Their lies are prompted
from teleprompters
and executed flaw-fully
from taxpayer's helicopters.

They say we're protecting
foreign daughters
while filtering profits
to desert clad marauders.

Blank faced public
fear conversing religion and politics
while passively electing
lunatics with trigger switches.

Arm the rebels
they bite the hand that feeds
the middle east burns
while America ******* bleeds.

The white, blue and red
camo helmets on their heads
farm fed frat boys
equipped with jackets of lead.

We watched Saddam crumble
his statue beaten with shoes
but the same war we already fought
the puppets now will choose.

Fight the good fight
support the troops.

Drone strikes by twilight
**** the troops.

An Army of one
Sempter Fi
Do or Die
I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket
covered in a flag you valued more than your life.

Our heroes are our welfare
stop blaming single mothers
plastic bags tied around throats
water boarding dissent, it smothers.

**** the Medal of Honor
I'm tearing up your portrait Obama.
How many can benefit from free tuition?
But we give it to those trained to slaughter.

Our priority is the police state
Nazis pretending to tote freedom.
We sip our Americanos
And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading.

**By Evan Ponter
@evanponter

Educate our hearts before we speak our minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.
I try to catch the latest news,
Lest otherwise,
I become rolled over by it.

And I heard the hiss
Of venomous spinners,
“We must arm ourselves to the teeth...
**** them all! Bomb them all!”
Such comely pundits,
coated in makeup and gloss,
to read incendiary scripts from teleprompters,
to incite and heap bricks of lead
to tip their side of the scales of Justice.

Smoke speaks before fire,
then soon after comes the flame,
and then the wind of sentiment
to fan the inferno.

But who will speak low and soft of love?
Where are the healing eyes
and empathetic ears of poets past
who dipped their feather pens in compassion
and caressed messages, as
balms for our wounds?

Why do we taint the inherent scripture of mankind
with rhetoric and reaction
by those who seek to study the chaff
and not the wheat of a communal harvest?

Our great leaders have gone softly
into their nights…
battle weary
and brittle by war.

So if a bomb explodes at the Café I plan to visit today –
who will avenge my death
and who to see to the seeds I'd sewn
for compassion and peace?

Pray not these men and women on prime media payroll
and those of privileged wealth
and inherited power
who climb the backs of soft singing nightingales
to cackle the message of crows.
I’m none of these.

I was born of the womb,
and crawled to a walk, and thereon
through forests, and mountains, and shores,
shared with all things visible.

My heart rises and falls and races with beauty
and aches with darkness.
I fade, feeling the color run from my hair
and the suppleness of my skin
to dry and wither.

I watch my children quiver
like green leaves on the lithe limbs of youth –
fearing their fall,
but adoring their verdant energy.

All man is by nature equal
before the rise of knowledge –
and as the kingdom rises within each human being,
who will he take for a sage
and who for a fool?

Lo' we must focus the light in our hearts
before we speak from our darkening minds.
For it is we who keep our shadow company,
not our shadow ours.

We met for coffee; well,
I had coffee and she had tea.
Her pics didn't do her justice --
Chin prim
Lips cursive
Skin that swam under mine,
Making the porcelain creamer cup blush.

She claimed
she had a quarter million members
That followed her.
it's good money she reasoned,
But not gloating;
More matter-of-factly.
Off the cuff,
I asked for her stage name.
She explained that she blocked NY
For work and family reasons,
Assuming I had asked so to
Watch her perform later
(Which isn't altogether untrue).

She measured every utterance,
Teleprompters behind eyelids
Feeding her perfectly crafted lines.

I use the Golden Ratio when I webcam
She said, as she sipped her tea.
I consider it an art -- or
At least that is what I tell myself.
I asked her to elaborate.
She said she was somewhat conflicted
About whether or not it was immoral.
But she was so even
With her response,
Almost as if it were compelled
By a formality
That was now checked off her list.

Her body language taciturn
Asleep, idle, screen-saved
Waiting waiting

Curve and line
Coffined for now to slake desires anon -
Her numbers in slumber, confined
Waiting to be crunched,
Flatlines Animated by pitchblack revelry
With one click

Turning them.

She said she liked to watch others
ya know, To see how they move.
She would even watch it at work,
Open in one of her browser tabs.
She took notes.

Lines triangulated
Liminal spaces given, hidden.

Digital lipstick smears
Tattooing amygdalas firing --
Allow them to slip in
Only to slip out of them
With an X.

We talked for an hour
And then left the café.
She asked me over.
I said not tonight --
The words coming out
As if willed by something
Outside of myself.

She walked off into the dark
And I kicked myself for saying no.

Her curves beholden to math --
Gyration of hip and waist,
Arms tendrils configuring, cavorting,
Slave to an inner-whorl
twirled and twirling --
One single objective truth, now
A convergence of secreting plurality
Into beauty and beauty and

That night I ****** off thinking of her
And came so hard
I pulled something in my back.

In between sleep and waking life
I transcended
Something.. I felt

Turned.

Bat on window sill
Still as the unflinching
Lidless abyss --
Then a quarter turn of its head --
Its beady eye catching streetlight --
Careening it off into a nonplussed
Night of nights.

While looking at the television newscast.
You realize you're watching the news robots.
Simply because they have no freedom to be free.

They work required restrictions.
They told the way to dress.
The way to act.
And the news they can report under guidelines.

The teleprompters are their best friends.
Especially for those without glasses.
But prefer the contact lens.

Jerry Springer once stated.
The news is about pretty people reporting.
And if you notice his words are true.
If the news robots deny it.
They trying to pull the wool over you.

Ask yourself?
How many ugly folks reports the news.

Many news systems works underhanded.
That's why many has been branded.
Things won't change anytime soon.

But notice the National Enquire's delivering truth too.
But then I could have been talking about the news too.


When it comes to them hardly any.
But with pretty folks -there are plenty.

While looking at the television newscast.
You realize you're watching the news robots.
Simply because they have no freedom to be free.

They work required restrictions.
They told the way to dress.
The way to act.
And the news they can report under guidelines.

The teleprompters are their best friends.
Especially for those without glasses.
But prefer the contact lens.

Jerry Springer once stated.
The news is about pretty people reporting.
And if you notice his words are true.
If the news robots deny it.
They trying to pull the wool over you.

Ask yourself?
How many ugly folks reports the news.

Many news systems works underhanded.
That's why many has been branded.
Things won't change anytime soon.

But notice the National Enquire's delivering truth too.
But then I could have been talking about the news too.


When it comes to them hardly any.
But with pretty folks -there are plenty.

Life is not a play.
Life is not a movie set.
No producers, no managers, and no teleprompters..
It is a new event day after day.
Nothing in our life forces are planned energies.
They flow,freely,through the universe.
No scripts to memorize
No songs to rehearse
Memories are of the only steadfast and long lasting unchanged parts of our souls...
We do not need other people to order us about
Tell us how they think we should be..
Judge us upon being a "fake"
on "their stage" of life...
No no.
They received their just tolls.
No, it's our turn to show ourselves off on the "fashion of truthiness and bright and loving hear lights"
We spin and walk on the cat walk...
As we "free flow" this moment..in time..
As the future has no outline and nothing to show what it shall depict..
In scenes and henceforth
Life, in itself, is a force that needs no script.

It's been going on like this for days, weeks, years.

I can't seem to bring out the best of me.

Although words broadcast like teleprompters I can't bring them to paper, and often can't remember.

What I said.

I used to be able to ***** out such wisdom with such ease.

These days I feel like I am mocking my own talent. If I even have any.

I am a poet but I can't write poems, I am a writer but I have never finished a story.

And I am sorry,

But I feel like a phony.

At least right now.

Is that normal?

They all gnashed their teeth and snarled
Fed by evening news of sensational delights
This meal divides them, one squad against another
Their cackling splits the peaceful night

Their spittle soaks the blood-drenched ground
Yellow eyes gaze with maniacal rage
Single-minded to scavenge and consume
As writers fill teleprompters' page

Logic lost in frenzied carnage
Horrid breath from yellowed teeth
As these jackals howl, "feed us more!"
Caverns filled with bones of human grief

We the people of a more perfect union
Trapped between beasts set to conquer
My country 'tis of empty-headed politics
As You, I, We become the monster