The storm now sounds like raging ire,
and echoes of her inner fire.
As sand blocks Sol for just a while,
it’s just so long that she’s fertile.
With redhead Buzz she wants to splurge.
To break Decree she now has urge.
“I need a gravid tum, now mine’s too thin!
  A child by him: I need to sin?”

To lock herself to Earthly Kit
and shrug off worry just a bit?
But she recalls her lover’s eyes
as endless hormones swell and rise.
“Here is The Kit for you to use”.
“I do detest! I do refuse!
Then fast it dawned on me.” – she smiled –
“I’ll flip the way to have my child.”

“ So at a juncture here I stand,
  with earthy Kit in my right hand.
  Now let me throw it out as trash,
  and see Kit burn to light gray ash!
  For we are first to break Decree.
  Oh gosh, it’s us! My god, it’s me!
  On Mars it is a primal crime!
  ’Hind bars might we be held to time?”

Unlike the Martian pioneer race,
they can no longer pick their place.
Air in the base is made for breath,
for outer air is instant death.
So Eve and Buzz are in the can.
And who’s to blame? It was their gran!
The Space Base is completely jail!
(Nor could they ever raise some bail.)

As red sky flares in real turn
then Earth’s old rules do curl and burn.
While sky does grow in ****** glow
Her love for Buzz will drive the flow.
“’Tis I, the bandit, burned The Kit,
with Buzz my man! To Earth: ‘Go flit!’
Like clarion storm I’ll shout, Rejoice!
and fiercely punch the air with voice.”

“This is the daybreak of my life!
  Tonight I really will be wife.
  I know this is my true found right –
  No more for me, moist tears at night.
  Instead, I spread some happy joy
  towards my big and beaming ‘boy’.
  O, Oh! how happy we are free,
  just jestful, zestful, Buzz and me!"

Next E-mail from the Earth appears,
and has our happy pair roll tears.
“A flaw was found in chromosome  
On all accounts must ***** succumb”!
“My heart confirms that right’s my choice:
  oh, come with me, let us rejoice!
  Today Mars broke the Earth’s Decree
  Last night we loved in our low-G!”

Next Sol does rise – Eve’s hopes do too,
as thoughts begin for Martian coup.
“Can women have new Martian Law
  to stop the rules that have a flaw?”  
“The Laws of Eve on Mars now reign
  and Earth does not its Laws ordain.
  From Earth it is today we deign
  that laws of Earth and Mars are twain.”

-----------------
Legal opinion: Eve's love-making was incestuous in two ways as it 1) involved having excessive intimacy in one third gravity 2) was with Buzz, her third generation cousin, which was against the reigning Earth Rule. (She escaped sanctions by going on to found the Martian Unilateral Declaration of Independence!)
This is unique co-poetry was written with Pavle Pavlović.
#scifi #martian #copoetry #sol #ivf #udi #coup #narrative #parody #humor
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Kim-Nam Le Jun 2013
Head hung, Heart hummed
Black tidal waves encompassed by the wall of lipstick,
releasing steam becoming inhaled from the mouth that sleeps.
Black curvatures sped along the ghostly lines to ease the tick,
relapsing legs touching to the web that weeps.

No winged-beast, no unpredictable mind,
to lullaby the creator of both the invisible and the translucent.
Slowly suffocated to the echo of the riled up rhyme,
slowly spitting out the guts of red paint.

Freedom flown, fists formed,
molding white pieces into scattered clouds.
Head hung, heart hummed,
wailing teary notes into ripped wedding gowns.

Cycle of the eaten, and the uneaten,
all must gallantly fall; however births ripples.
Sanctions of the needed, and the unneeded,
all must dauntingly call; however pictures simple.
Continue reading...
Eryri Dec 2018
A New Kind of World War
As far as wars go
It's a bit of a bore,
But we are at war.
Trade war tariffs:
Monetary missiles,
Cyber attackers:
Heat-seeking hackers.
Yes, hot wars are so passé.
Cold wars,
So-called Star Wars:
All in the past.
Silent battlers
Not sabre rattlers.
Keyboard warriors
No F15s nor Harriers.
Masters of Sanctions
Not Masters of War.
Expelling diplomats
And ***-for-tats.
It's a new World War,
But it's a bore,
So pay attention,
Don't get complacent,
The war drones on.
#war
Continue reading...
J Wallace Larwood Jul 2013
Altered States
He had lost her attention
As the time together bridged
A span of competing but uneven years
And made no mention of their wear and tear,
Of their original contention and intent.
The child that came invited, much loved and as one
Who excited such invention in privilege and  tokens
Said and done. The strings and threads that gently pulled
The girl who grew as people do, from state to altered state
And who when lulled and woken, revised their wry affection
Who promised to return when time was due, from school
Addressing such defection. And then was gone again
To live her life, as people do who grow and move away.
To live as one. Or more than one once more and say
Who knows? Who lives to fight another day.
That they will never see.

But now; the prospect of two adult lives
Rejoined in close convention. From three to two.
And who, when in-junctioned to review the synapses                                                    
And strands of all the memories, near collapses, half failures
Are faced with choices, the acid flavors and such truths that
The voices in their ears and eyes have shown. The tacit doubts
And sanctions. Nothing soothes the self perception
Or inaction of two frightened people, inwardly reviewing
Each to each the dessicated droughts of life alone.
To fill the vacuum. To atone. To shout. To bear again in later-years
The self-respect and mutuality that in the best of times and places
Shored up, sustained the complete totality of a life once shared.
Rediscover, reinvent within the spaces of a glacier so deep
Some magma of original notion that keeps the home fires burning.
And so to bed and the laying on of hands, the swift caress, good night.
Lips brushing hair in mild devotion. As the ocean of their solitude expands.

And in the evenings when the summer nights
Grow shorter; they watch tv and wonder if the silent peals of girlish laughter
In the listening echoes of the rooms just down the hall                                
Sound hollow, if not small. Had their time together then been judiciously spent
Without conditions? Without direction that presumed assent
And her right to leave, or follow her own stars? And when Suzanne                        
Took them down to her place by the river, they could spend the night
Forever, at the altar where it all began, and does she suspect that in the rap
Of their quick footsteps lies affection and assumptions that never,
Ever would they falter? She takes their hands and shows them where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers. The paradox of maps and rhyme
As the caravan of hours slips irrevocably southward in the race against
Their silent blocks of time. These are children in the morning,
They are leaning out for love and they will lean that way forever,
Unseen. The harvest is all in, the seeds are sown. The empty room confirms the errant teen
The final painful portent. And the bird has flown.
*Tip of an old hat to ***. The devil often does have the best rhymes...*
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David Barr Dec 2013
Memory Lane
The soothing and nostalgic rhythm of yesterday beats like a hypnotic pulse which cannot be denied. It really happened - for good or for bad. Can you enter into the olfactory memories where innocence was shrouded by an authority, where social sanctions were conflicted?
Loaves of bread in a supermarket are not the subject of mere chance. Systems and procedures are required in order to display the final product. Do you understand? I am not so convinced that you do. So, fill up your tank with gas you ******’ idiot and keep on keepin’ on…just like the rest of mediocrity. Well done! You are almost there. But where is “there”?
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Kethan Sep 2014
Even the sinful laugh
Sometimes the sins laugh
frolic chuckle and gasp,

whenever wrath sits there
calm and tranquil, unending care.
when Pride takes precious time,
to look up and face humility,
to remove the thin veil,
to observe another person and care.
when slender lust embraces
for another, soothing the soul
creating safe sanctions - free of sale.
when      g r e e d      gives        to       charity,
               providing,
      safe          havens,
when sloth feels the urge
to work, forging iron bars
and even making emotions and life time scars
when gluttony shares his
fries, and full course meal
when envy faces the sins - and says
‘it’s okay that lust is more curvy, I know I’m happy’

This is all a façade of course. envy said it with morose.
gluttony? He had another meal, and another meal right after that.
Mirrors reveal the real corpse. sloth daydreamed the dream.
greed? what else but the space he took?
How can we be something else. lust has lackluster snide, snark and ***
Pride? He has a deeper veil - one that escapes his avail.

Sometimes the sins want to be sinful.
And sometimes wrath wants to be wrathful.
I tried to expose some of the lies and facades people play out during their day to day lives. I did so by contrasting the apparently changed sins to the grammatical structure. Find the clues :)
#life #death #sins #being #personification #deadly #pondering #seven #personalities
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