Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
JM Romig Apr 2015
I
The phone was screaming in my pocket
its voice was muffled by the pile of clothes
on top of it

The hotel water was almost too hot
it blushed my scalp
and cascaded down my face
in a way that should have felt like baptism
but didn't

After what felt like an eternity
the call went to the black hole
that is my neglected voicemail
now at over a hundred missed calls

I didn’t want to talk
not to Dad, not to Mom,
not to my fiancé,
and definitely not to some reporter
trying to make our ****** up family
the topic of the nine o’clock news

II
The pipes in the wall
clunked around for a second
as I turned the ****, cutting the water off
I stepped out of the shower
somehow feeling less clean than when I entered

For a moment I stood there,
towel over my head
in complete darkness

I closed my eyes and saw him
standing across from me
his eyes, locked with mine
dad’s gun in his shaking hands -
pointed directly at my head
unblinking, full of hatred, anger
and fear

They’ll call him a monster
and knowing what he’s done,
I won’t be able to say they’re wrong

III
Sympathizers will say that the divorce
messed him up somehow
or that he inherited our mother’s mental illness
or that he played too many first person shooters –
which is just ******* stupid

Lying on the hotel bed,
I nakedly examined the ceiling
mapping out the distance between water stains
like a cartographer

The last time he called me
he was in tears,
because some ****** from his school
beat him to a pulp
and shoved his face in dog ****

I can’t help but dwell
on something I said to him that night:

“People like that don’t change
they become ******* adults
and keep kicking people around
because they can
Because they’re rich and we’re poor
and they don’t want to see people like us
we remind them that the world isn't perfect
and doesn't revolve around them”


I don’t want to believe
that I planted the seed,
that the one time he listened to me –

IV
Six people died
most of them, kids no older than seventeen
one teacher, and a janitor - tagged by a stray bullet
two kids have been in critical condition
for the last three days

He must have been terrified
in those last moments
before the cops riddled him with holes

He must have regretted it
or at least regretted
not having an escape plan

He never did think things through
unlike me,
connecting the countries on the ceiling
drawing imaginary lines
of cause and effect
and trying to figure out what it means
to be a big brother
in the absence of a little one
Napowrimo 4-7
Chris Jibero Nov 2010
My loss is my burden alone to bear
In sacrosanct equanimity
But sympathy does come calling
In drips and drabs to attenuate my pain
Great talk shows seen
Some lend me their eyes to weep and wail
But vanish fast like a ghost seen at noon
Cos none knows as I do the depth of the pain
That I bear

The pain of sympathizers is on their flesh
As water poured on rock
Mine embedded in my bone
And feeds on my marrow
Family won't invite us,
My pain and I together,
To a breakfast meeting
My peers won't
Invite us to a business lunch
Friends won't invite us to a dinner
Cos the world stops not for anyone's
Tragic loss and accompanying grief

It is like an aircraft in flight
That ought to land for its passengers to alight
And one passenger I am
Swathed in the turbulence of this jet
Being baptised by unruly weather
Sympathizers are like car owners
On pleasure trips who could pull up
At every turn to attend to their fancies

My loss is my burden alone to bear
Not yours whose feeling stands
Aloof akimbo as I howl,
'My brother, oh my brother,
Why leave me so early
Heaping in my heart monumental pain? '
(C) Chris  Jibero. 2010.
Perveiz Ali Mar 2016
How many massacres must we endure?
How does killing others, changes procure?
How many suicide bombers are being born?
Do their consciences ever leave them torn?
How many terrorist sympathizers we call friend?
Hardliners preaching terror is the new trend?
When next must innocent blood be spilled?
Inhumanity to man by man whose heart is hate filled?
When does the nightmares finally end?
Is peace and harmony around the next bend?
© Perveiz Ali
j f Nov 2013
i came around this neck of town
with a few suppositions about scotland.
Its a little admittedly a little odd willingly picking and packing  up
to sail across the sky
despite the little itch
painted on the inside of my eyelids,
brain, reminding me of people to whom I wont speak again
until they’re once again immediately in front of me.

(which means I’m kind of **** at staying in contact, even with the internet at my disposal.)
but even as technology laces the textures of communication
I constantly find myself in silence,
misplaced somewhere between the pages and the covers,
happily nestled in a place just as cozy as the beds i find myself in these days.

and when you move, there’s obviously going to be a mildly upsetting adjustment period when people ask you out for coffee and small talk.
Which is always weird, being forced through that routine when both parties know it
inevitably takes a little more than a strong cup of coffee and an exchange of pleasantries to get to know somebody.
personally, i prefer the pleasant haze of sunlit leaves
a meander through a forest, the back alleys of trees.
If you want to get to know me, take me out of society.
those coffee spoons and sugar cubes don’t mean anything to me.

when you grow to know me, you’ll see that this beauty’s only used to
sacrifice the loneliness of these panic attack blues.
black jeans, black docs, redbull and a bag of green
help me fly above this city, over the changing loyalties
the mettle of this skeleton’s made of the brittle bones of birds,
my wings are composed of their bitter words, (and that’s just fine)
(because) i’ve a tar pit where my heart is/
and it drips to fill the space that makes an artist’s hearts harden

but behind that internal la brea, I’ve been aptly middle named
because ive got a kinder ray behind
that shines for those who choose to stay.
not only for those who choose to stay, but for those who allow me in as well;
its hard to let a stranger in, should they let your secrets out,
but i’ve got a lockbox for a memory because i don’t remember a lot of things
so rest easy knowing that your words are and will be safe with me.

I know
when I go
to that the place I called
home will still show
on the mail I get
but my heart
was left behind in a haze of partial memory
and leaves I won’t again see green until a tender summer’s eve.

but until then, i have 53c murray place, the locals to my scottish life,
to keep me sane, or at least humane before the leaves have fully changed and
fallen from the trees completely.
when thats happened, i’ll have to leave.  
I’ll have to leave the grey skies and lichen foundation
and a forest full of sympathizers  and former strangers.
i remember standing on the rooftop as the breeze blew below
yelling to the people who will never think to look above the street they know.  
Roger, if heaven has a cell for me too, i’ll rent that **** as a timeshare,
so i can make a pretty profit off the constant loss of my memories and endowed indemnity.
and chrissie, you’ve been a sister to me, a parallel sort of emily
thats going to make leaving this new family
all the more difficult.
and robbie, i’m an old soul, as only you’d know.
classical music in the afternoon to soundtrack an empty flat,
at least i know you’ll follow me soon after i go back.

i remember leaving the flat for the second time, when i was sure i knew my way around,
i saw clouds fit for an easel
and a sun fit for a screen
harboring glory in every pixel.
and during that walk home,
english, french and spanish disappeared,
and i took no notice,
while i go on revising the quiet days i never intend to publish.
Trevor Gates Oct 2014
“Breathe it in
The stardust air
The lung-clamping smoke
And vile pious inflammation.”
Listening to sounds of irritation:
Humming of the fluorescent bulbs;
Shoes sticking to linoleum tiles;
Flies buzzing behind my ears,
Leaving me to count the years
And spaces between spaces
Fill the lonely night
until


All is silent now.


Then,
Tooth and nail and eye crust
Fading away to off-beat lunacy.
Her spine slithers sinisterly as she performs
With Vaseline greased hair that stands like horns
People stalking like beasts with mental disorders
Hobbling penguins and droll-*** walrus punks.
Cold liquor manipulating my contemplation
And I have moments of primal desperation
A monster suckling another monster
Bodies tangled like olive tree roots
Delicious and dreadful
Fraught and shameful


It’s the way of all flesh.


Among
Modern Soothsayers
and plenty of culinary racists,
Spraying ***** onto parchment pages
With forked tongues dancing on ***** stages
Coffee for blood and computer screens for eyes
With cool cats strutting to unknown leeching voices
Bottle-slung pistol whip hooligans with eyes of yellow stains
From chronic ink-sprayers of riots in narrow sectioned lanes
Snapping fingers to juke box ghosts and royal jazz sires.
Fourteen gypsy demons wanting to pull me apart
Showcasing trinkets and rubies she adorned
All while she smiles and performs
And the weight of the world
falls between my fingers,


Like cascading sand.


As I write,
The rhythm is changing
Like seasons in secluded eternity:
Orchestrations of sexplosions overtake the carnal scene
With hair pulling and gnawing teeth on the table in front of me
Those Bohemian idolaters basking in acid kiddy pools
Using tired variations of apologies in eastside sin city  
Arousing the vortex of virtuous degradation
In a hole of sunken matchstick validation.
Eyes of judges like the public census
And taboo connotations
Rule this attrition.
Rusting
Leaking stalls
Blue-plate special
Of sprayed blood on walls
The essence of color and voice
The culmination of illusory choice
Dances of erasers and procreators
Fever dreams of police shooting children
Like movie monsters and misunderstood heroes
Specters and Banshee sympathizers
Marching to ******* synthesizers
Burning ***** blue postmen
With afropunk priests
Of astonishing feats
To whom
May
Be


Concerned.


This deep sleep exists
To mediate the social cysts
The reprimand the blundering kids in the mists
From dreaming of their world without the risks
Of falling into fields of blackened earth
Where it all burns like a first world birth
And greater souls speak of my worth.
So I cannot wake up

The deep sleep
Is there for that.
It's been a while since I submitted some poetry.  This is like a combination of a rant, meets free-verse and urban spoken word.  It's just what's been on my mind lately.  I'd love to hear what you think it all means, or at least know your interpretation.

~

Exulansis: n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

Food for thought.
LeV3e Aug 2016
There's a pit in my stomach
Standing, idly by, see,
You punched me in my time
Slots spinning in my mind
Stuck, relying on the grind, but
**** your "authority". I
Find it kinda ironic how,
Businesses are built from the ground
but, Up at the peak peeking down,
Sits vultures, who's ***** seeping out
Slick sick liquid so stout,
Poisoned souls, lost in a shroud
Searching for a way out of the cloud
but, it sounds too profound
to ****** the crown from your brow.
It's here, that I've found that
To sow seed, requires a plow
And, to sell ****, requires a down
Payment, is owed to the old
Heads stone cold, as the bread
Hardens our hearts, to the souls
Auctioning off it's moral code
Sold to the highest bidder
Gold fingers are bitter when
Biting your nails is for dinner.
Capitalist sympathizers call me a quitter,
And Jehovahs witnesses all call me a sinner,
But my brothers and sisters consider
Smokin' some refer, the smell that still lingers
Open your pockets, I hear your silver still jingles
I see your water is filtered,
So let the minerals flow
To my bowl, pay the toll
To get the grow that you'll roll, cause
Money solves our problems when
Our problems are each other, and
There is no end in sight, so spite the
"Honor" and the blood we've spilled,
We fight to keep the flag up high
Beside our minds, to cope with all
The hopelessness of our demise
In Jesus name, I shed this tear.
ConnectHook Feb 2018
Thank your progressive stars you are so filled with virtue, good taste, and tolerance unlike those ****** hateful redneck Trump-voting plebes. Thank all the gods of Democracy you are kind, gentle, and gender-unbiased as opposed to the divisive, racist misogynists you must share the earth with. Take a deeply liberal breath and center yourself for a moment… you will need it to endure the hordes of misguided gun-toting bigots trying to steal your oxygen. Give yourself a loving Euro-globalist pat on the back for doing the correct thing and voting your conscience against the racist nationalist KKK-sympathizers who run on fear and hate. At least you  are resisting fascism with all your humane heart unlike the uneducated, clueless, knuckle-draggers so easily led by their neo-**** overlords.

YOU, after all, are for Humanity and Compassion.
Virtue-Signalers UNITE !
Cedric McClester Jan 2017
By; Cedric McClester

He vows to build a fence
Along the Mexican border
By fiat
Through executive order
And his fingers
Are getting shorter and shorter
Ask those who know him
Like his wife or his daughter

He vows to build a pipeline
Across Indian land
Sympathizers and environmentalist
Will just have to understand
He’s creating jobs
Like the his supporters demand
Cracking down on Muslim immigrants
By having them banned

He vows to undo
All that Obama’s done
For him it could be called
Just having fun
He keeps going back
To the election he won
Caught up in the clouds
While ignoring the sun

He vows to make America
Great once again
At least that’s what he says
As only he can
I guess you could say
He’s an unusual man
Lots of folks like him
But I’m not a fan







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
It was 3:00 a.m. in Bowie Maryland in the year of our Lord, 1861.

A drum roll passed by in the night not more than a mile away, and Billy couldn’t tell whether it was coming from the Yanks or the Rebs. Both of Billy’s brothers had left home in the past two months.  His oldest brother Jeb having joined the Army of Northern Virginia, while his next oldest brother Seth was now fighting for the Union with Major General George G. Meade in the Army of the Potomac. Billy’s family was like a lot of other families in Maryland, and the Western Shore of Virginia, with some men choosing to fight for the North while many chose the South.

Billy was just about to turn sixteen and still had not chosen his side.  He had friends and family fighting for both and knew that the time was getting short for him to choose.  He couldn’t imagine fighting against either of his older brothers, but once he decided the possibility would definitely be there.  Billy pulled the bed covers over his head and thought back to a more pleasant time — a day when his two older brothers had taken him fishing in Mayo along the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay.

His brothers couldn’t have been more different.  Jeb was large and domineering with a personality that fit the profile of the typical soldier or warrior.  Seth was more studious and would rather have his nose stuck in a book than behind the sights of a Springfield Rifle Model 1861.  The 1861 was the most widely used rifle on both sides. The south called their version the Fayetteville Rifle, and Billy’s Dad had given his to Jeb just before he died last year.  Billy had never fired the big gun and had only carried it for his father and brother when they went on their weekly hunts for deer and small game.

Billy Finally Drifted Off To Sleep …

The next morning, his mother told him that Union soldiers had passed by in the night under the command of Colonel Elmer E. Ellsworth.  They were on their way to Alexandria Virginia to join with Colonel Orlando B. Wilcox in an attempt to retake Alexandria and drive the confederates out.  It was just too close to Washington D.C. and had to be secured. For several months confederate troops had been infiltrating Maryland and sightings had been reported from Hagerstown to Anne Arundel County. Billy wondered about the fighting that would take place later that week and hoped that wherever his brothers were engaged they were safe and out of harms way.

After breakfast, Billy decided to spend the day fishing along the Patuxent River just southeast of his home.  He rode their old Tennessee Walker George as his blue tick hound Alfie ran along side. It took Billy an hour to get to the river and he used the time to once again try and decide what the right thing was for him to do.  He had sympathies for both sides, and the decision in his mind was neither black nor white.  He wished that it was because then he could get this all over with and leave today. Billy was famous in his area for being able to get across the water. Whether it was a makeshift raft, dugout canoe, or just some drift lumber available, Billy had made it across long open stretches of the Chesapeake Bay — never once having been deterred.

He Was An Early Day Chesapeake Waterman

Billy returned home from fishing that day and found his house burned to the ground.  His mother was standing out front still in tears with her arms wrapped around Billy’s little sister Meg.  A rear-guard unit from Ellsworth’s column had gotten word that Billy’s brother Jeb was fighting for the South and just assumed that the entire family were southern sympathizers. Billy’s mother tried to tell the soldiers that her middle son was fighting with the Army of The Potomac.  No matter how hard she pleaded with the sergeant in charge, he evacuated all in the house (Billy’s Mother, Sister and Aunt Bess) and then covered the front porch in coal oil, lit it with a torch, and then just rode away. He never even turned around to watch it burn.

That Union Sergeant had now made Billy’s decision crystal clear, at least for the moment.  Once he got his mother, sister, and aunt resettled, he would make his way to Virginia and join with his older brother in the confederate cause. He remembered his brother Jeb telling him that the Confederate Soldiers had more respect, and he couldn’t imagine them doing to his family what the Union Army had just done.

It took Billy two weeks to get his Mother resettled with family up in Annapolis.  He then packed the little that remained of his belongings, loaded up old George, and said goodbye to the life he knew.  It would be a week’s ride to get past the Union Camps in Southern Maryland and Northern Virginia, and he knew he would have to stay in the tree line and travel at night.  If caught by the Yanks, his only chance of survival would be to join up with them, and he couldn’t imagine fighting for those who had just destroyed his home. His conviction to get past Fredericksburg was now determined and strong.

All Billy had to arm himself with was an 1860 percussion squirrel rifle that his brothers had bought him before going off to war.  It was only.36 caliber, but still gave Billy some feeling of security as he slowly passed through the trees in the dark. His plan was to hug the western shore of the bay, as far as Charlotte Hall, and then take two short ferry rides. His first would be across the Patuxent River and then one across the Potomac on his way to Fredericksburg.  He prayed and he hoped that the ferry’s he found were not under Union control.

Billy spent his first night in Churchton along the western shore. It was quiet and uneventful, and he was actually able to get a good night’s sleep.  He had run out of oats for George though, and in the morning needed to find an understanding farmer to help fortify his mount.  As he approached the town of Sunderland, he saw a farmer off to his right (West) tending to his fields.  Billy approached the farmer cautiously making sure he rode around in front of the farmer and not approaching from the rear.

The farmer said his name was Hawkins, and he told Billy there were oats over in the barn and two water troughs in front of the house.  He also said that if he was hungry there was a woman inside who would fix him something to eat.  He then told him that he could spend the night in his barn but since it was still early in the day, he said he was sure that Billy wanted to move on.

Billy thought it was strange that the man asked no other questions of him.  He seemed to accept Billy for all that he was at the moment — a young man riddled with uncertainty and doubt and on his way to a place he still wasn’t sure was right for him.  The look in the man’s eyes pointed Billy in the direction he now needed to go, and as he turned to thank him for his hospitality the man had already turned back to his plow.

In the barn were three large barrels of oats and five empty stalls. Two of the stalls looked like they had recently been slept in because there were two empty plates and one pair of socks still lying in the stall furthest to the left.  Billy fed George the oats and then walked outside.  Everything looked quiet in the house as he approached the front door.  He knocked twice, and a handsome looking woman about his mother’s age answered before he could knock a third time.  The woman’s name was Martha and as she invited Billy inside, she asked him when was the last time he had eaten?
Yesterday morning Ma’m, Billy said, as Martha prepared him some cold pork and cooked beans.  Billy was so hungry that he thought it was the best thing that he had ever tasted. Martha then told Billy to be careful in the woods because both union and rebel forces had been seen recently and there were stories of atrocities from both sides as they passed on their way.  Martha also said she had heard that Union forces had burned a farm up in Bowie a few weeks ago.  Billy stayed quiet and didn’t utter a word.

Billy Remained Quiet

After he finished his meal, Billy thanked Martha who had packed salt pork for him to take on his way.  Billy walked George to the water trough and waited as George drank.  He looked across the fields and he could sense what was coming.  This tranquil and pastoral scene was soon to be transformed into blood and gore as the epic struggle between North and South finished its first year. It was late fall in 1861 and Billy’s birthday was in two more weeks.  This was never the way he envisioned turning sixteen to be.

Billy thanked Martha, put the salted pork in his pouch, and remounted George. Martha said:  Whichever side you are riding to, may God be with you, young man.  Billy thought it was strange that she knew where he was heading without him telling.  He then also thought that he was probably not the first young traveler to stop at this farm for some kind words and sustenance. He rode back out in the field to thank the farmer, but when he got to the spot where he had met him before, the farmer was not there.  Billy wondered where he could have gone.  As he rode back down the cobbled dirt road, he noticed a sign at the end where it reconnected with the main road — Billett’s Farm. That wasn’t the name the farmer had told him when they were first introduced before.

Hawkins He Had Said

Billy worked his way towards Charlotte Hall.  From there he would head East to Pope’s Creek and try to get on the short ferry that would take him across the Potomac River and over to Virginia. Then Billy was sure he would finally be safe.  Tonight though, he only made it as far as Benedict Maryland, and he again needed to find secluded shelter for the night. Benedict was right along the banks of the Patuxent River where the farming was good, and the fishing was even better.

It was getting dark when Billy spotted what he was looking for.  There was a large farm up ahead with two large barns and three out buildings.  Billy sat inside the trees and waited for dark.  It was inside the outbuilding furthest to the east that he intended to stay the night.  As darkness covered the fields, Billy walked slowly towards the large shack.  He led George behind him by his lead and hoped that he would remain quiet.  George was an older horse, now fifteen, and seemed to always know what was required of him without asking.  Not that you can really ask a horse to do anything, but George did just seem to know.

Billy got to the outbuilding and put his ear to the back wall to see if he could hear anything from inside.  When he was sure it was safe, he walked around front to the door, opened it, and he and George quickly walked inside.  In the very dim moonlight, Billy could see that it was about 20’ X 20’ and had chopped wood stored against the back wall.  There were also two empty stalls and a loft up above about 10’ X 20.’  Billy decided to sleep downstairs in case he had to get away fast, and after tying George to the furthest back stall, he laid down in the stall to its right and fell fast asleep.
Billy doesn’t know how long he had been asleep, but all at once he heard the sound of clicking and could feel the cold hard press of steel against his left temple.  He woke up in a start and could see five men with lanterns standing over him in the stall.  As his eyes started to adjust, he noticed something strange.  Three of these five men were black.

Whatcha doin here boy, and where you headed, the biggest of the three black men asked him?  Billy knew that how he was to answer that question would probably determine whether he lived through the night. I’m headed to Virginia to try and find my older brother. Our farm was burned a few weeks ago and my mother and baby sister are now living with relatives.  I need to let my brother know, so he will know where to find us when the war is over.
I think this here boy’s fixin to join up with the Rebs, another of the black men shouted out.  Tell the truth boy, you’re headed to Richmond to sign up with old Jeff Davis ain’t you?  Billy lied and said he wasn’t sure of which side to fight for and that he had a brother fighting for each.  With that, the biggest of the three sat him on a barrel in the corner and began to talk again …
What you done tonight boy is decide to camp in a rural spot of the Underground Railroad.  You know what that is boy?  We have a real problem now because you knows where it’s at.  We can’t trust that you won’t tell nobody else and ruin other’s chances to get North and be free.  Billy just stared into the man’s face.  He had a strength mixed with kindness behind his eyes and for a reason Billy couldn’t understand, he felt safe in this man’s presence.

Son, we is makin our way over to Preston on the western shore where we catches a train to the North.  We have one more stop before there and that’s at the Hawkins place just thirty miles up the road.  Billy then knew why the stalls back at Martha’s barn had looked slept in.  He still wondered why the sign at the farm entrance had said Billett instead of Hawkins.  The black man then said: My names Lester, and those two men over there are brothers named Rayford and Link.  By now, the two white men were gone and only the four of them were left in the stall.

Since you say you haven’t made your mind up yet about which side to join, let me help you a little with your choosin.  Lester then went on to tell Billy that Rayford and Link had five other brothers and two sisters that were all killed while trying to escape to the North.  Not only were they killed, but they were tortured before being hanged just outside of Columbia South Carolina.  Lester then asked Rayford and Link to remove their shirts.  As they did, Lester took his lantern and shined it over both of their backs.  Both were totally covered with scars from the several lashings they had received on the plantation where they had worked back in South Carolina.  Lester said this was not unusual, and no man should be treated that way.  This was worse treatment than the slave owner would ever do to any of his animals.

Lester then said again: It’ll be a shame to have to **** you boy, but for the better good of all involved, I’ll do what I gots to do. With that, the three men walked outside, and Billy could hear them talking in hushed tones for what seemed like an hour.  Lester walked back inside alone and said: What’s your name son?  We’ve decided we're taking you with us up the road a piece.  You might come in handy if we need a hostage or someone with local knowledge of the area as we make our way t’wards Preston. Go back to sleep and we’ll wake you in an hour when it’s time to go.

Billy couldn’t sleep. It had been a long day of interrogation and darkness was again approaching.  He heard the men talking outside and from what they were saying, he realized they did all of their traveling at night hiding out in small barns and shacks like this during the light of day. He wondered now if he’d ever see home again.  He wondered even more about his previous decision to fight for the South.

In an hour, Lester came in and asked Billy if that was his horse in the stall next to him.  Billy said it was and Lester said: Get him outside, we’re going to load him with the chillens and then be on our way.  When Billy walked outside he saw eight other black people in addition to the three he had previously met.  It was a mother and father and five children all aged between three and eleven.  Lester hoisted the three smallest children up on George’s back, as the other two lined up to walk alongside.  They would make sure that none of the younger ones fell off as they maneuvered their way North through the trees at night.  The mother and father walked quietly behind, as the three large black men led the way with Link scouting up ahead for anything unforeseen.

Just before dawn, Billy recognized where they were.  They were at the end of that farm road he had just come down the day before, but the sign now read in faded letters Hawkins.  Billy looked back at the sign and he could see something written on the back.  As he squinted into the approaching sun, he could see the letters B-I-L-L-E-T-T written of the back of the board.  Billy was now more confused than ever.  Lester told them all to wait in the trees to the left of the farm road, as he took out three small rocks from his pants pocket. The sun was almost up and this was the most dangerous part of their day.

He approached the house slowly and threw the first stone onto the front porch roof — then followed by the second and then the third.  Without any lights being lit, the front door opened and Lester walked inside.  In less than a minute, he was back in the trees and said:  It now OK fo us to makes our way to the barn, where we’s gonna hide for the day.

After they were settled in the five empty stalls, Lester decided who would then take the first watch.  He needed to have two people on watch, one looking outside for approaching strangers and one watching Billy so he wouldn’t try to escape.  What Lester didn’t know was that Billy wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere right now and was starting to feel like he was more part of what was going on than any hostage or prisoner.

In another hour, Martha came in with two big baskets of food: Oh I see you have found my young friend Billy, I didn’t know that he worked for the road.  Lester told Martha that he didn’t, and he was still not sure of what to do with him.  Martha just looked down at Billy and smiled. I’m sure you’ll know the right thing to do Lester, and then she walked back outside toward the house. Lester told Billy that Martha was a staple on the Road to Preston and that without her, hundreds, maybe thousands of black slaves would now be dead between Virginia and Delaware.  He then told Billy that Martha was a widow, and both her husband and two sons had been killed recently at the Battle of Bull Run.  They had fought on the Confederate side, but Martha still had never agreed with slavery.  Her husband and sons hadn’t either, but they sympathized with everything else that the South was trying to do.

Billy’s head felt like it wanted to explode.  Here was a woman who had lost everything at the hands of Yankee soldiers and yet was still trying to help runaway slaves achieve freedom as they worked their way through Maryland.  Billy wanted to talk to Martha.  He also wondered who that man was in the field the previous morning when he had stopped to introduce himself.  He was sure at the time it had been Martha’s husband, but now Lester had just said that she was a widow. More than anything though, Billy wanted to talk to Martha!

Billy asked Lester when he returned from his watch if he could go see Martha inside the house.  Lester said: What fer boy, you’s be better off jus sittin quietly in this here barn. Billy told Lester that if he mentioned to Martha that he wanted to see her, he was sure she would know why and then agree to talk with him.  Lester said: I’ll think on it boy, now go get ya some sleep.  Oh by the way, did you get somethin to eat?  Matha’s biscuits are the best you’ll ever taste.  Billy said, Yes, and then tried to lie down and go to sleep.  His mind stayed restless though and he knew deep in his heart, and in a way he couldn’t explain, that Martha held the answer he was desperately in need of.

In about two more hours Martha returned with more food.  She wanted to dispense it among the children first, but three were still sleeping so she wrapped theirs and put it beside them where they lay.  After feeding the adults, she walked over to Billy and said: Would you help me carry the baskets back up to the house? Billy looked at Lester and he just nodded his head.  On the way back to the house Martha said: I understand you want to talk to me. I knew I should have talked with you before, but you were in such a hurry we never got the chance.  Let’s go inside and sit down while I prepare the final meal.

Martha then explained to Billy that she had been raised in Philadelphia.  She had met her husband while on a trip to Baltimore one summer to visit relatives.  Her husband had been working on a fishing boat docked in Londontown just south of Baltimore.  It was love at first sight, and they were married within three weeks.  Martha had only been back to Philadelphia twice since then to attend the funerals of both of her parents.  She then told Billy what a tragedy this new war was on the face of America … with brother fighting brother, and in some cases, fathers fighting their own sons. It not only divides us as a nation, but divides thousands of families, especially those along the Mason-Dixon line where our farm is located now.

She also told Billy her name was Billett, but they used Hawkins at night as the name of her Railway Stop along the Road. Hawkins was Martha’s maiden name and to her knowledge was not well known in these parts. Hawkins was also the name distributed throughout the South to runaway slaves who were trying to make their way North. Martha felt that if they were looking for someone in her area named Hawkins, they would have a hard time tracing it back to her.  The Courthouse that she and her husband had been married in burned down over fifteen years ago and all records of births, deaths, and marriages, had been consumed by that fire.

By reversing the sign at night to Hawkins, it allowed the runaway slaves to find her in the darkness while protecting her identity in the event that they were caught.  Under questioning, they might give up the name Hawkins while having no knowledge of the name Billett which in these parts was well known. Martha also told Billy that she had nothing left to lose now except her dignity and pride.  Her two sons and husband had been taken at Bull Run and now all she wanted was for the war to end and for those living imprisoned in slavery to be set free and released. Her dignity and pride forced her to try and do everything she could to help.

When Billy asked Martha … How did you know the right thing to do? she said: The right thing is already planted there deep inside you.  All that’s required is for you to be totally honest with yourself to know the answer.  Martha then turned back to her cooking.

Lester then walked into the kitchen and said: Martha Ma’m, what’s we gonna do wit dis boy?  Martha only looked at Billy and smiled as she said, Lester, this boy’s gonna do just fine.  Lester then looked at Billy and said: Somethin you wanta say to me son? Billy asked if he could go feed his horse and then come back in a few minutes.  Lester said that he could but not to take too long.

When Billy walked back into the barn, George was tied to a wall cleat in the far left corner.  He walked him out to the water trough in the dark and then back inside where he gave him another half- bucket of oats.  He looked in George’s eyes for that surety that George always had about him.  Just as he started to look away, George ****** up his head and looked to his left.  The youngest of the black children was walking toward George with something in her hand.  She was with her older sister, and she was carrying an apple — an apple for George. George took the apple from her hand as he nudged the side of her face with his nose.  Billy looked at the scene, and, in the moment’s revelation, knew instantly the right thing for him to do.

Billy went back inside where Lester and Martha were drinking coffee by the fire.  Billy told Lester that NOBODY knew these backwaters like he and his brothers. He also told Lester that by joining his cause he would never be faced with the possibility of meeting either of his brothers on the field of battle.  This seemed to strike a nerve with Lester who had a brother of his own fighting for the south somewhere in Louisiana.  In Louisiana, many of the black’s were free men and fought under General Nathan Bedford Forrest where they would comport themselves with honor and bravery throughout the entire war.

Billy then told Lester he had never agreed with slavery, and his father had always refused to own them.  This made the work harder on he and his brothers, and some of their neighbors ostracized them for their choice.  Billy said his father didn’t care and told him many times that … No man should ever own another or Lord over him and be able to tell him what he can or cannot do.

Lester then asked Billy what he knew about these backwaters.  Billy said he knew every creek and tributary along the Patuxent River and all the easiest places to get across and get across safely where no one could see.  Lester said they had a friendly ferry across the bay to Taylors Island, but many times the hardest part was getting across the Patuxent to where they were now.  From here, they would then decide whether to go across the bay to Preston or head further North to other friendly stops along the Road to Delaware. Billy said he would be most helpful along those stops further North and on this Western side of the bay as he knew the terrain so well.

For four more years Billy worked out of Martha’s farm hiding and transporting runaway slaves on their way North.  He would make occasional trips back to Bowie to fortify the barn that the Union soldiers had not burned when they torched his house that day.  His family’s barn would become the main Railroad Stop before taking those last steps to freedom that lay just 100 miles beyond in the free state of Delaware.

After reconstruction, Billy went on to become a lawyer and then a judge in Calvert County Maryland.  Martha had left Billy the farm in her will, and he now used it as a haven for black people who were freely emigrating from the south and needed a place to stay and rest before continuing on to the Industrial cities of the northeast.

When Martha was dying, Billy asked her who that mysterious farmer was that was out tending her field that morning when he first stopped by so many years ago? Martha said:Why don’t you know; that was my father, Ethan Hawkins. He worked that field every day since my husband and two boys were killed.  I’m surprised he let you see him.  I thought I was the only one who ever knew he was there.  But, but, but, your father died many years ago I thought.  Martha looked at Billy with those beautiful and gentle eyes and just smiled …

Seeing him that day had changed Billy and the direction
of his life forever, making what seemed like King
Solomon’s choice — the right and only one for him.


Kurt Philip Behm
Every voice of reason
Screamed Yes
Do it
Excise it
The malignant ones
Steeped in hubris and narcissism
To the bone
Breaking bad beyond repair
Like toxic air
From a saxophone
Blowin off-key
Down Bourbon Street

The coup de grace
Of Mardi Gras
And freedom

Onward
Christian Nationalists

Onward
Putin sympathizers
Who despised Hugo and Fidel

Sieg Heil
Hypocrisy and homophobia

Sieg Heil
Misogyny and xenophobia

The tumor grew
As cancers do
Ignored

The day
Democracy died

~ P
James Gibek Jude Jan 2022
He came seeking for power
In him was a victim, a bower
He demonstrated victimhood
Created aura of brotherhood
Yet the true tactic was to usurp
Religion observes...

Comrades turned sympathizers
They became empathizers
Putting their needs below his desires..
Unknown to them his inept bizares
Religion ensnares

Now enthroned...
Comrades became followers
Became tool for power blowers
The interest became a deceit
Only whistle blowers can decode
Religion reforms

The gullibles see hatred in criticism
The blackouts turn the fence in witism
Musing poets/academics speak in spiritism
Daring the gods of deceit in hypocriticism
Yet, religion thrives in falsehood sublimism

Pretend to know not what is known
Pretend to look the other way
Pretend the truth is lie unknown
Then you live in lie and deceit bay...
Religion mars or makes
But in you, it destroys...

RELIGION; the usual  FOOD FOR POWER...
The power play in Kaduna State College of Nursing and Midwifery, Kafanchan Campus.
Kolawole Zainab Aug 2019
Father is no more
Mother is no more
Fake sympathizers everywhere
With empty promises to be always there
Claiming to overtake father's position
To offer best advices and proffer solution
They promised to perform mother's responsibilities
To their best capabilities

They promised to be faraway not
To untie every life's knot
They claimed to be the new parents
And should be seen as Godsents
It was barely a full moon
And everybody disappear so soon
They were no where to be found
How crazy it sound!

Properties were seized by the fearless family member
He will oneday join the dead,he couldn't remember
Education stopped while business don't grow further
For noone to take it farther
His shame and downfall was the wishes
Of beneficiaries of his parent's riches
The basic needs could no longer be satisfied
As the orphan thought and cried

Life seem lifeless and scattered
Dreams and aspirations became shattered
The orphan was frustrated and hopeless
For everyone proved to be helpless
He embraced depression as a favourite food
For happiness is bad and sadness is good
He chose suicide as the best option
And the possible solution
Vaniexe Kafka Aug 2020
for a while there,
i thought you could see---
the shackles on my feet,
the tape on my mouth,
the cloth on my eyes
the truth behind the lies;
the noose on my neck,
the cotton on my ears,
the ropes on my wrists,
the hand pulling the strings.

for a while there,
i almost believed,
but you're just another
false prophet
turning me into a puppet;
using me for your agenda
trapping me into an illusion---
illusion of euphoria.

for a while there,
i thought you could understand:
the truth behind my
coarse hands,
dry throat,
tired eyes,
bulging veins,
hunched back,
parched skin,
pale lips,
and bruised heart,
and shattered pride,
and broken dreams,
and endless tears.

for a while there,
i hoped:
you could listen
as i speak;
you could speak
as i lose my voice;
you could fight
as i lose my courage;
you could upend
the triangle,
as i was stuck scraping
the bottom of the barrel.

sigh---
for a while
there, i saw the sinister
eyes of the bourgeoisie
failing to mask
your avarice,
failing to hide
your dark desires.

for a while
there, i saw the truth
behind your lies:
how you're on the other side
with all the false sympathizers,
mingling with the puppet masters,
holding millions of lives,
toying us in your palms,
treating us as pawns,
as if you are gods
deciding the fate
of us pitiful humans.

for a while
there, i saw it;
the light diminishing,
the shadows expanding,
the hope extinguishing.

for a while
there, i felt it;
the air suffocating,
my body shivering,
the blood flowing
on the ground.

in just a short while,
it ended;
just as how fast
a bullet reaches the head.
Bob B Feb 2023
Putin's year-long war continues
To batter Ukraine--to ****, to destroy.
The autocrat's reasons for being there
Are definitely a political ploy.

Killing civilians while also attacking
Ukraine's infrastructure as well,
The Russians are bent on total destruction.
Where this will go is hard to foretell.

And Russian sympathizers here
Join in with Putin's sing-a-long.
Florida's governor, Ron DeSantis,
Claims that Putin's done nothing wrong!

Who can tell where DeSantis gets
His false information and mistaken views?
Probably from too many incorrect
Podcasts and also from watching Fox News.

While Russia ramps up its fierce attacks,
Ukraine will fight to the bitter end.
Here's a reminder for those who've forgotten:
Putin, folks, is NOT our friend.

We pledged our support for Ukraine, and so
For the sake of freedom, we MUST follow through.
Condoning Putin's atrocities
Would certainly be the wrong thing to do.

-by Bob B (2-21-23)
jeffrey conyers Nov 2018
Forget the 2nd amendment defense.
Many supporters don't amount to common sense.
Just when a certain level of news show them and they cry about defending the home.

Another shooting to be precise another killing.
We know most perpetrators race in multiple killings.
And we aware with them, we gonna hear the roar of mental illness.

What that saying?
Live by the gun died by the gun.
Well, maybe these shooters should face the barrel of one.

When it comes to sentencing them before the jury.
Least they know their last request will be done the same way the now many innocent ones.
We can't say the punishment doesn't fit the crime.

Except, we must take on the concerns of the sympathizers.
Close on three hundred fifty years ago
American independence
not foregone conclusion,
British soldiers in league with Hessians
witnessed successful campaign battles
admirably groomed unbridled

staunch defenders, viz King of England
fought pitched battles
within keystone state i.e. Pennsylvania
particularly tri county area
Montgomery, Delaware, and Chester
routed Continental Army,

within thick wooded forested lands
interspersed amidst open fields
during closing twelve month period
(seventeen seventy seven)
following drafting
Declaration of Independence

****** campaigns challenged
general George Washington
eminent Virginia homeboy
(born February 22, 1732
Westmoreland County),
he throve spectacularly,

when his metal (albeit military)
severely contested throughout
successful battles and/or defeats
acquiring near legendary
(rock star status)
even among sympathizers

for English rule
some ordinary everyday
quotidian country folk
inclined to side with the enemy,
unlike unfettered, unquestioned,
untrammeled...patriotism

trumpeted today (yeah right),
approximately (my benchmark)
twelve generations removed
(hypothetically asserting
twenty five orbitz
around sun equals cohorts

during Colonial America era),
said lauded first founding father
possessed inherent instinct
to rouse enthusiasm
ragtag army initially displayed
attendant with birth pangs

oven inchoate nation, whose
patriotism starkly divided
and easily bled
toward royal dominion
many occasions turning rogue
surrendering secret information

renegade subsequently
fought alongside Redcoats
thus, twas a fluke of circumstances
outstanding English brigades
topped off with
dollop of allied troopers

experienced starved resources
literally costing motherland
arm and leg
to sustain outnumbered,
less skilled colonial rebels.
battered pinata like

Yours truly courtesy servitude
tethered existence suffers neck
brunt of yoke
fiscal recklessness got me woke
within cosmic schema,
a mere infinitesimal speck.

Insolvent crisis principally bespoke
interestingly enough
caught me off balance
sudden pennilessness
(dollar short/ day late dada)
analogous to vice grip
stranglehold doth choke
coffers emptied
*****-nilly Okey doke
colorblindness
fundamentally governed me

into zombified state
thus another plaintive plea
I repeatedly, lamely, and feebly evoke
meaning remuneration welcomed
courtesy altruistic generosity, magnanimity
and philanthropy humble
anonymous Lake Woebegone folk
ideally Norwegian bachelor farmers
to alleviate fiasco from fiendish
fraudsters frazzled father.

In plain (Schwenksville speak)
broken English,
I fell prey to hustlers
audacious, ferocious, malicious,
voracious, zealous tricksters,
who stealthily found entry
into my Macbook Pro
and locked computer screen
with threatening implication
security of mine private domain
awash with byte size bits
of valuable information
at risk of being tampered
with or obliterated.

Analogous to eminent domain of yore
mine digital terrain
manifest destiny meant war
virtual flesh and blood
regarding these lovely bones
yours truly gussied up
as chargé d'affaires
sent on risky (business) dutiful tour
to inflict comeuppance on him
who rendered me poor
as a Unitarian Church mouse,

plus I recruited
offspring of one of countless
related German Shepherd dogs
featured in fictional stories
on film, radio and television,
who starred as Rin Tin Tin
belonging to elite K9 Korp
receiving unexpected support
courtesy end of gum
(cryptic message for ye
to chew on) sympathizers
voluntarily boosted success
at recouping major financial setback
my morale viz extempore.
The flames burnt high
I pictured hell as I heard the screams
of the innocent, sobbing
a crowd gathered but not in silence

Hysteria built and hatred grew
the crowed turned to a mob
burn the witch
burn the witch

The hunters scanned the crowd
for sympathizers
burn the witch I shouted
burn the witch I shouted

I stole her ashes
in the evening after next
and scattered them in the woods amongst the
parsley, sage , rosemary and thyme
Bob B Jun 9
It happened here in America:
If over our history books one pores,
He or she will find that ****
Sympathizers were on our shores.

Back in the 1930s and 40s,
While Naziism was on the rise
In Europe, there were Americans
Who eagerly bought into ******'s lies.

Henry Ford was one who had
Ideas we would call extreme.
He often spoke of the "Jewish threat"
And sympathized with the **** regime.

Charles Lindbergh also expressed
Racist beliefs. He was a critic
Of entering into a war against ******
And held views that were anti-Semitic.

Charles Coughlin,° a Catholic priest,
Spoke out loudly against the Jews.
Using radio waves, he reached
Millions with his pro-fascist views.

Philip Johnson°° was linked to Coughlin.
Fascist ideas were right up his alley.
He wrote anti-Semitic pieces
And went to many a **** rally.

Even Walt Disney attended some
Pro-**** meetings before the war
And gave a tour of his studio to
A **** director. Hmmm. What for?

The **** propaganda machine
Spread its misinformation here,
And law enforcement agencies
Were reluctant to interfere.

One goal was to keep the U.S.
Out of the war, for ****** knew
That if America entered the war,
He'd likely lose World War II.

The other goal: to cause the people
To bathe in their anger, so to speak,
To turn the people against one another
In order to make the country look weak.

Now that we have the Internet,
Propaganda can spread even faster.
And when it comes to creating chaos,
We know that Vladimir Putin's a master.

What should we do? Become informed,
Keep our eyes open, and stay alert.
Letting propaganda destroy us
Is a disaster we MUST avert.

-by Bob B (6-8-24)

°He was known as "the radio priest" and was a mass media demagogue.
°°An architect and active supporter of ******'s Third ***** and even as of 1964 said ****** was "better than Roosevelt."
The twelfth anniversary
remembered by those
caught in the cross hairs
unsuspecting lives forever altered,
a dozen people mercilessly mortally wounded
unwittingly, unfairly contributing
to morbid gun violence statistics.

Pardon me for self plagiarism,
(and posting a near identical poem
only a scant small number of months ago,
but brainstorming for a writing idea
I thought to query Google
and ask about world events for July 20th
and much to my dismay
apprised about a shooting tragedy,
which happened a dozen years ago today.

2012 Aurora, Colorado shooting:
Twas a dark knight whence
there came a pawn the hushed
crowded movie house,
a phantom of horror sprung out
of the rookery that wrought deadly havoc
renting asunder innocent audience members
anticipating batman annihilate evil
within manichean eternal duel
extant within imaginary world
of gotham portrayed on the silver screen
when out of the black curtained theater
tear gas canisters got hurled pell mell
accompanied by a fusillade
of heavy machine gunfire
sheering many lives
many in the prime ascent
sans parabola of adulthood
the youngest, a then six-year-old girl
transformed into an ashen colored corpse,
which death yet revealed
(at the time of said shooting spree)
to her young mother
critically wounded,
and clamoring for said daughter
while teetering on the brink of mortality
oblivious to stricken offspring
while family, friends, relatives
and anonymous prayers
and this heartfelt genuine communiqué
from me – a self styled nonestablishmentarian
gung-** to invoke a mandate
that high powered firearms
must be much less accessible
i.e. bulletproof laws
need implementation pronto
so inhabitants of these United States
do not fear for their lives
nor feel akin to a potential prey
sighted in the crosshairs
wantonly gunned down
from some grinning joker
slaking glee from mass killing
as to appease unquenchable thirst
to avenge some psychotic
nemesis gloating to slay
with a vengeance and contrived vendetta
promulgating pandemonium
and grisly ****** aftermath
yet despite such horrific heinous atrocity
bravery and sacrifice witnessed and extolled
from heroic instinctual motive
to offer themselves as human shield
so that carnage less devastating
than toll on madman’***** list
now in solitary confinement
and even if executed
would be a pyrrhic salve
to those forever deprived of loved ones
Burning with an eternal sorrow no matter
Generosity of cyber sympathizers
across World Wide Web
Plus the president of these United States
Reach out showering kindness
analogous to Borealis raiment!
I never knew that life is gonna (going to) be so,
I was thinking that we're gonna (going to) live long,
I never knew that we're gonna (going) die young,
I never believe human beings are mortals,
I always brag of their immortality,
until finally when death came and snatched my daddy,
Now I must not be told that death is a reality,
No one is meant to live for eternity,
Now discovered man's immortality,
Look at life striking like thunder,
Now I realized life is full of wonders,
Death is the one that sets man asunder,
All sorts of pleasure death is the stopper,
For the sake of death mourners are gathered.

$RAP
Death! death!! death!!! O death I never knew you're so real,
Family members gathered they are mourning,
sympathizers come around saying we are sorry, for this tragedy,
As if they were the killers of the person who has been buried,
You know why? because death is something worth-noting,
But have you forgotten,
That blessed day that this guy was gotten, by his mummy,
This very guy was crying then, he was just a baby,
While family members were gathered rejoicing and happily welcoming the newborn offspring,
I could vividly remember on the naming, family members were all laughing, clapping, smiling, drinking, eating, rejoicing, dancing and celebrating because the presence of the baby was like a comedy,
But when God takes what He has given,
You'll see family members groaning, suspecting and saying the ungodly,
Lots of them will even be blaspheming, blaming and declaring that it's so early for the member of their family,
But I will advise, you say nothing of the One who says everything,
Because God loves him more than everybody,
So, please quit it,
Bro, finally, the only remedy for death,
Is the prayer against hell,
So, stay connected,
with the Benevolent!
#PEACE!
PALS LET'S PONDER OVER DEATH.
jeffrey conyers May 2020
Man up?
Accept your faults?
Accept your decision-making decisions?

Cut it out with the guilt.
The only one should be griping are truly those innocent.

You *****?
And it's should be on your conscious.
But don't sit behind the walls of prison talking about how you innocent.

Of course, if you in your heart know you guilty?
Where is the concern for this hurt woman?
Be not shocked or surprised there is no sympathy for you.
Call a friend?
Call your parent.
Tell them your sad depressed and hurt story.

Oh, there you go with your gang mentality.
The same stupidity that has you tagged with those prison numbers.
Throwing up signs to another clown.

Crying how society let you down.
Like the ****** call a friend, or associate and tell them your sad story.
You know why you there?
Retaliation toward another or killing your brothers.
Yes, behind walls you find that "one" stupid concern counselor.

Who you might manipulate?
Because they think you changed.
When all you during is playing their mind game?
You know it?
See a fool uses a fool.
I admit we all used this tool.

Then there is the ****** crying foul more.
When on death row and the about to inject or use that electric chair?

Fuuny, when that day comes near.
Here come their sympathizers.
But the hurt family feelings hadn't changed.

Accept your fate for the mistakes you make.
Not everyone feels your pain.

Except for the one, you hurt the most.
And that the woman called your mother.
So quit blaming society for your downfall.

Sure ministers will come and point out your change ways.
Point out many scriptures where it obvious?
And even with this visit, you find many using it as a scheme.

And don't get upset.
Some officers are just as worst.
Getting tricked into your mess and getting led away.

One day you wake and face reality.
You placed yourself behind those walls and won't find many listening to your sympathy.

Face it?
Face life

— The End —