Not a poem but in protest of flagging truth about racism in Traverse City, Michigan


Traverse City, Michigan: Racism is still alive and well in our area.

We weren't always welcoming
Cross burning's (City of Traverse City, MI)
I'm born and raised in Traverse City, Michigan and still living in the same neighborhood where I grew up. I can remember when blacks were not welcome in most parts of town and the one or two around were military visitors.

We had two known cross burning incidents. One back in the late 80's or early 90's the other was around 1924, ******* groups like Ku Klux **** was behind both cross burning incidents. I found old articles on the earlier one but someone is trying hard to white wash history of Traverse City by hiding evidence of the most resent one. Ones like me who were there remember those dark days like it was yesterday. It don't bode well for tourism or the Cherry Festival if there's a record of racism in our city.

Copy pasting one two different retelling of story reported by our sometimes biased Record Eagle articles regarding the first and and will continue to dig for the other one.

January 31, 2009
KKK was active in early '20s

The 1924 bombings and cross burnings in downtown Traverse City were not the first **** activity in northern Michigan.

The Record-Eagle reported flaming crosses in the Mancelona area on Aug. 1, 1923, a full year before. Six weeks later, Traverse City commissioners refused the **** permission to hold a Sept. 17 open-air meeting at the corner of Front and Cass.

About 300 people showed up anyway and marched to a vacant lot west of Front and Union after the unidentified property owner gave permission, carefully noting that it "did not commit him to any relationship with the organization," the newspaper said.

The Record-Eagle also passed on information from an identified **** source in its Sept. 17 report:

Two, maybe three organizers had worked for weeks in Traverse City. About 150 Traverse City men from "among the leading citizens" had joined. An open-air ritual with the traditional fiery cross burning on a hillside would be held "sometime but not yet" in or near Traverse City, and it would be "merely a part of the **** ceremonies and have no special significance."

People who expected to see hooded men in white robes performing rites at the Sept. 17 rally were bound to be disappointed, the paper said. A new state law banned wearing masks in public. It also would be difficult to tell how many in the audience were KKK members because "every person who has signed the Ku Klux card has pledged to keep his membership an absolute secret."


Traverse City, Michigan wasn't always welcoming to people of color.


Traverse City Record-Eagle

February 1, 2009
Ku Klux **** terrorizes TC in 1924

KKK cross burnings, explosions rock city

By LORAINE ANDERSON
Black History Month has special significance, since it begins fewer than two weeks after the nation's historic inauguration of its first black president, Barack Obama.

But there are parts of that history that Traverse City, like the rest of the nation, would rather forget. The city never had a large black population, but it did not escape a visit from the Ku Klux **** during a frightening night of downtown explosions and cross burnings on Aug. 9, 1924.

Traverse City has never seen anything like that night of terror. Buildings shook. Store windows cracked and shattered. Houses as far away as 16th Street quaked, the Record-Eagle reported.

And though outside agitators were blamed, some local people may have been involved.

It started about 8 p.m. after three explosions went off across the river from the Lyric Theatre, where the State is today.

The crowd at the Lyric all but stampeded toward the door as women and children screamed. Panicked shoppers spilled out of downtown stores. City police phones jangled with alarm.

A large cross burned on the north side of the Boardman River near Cass Street. About 50 smaller burning crosses appeared almost simultaneously at the centers of intersections across the city. Each was crudely nailed together and swathed in oil-soaked rags. Sparks flew when several cars struck them. A city fire truck raced through town to douse flames.

Then, a "touring car" with four men, robed and hooded, though not masked, slowly trolled down Front Street carrying a sign surrounded by red flares blazing three letters: KKK.

Copies of the Ku Klux **** newspaper, "The Fiery Cross," later were found downtown, and police determined that at least two cars were involved in planting and lighting the crosses.

**** leaders called the explosions and flaming crosses a recruiting gimmick, but it was more than that. The 1920s was a reactionary time in the United States. The **** had risen again, starting in 1915, widening its anti-black focus to Jews, Catholics and immigrants, particularly those from southeastern Europe. Its membership was strongest in Illinois, Indiana and Ohio.

The ****'s most powerful year was 1924, when it reached an all-time high of 5 million members nationwide and virtually controlled the government of Indiana. Its most popular slogan was "100 percent pure American."

The **** had a solid base of support in Michigan. The **** fielded two candidates in the Republican gubernatorial primary in 1924 and a ****-backed candidate was elected mayor of Flint. A write-in **** candidate even made a strong showing in a Detroit mayoral race.

In June 1924, 1,000 men joined the KKK in an Oakland County cross burning attended by about 8,000 people. Traverse City's demonstration took place just two months later. But who was really behind it?

"There is some doubt among the authorities as to whether the offenses were actually committed by local people or men from outside. They believe that local people were associated in the affair," the Record-Eagle reported.

An unidentified spokesman for the local **** denied responsibility, speculating that it was the work of **** enemies or rogue Klansmen. He told the Record-Eagle that the **** repudiated terror tactics and burning of "unwatched crosses."

Two weeks after the bombing, city police obtained felony and misdemeanor arrest warrants accusing Ku Klux **** organizer Basil Carleton of Richmond, Ind., of setting off explosives. Indiana police arrested him on Aug. 29.

Witnesses testified in two trials in December and January that Carleton had purchased 25 pounds of dynamite, fuses and three caps from Hannah & Lay Mercantile Co. about two hours before the explosions. A Park Place Hotel clerk said he saw Carleton hurrying away from the direction of the explosions about 10 minutes later. Two **** members testified that Carleton was not at the scene.

Yet he was never convicted. Juries acquitted him in both cases because the prosecutor could not prove to their satisfaction that he was at the scene of the explosion or that he personally set off the dynamite.

The bomber escaped justice. But the good news was that in Traverse City, no night of terror like that happened again.

It was this event that sparked the cross burning in Traverse City. We had only one black family in our city, when Betty Ponder and her family left Traverse City for the first time due to no one wanting to rent to them, population of blacks in our predominately white city drop to zero.


******* Movement Targets Northern Michigan

by Robert Downes

National Alliance advocates the creation of "two Americas"

Traverse City, Mich., noted primarily for its beaches, tourists and cherry pie values, appears to be erupting as a national battleground of opinion over the ******* movement, with forces on both sides of the issue coming out of the woodwork to vent their outrage over racial issues.
On Thursday, June 5, residents along stretches of Washington and Front streets in town came home to find a slick package of information from the National Alliance hanging from their doorknobs. An outgrowth of the American **** Party, the National Alliance is a ******* group which advocates the creation of "two Americas," one of which would be "White Space only with no Jews or blacks." The Alliance, advocates genocidal practices if need be to achieve its goals, and plans to distribute 1,000 information packets in Northern Michigan.

Protest organized to oppose July "NordicFest"
The incident arose only a day after more than 150 people from throughout Northern Michigan gathered at a "Hate-Free TC" meeting to oppose the NordicFest, a skinhead rock festival sponsored by the Ku Klux ****, to be held at a secret location 20 miles south of town, July 3-6.
The NordicFest is being advertised on the Internet and will feature at least six skinhead bands featured on Stormfront Records and Resistance Records -- both of which are purveyors of neo-**** hate music. It will also reportedly feature speakers from the Ku Klux **** and Aryan Nations.

Thus far, the NordicFest's location has been a closely-kept secret by David Neumann of Bloodbond Enterprizes, the concert organizer and a former director of the Michigan Knights of the Ku Klux ****. Neumann has told local media that 300 tickets have been sold for the concert -- about half the number he expects to sell. Reportedly, concertgoers will be provided with maps to the secret location at a checkpoint.

Bands expected to play at the NordicFest include Intimidation One, Aggravated Assault, Blue Eyed Devils, Max Resist and the Hooligans, and No Alibi.

Local churches offering seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity
GATHERING STORM

Journalists have made inquiries on the NordicFest from as far away as London, New York and Colorado as a result of the Northern Express story circulating on the Internet. A segment for National Public Radio is expected to take the issue nationwide, possibly focusing the world's attention on Traverse City on the eve of the National Cherry Festival -- an event which draws more than half a million visitors, many of them from ethnic minorities.
"We're creating a rainbow ribbon that we hope everyone will wear in rejection of skinheads and the ****," said Rabbi Stacey Fine of Hate-Free TC. "We hope to have hundreds of ribbons during the time the **** is here, available from downtown merchants."

Fine says the group also hopes to march in the National Cherry Royale Parade with a three-by-eight-foot banner covered with thousands of signatures in a show of support for racial and cultural diversity. Thus far, Cherry Festival officials say they have received no applications from Hate-Free T.C., but will consider the request if approached.

Dottie Kye of Hate-Free TC says the group doesn't plan to try stopping the NordicFest despite their opposition ot the concert. "We're ignoring it," Kye says. "We celebrate anyone's right to organize and free speech. But our thing is unity and celebrating diversity." In addition to several church seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity, Hate-Free TC is organizing a three-day "Unity Festival" which will feature dozens of musicians, artists, poets, actors and peace activists at the Traverse City Opera House, July 3-6.

Concert organizers Tim Hall and Tom Emmott say that more than 40 musical acts will send a pro-diversity message to area teens, with performers including Willie Kye, Alright Already, John Greilick, Samantha Moore, the Motor Town Juke Boys, Bentley Filmore, the Sisters Grimm, and Lack of Afro, among many others. A concert with Fishbone is planned for later in the month.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence"
THE TEEN CONNECTION

The Unity Fest counter-concert is seen as a vital tool in fighting the influence of the ******* movement on teens in the area. After the initial story broke, the buzz in local high schools was that the NordicFest would be offering free beer to minors. Although that notion is clearly erroneous, a small number of teens in the area still cling to the idea and have also been attracted by the rebellious nature of the skinhead rock scene.
Tim Hall believes that his Unity Fest concert will help turn that tide. The three-day concert will be located in the heart of Traverse City in the old City Opera House, with easy access for the hundreds of teens who hang out downtown, often with little to do. "Our message is going to be one that values racial and cultural diversity," Hall said. "And we've had a great response so far. We had to put a lid on the performers when we reached 40 acts, because everyone wants to play at this event."

The Unity Fest will also coincide with the Annual Reggie Box Memorial Blues Blast, which was created five years ago to bring the heritage of black music to Northern Michigan for the overwhelmingly white Cherry Festival. This year's Blues Blast will feature John Mayall, Marcia Ball and the Bihlman Bros. in a free concert downtown on July 6. The concert will also feature a strong message promoting diversity.

The law enforcement view Traverse City Police Chief Ralph Soffredine says members of the law enforcement community, including the State Police and sheriffs from Grand Traverse and Wexford counties, are taking a wait-and-see approach as to whether the NordicFest will even be held.

"People ask what we would do if the skinheads wanted to march, and it's our position that they have the same rights under the First Amendment as anyone as long as they're obeying the law," Soffredine said. "It's a neutral situation for us. We just want to maintain the peace."

He added that skinheads coming to Traverse City would be treated "no different than if longhairs come into town, or square dancers. We'd certainly observe them and respond if there's trouble."

The chief noted that a similar event occurred in the Buckley area several years ago when several motorcycle gangs gathered for a rally. While the event was monitored by local police agencies, few people in the area knew that it occurred.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence, which has become a serious problem in our community and our schools," he concluded. "The unfortunate thing is that it sometimes takes a ******* or a racial issue for people to get active."

"Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."
ANGER FROM ACTIVISTS

Not everyone is happy with the neutral attitude of law enforcement. Judy Lowenzahn of Traverse City thinks that local police agencies should get tough on the **** concert, which has no legally-required bond or liquor license.
"These hateful groups are using skinhead music to recruit soldiers for their facist movement," Lowenzahn said. "If they are allowed to hold this event, in violation of local, state and federal laws and in violation of common decency, we will be capitve audience to their deranged homophobic, anti-semitic, racist, sexist ideology. Those who protest this message, along with those who are their scapegoats will be targets for hate crimes."

Lowenzahn upbraided Grand Traverse County Sheriff Barr after he made comments in a local paper that "I'd just as soon personally let them have their little event and be on their way." Barr added that if there was a confrontation between the skinheads and protestors, "there's going to be someone in jail."

"Does Sheriff Barr suggest that people of color and others who don't fit the aryan model hide inside their homes for the holiday weekend?" Lowenzhan responded. "Rather than offer a plan to protect the community from the violence that grows whenever white supremecists do outreach, Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."

Northern Michigan targeted because of the predominantly white population
KLUELESS

Up to now, the vast majority of Northern Michigan residents have been klueless on the **** and the ******* movement. Many, for instance, had no idea that there even was a Ku Klux **** operating in the region until Neumann revealed that there are about 60 members operating mostly as "a fraternal organization" between ******* and the Mackinac Bridge.
Similarly, the existence and agenda of the National Alliance is all-ne

Odysseus needs a job he calls pima community college art department chairperson sends her his resume she does not respond after a week he catches her on phone she says he lacks proper credentials laughs to himself his whole life never worked lucrative or reputable position gets job working at thrift store wacky group of coworkers customers store frequently smells like public latrine job expires after 7 weeks he gets better paying job working at record exchange Odysseus always loved music everyday he learns new artist or band his coworkers are at least half his age they pester him about being slow on keyboard he never learned to type neither he nor his generation could have foreseen future would revolve around keyboard he plods on register keys people smile politely kids he works with fly fast making many keyboard mistakes November 29 2001 george harrison dies of cancer he is 58 years old Odysseus recognizes he is from past world different era of contrasting standards ‘80’s behavior is totally unbefitting let alone ‘60’s beliefs it is 2002 and one badly chosen word is sure to send someone flying off the handle he watches his language carefully co-workers mostly born in 1980’s grew up in 1990’s they live indifferent to hopelessness he struggles to bear none of them believe in higher power music is their religion he wonders what their visions concerns for humanity are? they seem addicted to consumption as if it is end in itself he questions what is hidden at root of their absorption? loneliness? despair? apathy? absence of vision? where is their rage against social conversion current administration? he warns them about homeland security act privacy infringement increased government secrecy power they shrug their shoulders why aren’t they looking for answers? why don’t they dissent? do they care where world is going? he realizes they will have to learn for themselves few coworkers read literature or know painters philosophy their passions are video games marijuana “star wars” most of them are extremely bright more informed than he often Odysseus needs to ask questions they know answers to right off the bat he is like winsome uncle who puts up with their unremitting teasing “hey you old hippie punk rocker get you fiber in today? stools looking a little loose! peace out old man” in peculiar way he finds enough belonging he so desperately needs they tell him stories about their friends *** addictions eating disorders futile deaths he is bowled over by how young they are to know such stuff job includes health insurance which is something he has not had since Dad was alive having some cash flowing in he buys laptop computer with high-speed connection cell phone trades in toyota for truck opens crate of writings he abandoned in ‘80’s begins to rewrite story sits blurry eyed in front of computer screen his motivation has always been to tell truth as he knows it he wonders what ramifications his labor will bring positive or negative results? he guesses his story will sound like children’s fable in stark brutality of distant future october 2002 3 week ****** spree terrorizes maryland virginia  district of columbia 10 people killed 3 critically wounded police believe white van responsible october 24 man and 17-year-old boy arrested in blue chevy caprice juvenile is shooter assailants linked to string of random murders including unsolved shooting of man at golf course in tucson Odysseus mentions incident at work speaks of prevailing terror madness in america co-workers kid tell him he is crazy “did you see a white van parked outside the store Odys?” they seem desensitized to increasing national atmosphere of anger panic or perhaps they are overwhelmed by weight trauma of modern life lie after lie prevailing  havoc slaughter make for dull numbness in world they know suicide is compelling option december 22nd 2002 joe strummer dies from heart failure at age 50 Odysseus’s eyes wet he adored the clash everything they stood for loved joe strummer and mescaleros he plays “global a go-go” over and over listens sings along with first track “johnny appleseed” march 2003 president bush launches attack against iraq united states seems drunk with “shock and awe” zealous blind patriotism many people politicians countries around globe question unproven line of reasoning saddam hussein possesses “weapons of mass destruction” Odysseus gripes “not another **** vietnam” record company allows employees to check out take home used product Odysseus stopped watching movies in 1980’s he has lots of catching up to do particularly likes “natural born killers” “american history x” “american ******” “fight club” “way of the gun” “******” “king of new york” “basquiat” “frida” “*******” “before night falls” “quills” “requiem for a dream” “vanilla sky” “boys don’t cry” “being john malkovich” “adaptation” “kids” “lost in translation” “25th hour” “28 days later” “monster” “city of god” “gangs of new york” “**** bill” list goes on perfect circle becomes his favorite band followed by tool lacuna coil my morning jacket brian jonestown massacre flaming lips dredg drive-by truckers dropkick murphys flogging mollies nofx stereophonics eels weakerthans centro-matic califone godspeed you black emperor magnetic fields fiery furnaces dresden dolls smog granddaddy calexico howie gelb sufjan stevens warren haynes dax riggs john vanderslice alejandro escovedo sean paul elephant man bjork p. j. harvey ani difranco aimee mann cat power sophie b. hawkins kathleen edwards mia doi todd kimya dawson regina spektor carina round neko case fiona apple nina nastasia beth gibbons mirah rasputina dr. dre talib kweli immortal technique murs slug atmosphere trick daddy eazy-e tricky list goes on october 21 2003 elliott smith commits suicide stabbing 2 wounds into his chest Odysseus thinks about music when jimi hendrix stood up at woodstock deconstructing national anthem on guitar it took courage when punk emerged with ugly screechy sounds attempting to divorce itself from melodious harmonies of 1970s complacent crosby stills nash  the dead kennedys and *** pistol did not pander to conventional commercial success what they performed were desperate gutsy songs trying to reclaim music rock’n’roll is no longer about inventing instead it imitates its glorious past hip-hop and rap come nearest to risking rebellion but are caught in gangsterism infantile self-adulation no longer does music offer vision of what is or could be instead it conjures looping escapism from hopelessness of modern life he continues working at record shop for several years store contains every genre of music cinema he grows weary of retail sales weary of higher-ups constantly changing rules dictating what to do head manager is manipulative drama queen thrives on crisis once in private admits stealing from company Odysseus nods not knowing what to say head manager works Odysseus hard keeps him down atmosphere of conspiracy betrayal hang at start of each day assistant manager routinely taunts berates bullies teases regularly calls Odysseus “dumb-****” or “****-up” other times laughs after goading Odysseus to flinch eventually bully backs off and they become friends retail pushes Odysseus to brink of misanthropy corporation requires all employees to exercise overt courteousness while serving a public of disrespectful gang bangers demanding “show me black market brotha lynch mac dre why ya godda keep dat **** behind da counter? dat’s ****** up hey old man i ain’t got all day” it always amazes him when shoplifter is caught with product stuffed down his pants thief blatantly states “i didn’t do it i don’t know how that got there” thanksgiving through christmas to new years is most swarming stressful he feels like automaton greeting customer scanning product looking at screen to see if price agrees with product typing money amount counting money into drawer counting money out handing change to customer handing customer product receipt next customer cockroach capitalism packs of masses line up in endless stream of needs stupid remarks job also involves trade appraising condition value resale probability of cds dvds video games tapes vhs vinyl news of  iraq war gets dismal mounting civilian casualties suicide bombers hostages beheadings beginning of 2004 reports of torture ****** psychological abuse **** ****** ****** of prisoners at abu ghraib prison guantanamo bay white house cover-ups denials growing insurgency increasing u.s. body count other costs he thinks about men and women who are so much braver than him then comes re-election and lavish republican parties parades cheney rumsfeld tom delay and whole regime smirk portentously on tv none of it makes sense anymore “we the people of the united states” what does it mean? the dreams and aspirations of his generation have long since faded away he is citizen of forgotten past current world is barbaric place he barely recognizes there are real pirates with machetes rocket launchers on the seas big drug corporations hiding harmful findings kidnapped children abandoned children crooked politicians corruption at every level of society horrifying stories daily ******* priests slave markets extreme heinous cruelties abruptly everyone is acknowledging society is worsening life is not the same he does not understand people and certainly does not understand america or the world he remembers when all could be so good modern existence has turned everything into madness what happened to lessons of history? it is as if Odysseus fell asleep and when he woke everything is changed he is mistaken about what he thinks he knows feels pity for people america pity disgust sorrow he misses his dog

Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded Dark Side of the Moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison

A mutilated vision, troubled past and
wrong decision, my place is where I
am not. But I can't choose and only by
wishing will my worries be banned.

Let's accept never being smooth, late
nights never go as planned, as if fate
picked me out to be unlucky, sad
for himself, selfpity terrorizes this lad!

Corners are not made for crying, but
why are they so perfect when you do?
Going blank, fever raises, save me,
tell me I'll be okay, comforted by your edges.

The way I am gives girls chances for choosing,
if I don't change, incapable of leading, I'll keep losing.

MY DEAR HUMANIST

You are an imperialist
He is a terrorist
You promote cold war
And declare unilaterally real war
He does the so called holy war
Both of you stretch it too far

He kills the people indiscriminately
And you discriminately
Saddam Hussain and Bin Laden were once your friends
Ultimately they became your rivals

Saddam was hanged by you
But Bin Laden still eludes you
You have the riches and power
And feel as if you were the law giver

UNO and the World Bank bow to your power
But the terrorist could demolish your tower
You divide and rule the world
He terrorizes it with his deed and word

Do you know how many people you murdered in the war?
None has stopped your inhuman actions so far
You make friends with one state
The neighbouring country your buffer state

You call yourself a great democrat and humanist
We know you are an imperialist
And worse than a terrorist
You never listen to the pacifist

Not a day in your life, war have your eyes witnessed
You lay safe, secure, in your ignorant pocket of peace
But their memories play before your eyes and their nightmare dance on your eyelids
The chop of the fan blades remind you of the planes, menacing overhead and dropping fire from the sky
The popping of kernels from the microwave wring forth panic-- Duck! They’re shooting! Duck for cover, you fool!
The book, it merely fell, but was it truly a book? Or was it the boom of an artillery cannon?
Screams of glee mingle into screams of pain. Your best friend, why don’t you reach out and save him? He’s only a few yards away. He’s in such pain, don’t let him die alone. Don’t let him die like this. Don’t let him die.
Stepping in the puddles makes your skin crawl. You remember their blackened skin, rotted flesh. You step out of the water quickly.
The open water is calm. Peaceful. Under the surface you can see them, the submarines. You move away from the shoreline.
Your friend, hugging you from behind-- it’s their hand, just their hand. There was never a knife. They are your friend. Or are they?
The memories. They’re not yours. Whose are they? Why do they tremble like tenor in your mind, ingrained in your DNA?
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
The jungle, the desert, the forest, the wasteland. You’re not there, you were never there.
The blood on your hands is not there, open your eyes!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of cracking rawhide and dirt. You were not there, this is not your reality. That white jacket should not make your breath hitch! That burning cross should not terrorize you so!
Now the dark, it's suffocating. This is not your world of fabric stars and canvas trucks. You were not there, this is not your reality. That red armband should not make your breath hitch! That fire should not terrorize you so!
Not a day in your life has this world brought its ugly head to look you dead in the eye and breath upon you, noxious breath liquefying your lungs and dissolving your eyes.
You are safe-- that blood on your hands is not real-- you are safe-- this is not your reality-- how it terrorizes you so!
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are theirs, their memories, and you see them every time you close your eyes.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
These memories are not your own.
They are not yours and they never will be.

the window to the world
frightens and confuses
terrorizes
makes me grateful for distance
and an early bedtime

A ****** Of Crows is the collective term for a group of crows. A term I have taken full advantage of in my prose poem. I rarely post prose, I rarely post Dark writing, so as a special treat, I offer the reader both.

Neighbours should cherish peace,
I thought, taking my seat for the show.
Psychopomps were gathering, fluttering, cawing,
Not on my roof though, not in my trees,
On Varley’s premises, my bad tempered neighbour.
I observed, shaded beneath my garden umbrella,
The sun bright in a blue sky marbled with cloud,
Sipping my tea, quintessential Englishness,
Brewed from the leaf of a China plant,
Sweetened by the pith of an Indian cane,
But English, all the same. (So I told myself.)
On hearing Varley clattering around in his kitchen,
I flicked up the music another notch, then another,
Black Sabbath’s Damaged Soul, pumping out,
The heavy beat thundering across my patio,
Through the picket fence, into my neighbour’s brain.
He deserves this, he truly does. (So I told myself.)
A wife beating pig who terrorizes children.
More Psychopomps came, pecking at each other,
Waiting eagerly on the fence, telephone wires,
Soon my feathered friends, I whispered, very soon.
I flicked up the bass another notch, sipped my tea,
Then he came, roaring out of his kitchen door,
Stamping down the yard, apoplectic face, so angry,
Almost purple as he bawled at me; screamed.
‘You half-blind ******! I’m coming for you!’
From my stash I pinched up the dried leaves,
A dash of hemlock, deadly nightshade, perfect.
I dropped them on the small brazier by my side.
As he reached the fence, shooing birds away,
Giving him my best smile, I told him. ‘Goodbye!’
Hairs, taken from his comb, fell from my fingers.
And as they crisped, Varley’s face froze in horror,
Instantly coming under siege from a ****** of crows,
No ordinary gathering of birds, these Psychopomps,
But more akin to the Hitchcock variety of bird.
I turned the volume up full, chanting quietly,
While the birds pecked out his eyes, opened his throat.
A mass of black menace, fluttering in a frenzy,
Brought him to the floor, wailing and pleading.
(So, Varley, I’m a half-blind ******, am I?)
It was soon over; the birds took flight, so noisy,
Leaving Varley to perform one final twitch.
Silencing my music, Varley’s dance of death done,
I gave his wife a wave as she walked down the path,
She smiled her approval, nudged Varley with her toe,
Just to make sure, then sighed with obvious relief.
‘I owe you,’ she mouthed, blowing me a kiss.
‘Call it a gift,’ I mouthed back, finishing my tea.
(One can never accept payment, it corrupts the magic.)
Varley’s wife laughed, I smiled, so darkly sweet,
All was well with the world, as it ought to be,
Neighbours should cherish peace.

©Paul M Chafer 2014

trust is filled and spilled,
its lost and gained,
its stolen and given
and still, i trust no one

every single time i trust someone,
they hurt me
so why do i trust at all?

somethings are broken,
but sometimes,
they never get fixed

how do i trust someone,
when all they ever do is hurt me?

its like a loop,
it constantly terrorizes me,
at first,
i don't trust you, out of fear,
out of insecurity,
but then i let you in,
ever so slowly,
and then, when i'm not noticing,
you turn it all around,
you hurt me.
you hurt me over and over again

when i'm done with being hurt,
i move on,
just to find someone else to be friends with,
to trust,
and then to get hurt by all over again

i thought at 15,
your supposed to learn how to cook,
how to go out in the real world,
to prepare for college or your future
but i'm not learning that,
i'm learning how mean people can be

so, Kayla,
Sarah,
Haley,
Kelsey
Miss Shaddock,
and now Emmaliegh,
how do i trust again?

all you ever did was hurt me,
was it really that hard just to be a good person?
why did you hurt me?
i thought i could trust you,
now, i trust no one,
and that's because of you

I see you in the sky ,
Far, afar off.
I watch you from the earth,
Far, afar off.
Brightness enlightens the
      vicinity from the grip of
      elemental forces,
Enveloping the entire arena and
      beyond like the mother hen
      brooding her children out
      of the reach of seducing eyes
      of a roaming hawks in the
      sky.
Your dome-shaped entity
      distinctively standing aloof
      like a magnificent rotunda
      palatial in the Arabian oasis.

Thirty nights of illumination,
When we spreads our mats
      to narrate tale under your
      watchful eyes.
When elders recounts narrative
      and ancient panorama of
      yesteryears.
When we clap,
When we sing,
When we dance
In the womb of your greatness.

Thirty nights of total darkness,
When lanterns endlessly
      searches for light to
      extinguish darkness,
When the night-callers
      terrorizes our quietness,
When the guardsmen work
      like wild wolves to fish
      out the sons of Belial,
When the night impels babies
      to retire to their cradles,
When the wiles of darkness
      inculcate an aura of fear into
       our minds.

Prolong your circles and
      brighten our hope.
You produces light,
You illuminates season.
Your neighbor reigns over
      days,
While you control the affairs
      of darkness.

That bad dream of a human being
That one that you despise
Who caused you so much pain
The hurt pulsating behind you eyes

That shadow behind a fragmented smile
That terrorizes you,
From the hidden pockets in your mind
For days, for months, for years ...

Thank her, for she's your greatest muse

The aroma of the dead,
makes her body warm and cold, transforms her into a lonely soul.

Agonized by her lover's death, lives in a curse;she.
The pall of trauma and fear terrorizes her,
Left with no choice but to seek Benediction of the almighty!

The twist of her fate in the blink of an eye,
Jovious she was;once upon a time,the lonely soul.
Longs for love.
Longs for warmth.
Eyes swelling,with a paper like body.


Her days are coming to an end,
Reminescence of late love captivates the longful soul;
as dwells in her mind he,the yesteryears' love.

Unforgettable he was,ever will be.
Love never bloomed for the longful soul,
Eyes remain dull,
With a body made of stone;as nomore was she,the happy soul.

I can’t count the wrongs I’ve committed
The people I’ve hurt
The friends I’ve lost, but, the hardest part was losing
You
The only one I could see myself with
Even now
Especially since you’re gone

Oscar Wilde once said “You will understand”
..I will never understand how proud I was
Proud enough to almost die and lose you
Proud enough to realize I had not beat Depression
Proud enough to let myself be
My own worst enemy.

I messed up so much
I’m a changed woman now and you are truly
All
That
Is
Missing
From my life

Love is supposed to make you better
Not **** you
Love didn’t make me better
Because of love,
I almost died

I dare you to love me again,
I dare you to accept me for who I am now,
Despite your flaws, I still loved you,
Maybe I was somewhat obsessed.
You don’t know how much I’ve changed,
How sorry I am for stressing you out,
Hurting you and myself,
I’m a different woman.

My skin is stained with your scent,
Stained with the way your luscious, soft lips felt,
I tried to let someone else touch me the way you did,
I couldn’t be that happy again.
Believe me when I say I tried too hard to be perfect,
I tried too painfully hard to make you want me,
Why didn’t you just tell me you loved me as I was?

Now, although healed,
Through therapy and medicine,
You infiltrate every thought, action, and word that leaves my lips.
No matter how hard,
Or how much I want to,
You made me happier than anyone and anything ever could.

I don’t think you have ever sobbed after reading a beautiful piece of poetry,
I wanted you to be sentimental,
I was ridiculous,
I drove you away.

You went from someone who surprised me to the
Night that terrorizes me and reminds me
The ghost that haunts me
Every single inch of me
That you have seen and used to enjoy
Every inch that I wish you would enjoy again
That I crave for you to enjoy again.

If you knew I wrote this,
I know that you would laugh at me
You would think I was the biggest idiot
But, you ignore me now
It’s how you cope
So, do I really have anything to lose?

If you would let me,
I would show you the real me
In nine months,
You never got to see
Me.
I haven’t seen the real me in six years.
This is the first time.
Please,
Let me love you,
And try to love me.

~for Cathy Leff, curator~


no bugler blaring ‘pay attention’ to me,
no emergent bad news bearish telephone cell call of an absurd tonal,
no alarm clock retaliating agin a humans daily defying double-slap,
no young children sneaking in, with a guard dog in accompaniment,
   joy-ending a deep parental sleep from the exhaustion they induced

but as if shot, the humans burst into alertness,
from prone to moan, they instantly revert, becoming **** Erectus,
gasping from shock troop dreams, and a chest-pounding message,
a whisper growing, an ever increasing crescendo, an unnatural law,

an unsullied foot-stomping battle cry that self-terrorizes, undeniable:

write me, your poem, write me now!

ah, it must be 5:00 am...

The nightmare is over,
yet, it replays in my mind.
Over and over it terrorizes me
The playbacks send me blind.
I can see the eyes
beneath the tightened brows
and I try to forget it
as much as my memory allows
The fierce green sea
will be my demise
and it is locked in my vision
of your evil eyes

Stop this anarchy
I need some sort of relief
It's been too long now
as I daydream in disbelief
I never think of you
and still your shadows arise
the memories of your ruthless actions
the horror of your evil eyes

Cancelling my tie to you
was my decision to let me live
The abuse you delivered
I will not ever forgive
It stained my skin
and bruised my soul
and although it faded,
it had already taken its toll
Angels brought me back
they saw through your disguise
To everyone else you're innocent
But we've seen your evil eyes

Sick of suffering
wont you fade away now
I could forget the pain
if someone showed me how
Success will come one day
and its then you will realize
Ive never been your prisoner
you are your own.. through your evil eyes

i live cursed.

am i strange? why do i think differently than everyone around me?

it's like i'm captive; stuck in a prison of people who don't see me.
and as i ramble about existentialism
you think to yourself, 'what are they talking about'.
but it was never really a question.

it was a declaration:
an ostracism,
a confession to deceiving me,
a rouse to make me feel sane,
an internal whisper to yourself.

and i make futile attempts to remain sane even though i have forced myself to confront my arbitrary existence while you go out and give no second thought to the meaninglessness of your reality or the chaos you live in.

i live cursed.

however, make no mistake.
because,
although i
live
cursed, i
myself
am not
cursed.

for while i live cursed with the painful knowledge that i am alone,
forever destined to know and accept that my reality exists to no one else,

you do not want to confront your isolation.
you run:
to alcohol,
to toxic relationships,
to nicotine,
to others.

in hopes that maybe
maybe
please
maybe
that one of these times,
you'll be strong enough to face it.

maybe after the next hit
maybe after the next shot
maybe after the next argument
you'll see.

but there again, you falter.
you see, make no mistake of that. because if you didn't see, what would you be fleeing? no, you are well aware of your isolation.

but you fear isolation
you fear lack of affirmation
you need the opinions of others
you crave love
you grasp for some concept of a communal reality
and death terrorizes you through it all.

and so, while i know undoubtedly that i become a little less sane with each agonizing moment of existence,

my isolated state of being
will always
be less alone
than your cowardice.

Loudly, mercisly, the storm cloud
Stalks overhead in his dark temper.
This way, and that, he terrorizes; he reigns
Over concrete cities and somber souls.
Blowing and abolishing vibrant dreams
Of the sun into a neutral nothingness.

then when i lay in a box of onyx
somehow in a trance of sleepiness
even sadness couldn’t even come through
or happiness
only numbness could be described
ironically numbness became a feeling

the thoughts become overbearing
taking my own life becomes a choice
stepping out onto the road rage of traffic is an ideal

don't say that i am okay
insanity does not equate to "being okay"
the gray overhanging cloud terrorizes my mind and soul from within to the exterior
cursing my bodies with wounds of crimson

people wander among me with no clue
to how my mind can think of a world so cynically
my attribution to life is a torn up blue blanket
fabric barely holding together

temporarily existing in a corrupt societal world

The mind does not reel
It Clacks
At or near the frontal lobe
A temple eroding, I suppose
Destroying by the speed of the whir
A millisecond vertigo
Terrorizes for seemingly endless minutes
Wrought iron right neck muscle
Climaxing in a hypnagogic spasm
That levitates the body for an instant

Copyright © 2009

I remember you

you are painful to remember

your face a muse in my deepest beliefs
on what the real meaning of love is
or mAYbe something else

Im so bound by my memories of you
they fall in my mind like the roots of dandylions
but with wishes that never came true

sometimes I feel
that I wish I could have lived with you in some remote world
far from the one we met
far from the one that any who have felt this way will ever go
Im engrossed in my simplicity towards you
towards your remarkable face

you brought joy
you brought anguish
you brought fear
and deliverance
to the furthest place away from you that my feet could possibly take me

why is it that my mind always goes back to you
at times
when Im almost on the edge of relief
you take my sanity away from me

and Im left in the same place once more
I feel like a failure everytime
who is left with nothing
not even the joy in my commitment of straying myself away
from the very core of you
for it is imbedded in my core
you are the seed and Im the outer layer of the fruit
that will never ripen with time
or with age
Im stuck in a pandominoum
in a world
where the sun does not shine
and I do not move foward

I assume that the only thing that will bring me refuge
is your voice
which is the only thing that terrorizes me most

you are a monster caged in the very depths of my thoughts
I have lost the key to let you go
to free you from my restless mind
I hear your echoes every night beaming in my head
agony mixed with revelations of something I was so unfamiliar with
until your frail and young exsistence came into my life

I did not want to be the one to show you
the one to bring you into that world
it was so painful for me
will you ever now
how weak I felt holding that responsibilty in my small hands
I have never felt so small before

the sin
the relaxtion
the realse
the pain

you let me be the barrer of these
and now Im left with all except relaxtion
and without you

our story falls on the thorns of beautiful roses
Im stuck on the needles
while I stare at the pedals in rememberance
of all the things that I can no longer touch
with my veins
I end this poem like I ended me and you
without wanting to

When we are taught about bullying
The dangers and costs
We are told the consequences
What can be lost.

So I vowed to help others
Through thick and thin
And promised to never
Break open my skin

We are told to get help
To find someone to trust
We are told to survive bullying
That is a must

But what if the person
You loved most
Betrayed you
And became a ghost

I let her down
I wasn't there
I cry every month
Pulling at my hair

Thinking about her success
In something I'll never be able to do.
Who knew my mind
Could be a bully too.

How can you run away
From an ***** inside
That terrorizes you
Until you want to die.

I can't run away
I have no choice
But to pick myself up
And try to clear my voice

But things are harder to clear
When you face them alone
I have no real friends
I face the world on my own.

My voice grows tired
From my screams and internal cries
My brain makes me scared
To go to sleep every night

I'm always forgotten
Or in the way
Who knew my most feared bully
Would be here to stay

I've tried to run away
But there's no escape
I think about the jump
Taking a leap of faith

Into a world with no light
Just pitch black everywhere
Until my heart speaks its voice
And realizes it doesn't want to be there

My most feared bully
The worst of them all
Will continue to beat me up
Until I fall

I may be quiet
I may soon fall
Because my brain has turned
Into the most feared of them all

Depression is oppression.
It's a deadly hidden message
Defined by self-hate.
It seals its prisoner's fate.
It holds you captive and throws out the key.
It stabs and jabs just to see you bleed,
Inflicting wounds that scar for life.
Destruction is its mother and death its wife.

You can cry, but it will always ignore your screams.
It terrorizes your soul and haunts your dreams.
It sends you false hope through a bottle or pill.
It destroys your goals and inflicts its will.
You can't run, nor can you hide.
By its rules you will abide
Until it celebrates that you have died.
Open your eyes, or you will be its prey.
It will blur your vision in the most twisted way.
It will seek your destruction and call for your head.
You will lie and wait but never rest in your bed.

Peace will come to those who want peace,
But as long as you feed him, you will see the beast.
You can't run, nor can you hide,
But if you conquer the beast, you will survive.
Prayer and hope can lead the way.
Cling on to every word you pray.
Hope is in truth.
Hate is in lies.
Pray for your soul and open your eyes.

rich people go to die
and the young people who live there
have lived there forever
are going to live there forever

thats what the river
behind my house told me
as I waited for the smell of the hello
when the school bus pulled up.

I think that is when I knew I wanted to be rich and never work.

That's also when I gave the kid next to me the finger.
Because he said something stupid.

The demon driver of despair reprimanded me.
But, Barbra Streisand would say I had chutzpah.

The Asian grocery store in Aurora terrorizes the people.
The smell of fish genocide punches me in the face every time I walk in.

Nothing was the same now that home was in another state.
NOw that the lethargic drug dealer sits next to me on the light rail.

Canyon Road is where the sun sets and the stars lift off to light up the sky.

I.
I think you would look brighter with a fresh coat of paint –
a pale blue would suit
your face looks red,
like someone described to you
how you looked in your skimpiest underwear,
like he used to say how much he loved
pushing down on your hips,
melting you into your aqua sheets

II.
the cherry blossoms look promising this time of year
I feel a longing to chop them down
and press them into all the books I own
I promise you that I will comb my hair 100 times in return
I will iron out the stretch marks on my skin –
I won’t pull at it, I promise!
stay vibrant

III.
in the middle of the night,
while I am surrounded by strangers,
home will call and exclaim:
I made fresh scones
and the smell followed me all the way to the top of the tower!
and
I finally took two steps
towards the German shepherd
that terrorizes me on the way
to Christie Pits!
and
he told me my eyes were like
the blue of his favourite childhood jean jacket –
he told me I felt like home.

IV.
my two brothers might have long, swaying limbs when I touch down
mom’s arms might wrap three times around me
she will say,
“I love your peonies growing the length of your spine”
and water them as I lie on my stomach
dad will have feet made of concrete
but his body will still be like palm leaves
I will have to laugh at my own jokes
and ice my own bruised knees
for a while

V.
above all, I wish for the following:
sturdy legs that don’t give out after I’ve walked the length of a strange station
searching for a runaway train
a glimmer from the sweet Parisian rain and the blissful Spanish sun
a new set of lenses with broad castles and rough cliffs and extensive oceans
a jar full of foreign voices, bright smiles, truths
and the fullest heart –
I hope to find me.

There is a story of which I know,

That no happy heart would dare to go,

The chimes ring silent in the frigid wind,

And the harpsichord’s tune lowers, tightens.

-

Before my tale, I must make preface,

The tale, metaphors, rightly seek justice,

For there are no emotions quite like found here,

Life just continues, a grinding gear.

-

When the flower lost its petal,

It said “These things just happen.”

It wasn’t time, it was a crime,

To let this flower die ugly.

-

The tree has lost its apple,

The only thing that marked its beauty,

No longer can it the apple cradle,

Its brilliant seed so fruiting.

-

Think of the dark storm cloud,

That lost its rain so pure,

It likely never will be found,

This sickness has no cure.

-

The feeling burrows in your stomach,

It eats away at your heart,

It terrorizes your mind,

To know they have found another to start.

-

Though no one has ever died,

From a muscle left this broken,

I guess I should have lied

Asleep, instead be woken.

-

Bring me the silken cloth,

From my box of fragile,

It will protect this darkened stone,

And mend it back to evil.

-

Think of every time you’ve cried,

About something you could not change,

And see if you still care to know,

Why it is yourself to blame.

-

Think of every category,

that you could have mended,

All of it an allegory

To your love intended.

-

When you see the bitter face,

Of reject and spite and be hated,

Coming from your used to be

Loved, but relocated.

-

You will find yourself the virus

Of your conjoined lives,

You will never be pious

Enough for their love, despised.

-

**** everything about yourself,

It helps ease the anguish,

But keep yourself here and conscious,

So you understand true languish.

The mind does not reel
It Clacks
At or near the frontal lobe
A temple eroding, I suppose
Destroying by the speed of the whir
A millisecond vertigo
Terrorizes for seemingly endless minutes
Wrought iron right neck muscle
Climaxing in a hypnagogic spasm
That levitates the body for an instant
A moment?

the sonofabitch tremor
  from a tall cup of americano

i am somewhere in the heart of Libis
  feeling the libidinous snarl
  of trucks, the poignant treason
    of leaves slamming against each other,
  the bamboozle of the youth

   this is my 5th poem sliding out
    of my whetstone mouth
   sharpening the dull blade of tongue
    as the harum-scarum of the swivel
   door crafts a rising hullaballoo.

    spilling coffee on my ****** white
     this sonofabitch tremor
    terrorizes the purity of the *******
       clenched against no succor,
    eyes squinting in lachrymose fretting
      palpebral shade of tossed out gray
        caprice of clouds — no
  
   more coffee
      for me,
          these words nudging me
   keeping me awake with
      persistence.

Like an adversity onrushes imminently,
Thy evolvement feeble you,
The assailant of my riches at most,
Impede this generation to limp down,
Falling on your entangle, twitching studiously
In an advertent common knowledge,

Knowing your existence that your part of me,
Even when I’m not, terrorizes everything I touch,
To whom shall I convey my incarceration?
The reluctant of my righteous to scheme you,
Strung the extension on the same leash,

Sweet memories inhabit this shack,
This house, these cars, this fame, I know sometimes I
Wish I didn’t have this life, these tenacious memories,
We had nothing but a felicitous life, having only grains
Was enough, depicting a smile with pain,
Fear and joy on my school Departure,
But you never grouch

Your silence became tremendous,
You perished on the face of earth,
Thou never subsisted till my wish,
Through asperity, fear and pain
I am who I am for you

I give off
Fake smiles
Broken laughter
An agile body
That wants nothing more than to give up
Shallow friendships
All the while I'm hoping
That I will someday believe it too.

Look closer
Dark circles and bags
Droop around my lifeless eyes
The glint that once glimmered
Has been stolen from them again.

Even deeper
And you will see scars
All my over feeble frame.
Read a little more carefully
And a story begins to unfold.
I wish I could read it to you
But fear has taken over.

What you don't see*
The psychological and physiological damage
That jamming a finger down my throat repeatedly
Has caused.
The insomnia that keeps me restless
And the nightmares that hold me captive
When I do steal a chance to sleep.
The flashbacks who's mercy I am at
They can pop up anywhere, any time, any day
Thanks for nothing, PTSD.
The anxiety that terrorizes my mind
As I fail over and over again
To prioritize.
The loneliness that breaks my bones
And the depression that keeps me unmotivated.
All the questions, specifically:
Why am I such a failure?*

So now do you see
Why I am falling to pieces?