"troopers" poems
The Mafia and the Pope
the Italian mafia wanted to take control
they wanted control of the church and all its wealth
the leader Anthony “The Boss” Gambatti sent his muscle
to secure an audience with the Pope
Johnny “the Eye” and his storm troopers
pushed by the guards
into the Pope's secretary's office
Arch Bishop Spinozza
sprung to his feet to confront the noise
Johnny “the Eye”, he got that name
after he lost his left eye in a knife fight
and replaced it with a glass oversized eye
that always looked straight ahead
a burning cigarette hanging from his lips
he got right in the Bishops face
“The Boss” wants a meeting with his Royalness
“and he wants it now”
the Bishop well aware of his visitors
and there violent ways
backing away from the smoke in his face
told Johnny that he would arrange a meeting
“tomorrow” he said “tomorrow”
Johnny cocked his head
so that his large fake eye was an inch from
the Bishops nose
flicked the ashes from his cigarette
on the shoes of the Bishop
turning to walk away
“tomorrow” he said
Anthony “The Boss”
dressed in his fine 5K Italian silk suit
leather gloves
black silk fedora
accompanied by his entourage'
walked into the Popes office the next day
he sat in a chair in front of the Pope's desk
“What can I do for you Anthony?” asked the Pope
the two had grown up as school mates
and had maintained a relationship
though not close
“Carlos, I think it is time we work out
a financial aggreement with each other”
“being that the church is known for giving,
I think it is time for you to give me some money,
a lot of money”
“I have many expenses to address”
“to insure that this happens”
I want you to make love to a woman”
“and if I refuse such a horrid task? quizzed the Pope
“I will begin removing all of your Bishops,
one every hour, from all over the world”
”and it won't be pretty” responded Anthony
The Pope, obviously shaken with the proposal
got up from his chair, his face in his hands
paced back and forth for a few minutes
“I will agree to your disgusting request
on three conditions” said the Pope.
“and what are those conditions?” asked Anthony
“1st this woman must be blind,
so that she cannot see who defiles her body”
“2nd this woman must be deaf,
so that she cannot hear any hint of who defiles her body”
“and 3rd your holiness?”
“3rd, this woman must have really really big ****
Gomer Lepoet...
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
the motherships are
hovering overhead
& to the east,
apollo breathes fire
past the ****** off incisors, like
'try &
catch me now'
now,
or never.
to my west I felt nothing
but the most
uncomfortable comfort.
it's just.
too.
much.
becoming barefooted
clouds of dust I run
to the godlight
& in time I find I
also become
disenchanted.
& I'm just freeezing
& my feet are filthy & bleeding
but
anything for that rush
tell me somethin brother
do ya cluster with the others?
are you some
undiscovered color
in the monochrome gutter?
are you sixsixsix seven
aren't you *** & heaven
dost thou seek
the foul
or the feather'ds;
brother of blood
& sweat,
is thou the sheep
or the shepherd?
wolfman.
we want the teeth.
to the tooth, troopers.
how rude;
I can see right thru
that wool suit
all too true to the stupor,
stupid.
don't you know I know you,
don't you.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
Let's steal cheap knock offs from Wal-Mart
And return them to customer service for gift cards
So we can buy the real things
Let's drive unregistered vehicles, WITHOUT insurance
And lie when we get pulled over by the state troopers
So all we gotta do is pay a little fine
Let's get paid to buy alcohol for minors (like 17+, cuz you know that's not so bad)
And party with them until just before the cops show up
So they're all too drunk to give the cops our names
Let's sell some of our food stamps for cash
And use it to buy tobacco and tubes and make our own, non taxable cigarettes
So we can sell them to the neighborhood for cheaper than the stores
Let's be a modern day Bonnie and Clyde. Let's only steal from wealthy cooperations and the government. Let's be bad, but not so bad that if we get caught we'll go to jail, cause you know, I wouldn't want that.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:04 PM UTC
Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?
Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***
I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?
You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.
I won't.
We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.
Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.
Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?
Just in time for Mother's Day.
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 2:31 AM UTC
O’er the hill the rampant stampede
and the sound of thundering hooves,
as the mighty men of steel and armour,
hasten their steeds with all passion and eagerness,
to have at the fray in which their fellows are in
deadlock with the enemy.
Following the noble banner as it
twists and bends under the speed
of the horsemen’s noble steeds.
as edging ever nearer to the battlefield.
Then, with a shout of ardent Patriotism,
and the silent but deadly ring of cold steel,
the beating hooves trample,
as the swift sleek movements of the sword
befell the helpless enemy troopers and drones,
sent like sheep into a slaughterhouse,
and hence few shall return unscathed,
for these generals havent the decency for
diplomacy and discussion,
only to make ****** war.
And should they have cause to panic or fear,
they shall hastily mutter such words as these,
“Send in the cavalry!”,
and with little argument, we shall go,
over the hill in a stampede of
death and glory,
like the Valkyries,
we shall ride,
and hasten the deaths of they,
my generals enemies.
I am their last resort,
I am the cavalry.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 3:24 AM UTC
It's a cool place to meet.
25 cent wings.
Nice, tiny booths
Lit by tiny electric lamps
In the guise of candles,
That give everything a nice, golden glow.
It's a Corona light,
And Corona-colored light always makes me feel
at ease.
She pulls up in a silver acura.
Gets out of the car and I can
see her ***
from the front of her
as she syrups over.
She’s got on a Black tanktop;
black bra straps showing
against white-pink
puerto rican skin
all while holding up those veritable C's.
Her hips burst against
a
long, beige
d
r
e
s
s,
and I'm wanting to slide my hands all the way up her shirt to that black bra, and snap it off.
We have conversations about feeling older than
eighteen
and twenty-one
respectively.
Our lips are saucy
and oily. Tiny chicken scraps
can be felt in our teeth.
"I just started reading Starship Troopers."
"Yea, I love that movie."
I've never seen the movie,
but it endears her to me
that she loves it.
"Do you have any plans?"
"Plans?"
"After college?"
I plan on finishing my wings
before you, then I'm hoping
you'll let me hold your ****
"Not yet."
"You know I've read some of your poetry."
"What do you think?"
"I like it," She smirks,
uncomfortably.
She ladles a wing in a slick of sauce.
"Truthfully, it was too much for me,
you really shouldn't talk about things like that."
She brings the wing
to her lips
and smacks it down
with a loud ******* noise
of a working, pink tongue.
I’ve wanted to hold her **** ever since I met her.
Now I’m lost.
Because she’s got black eyes
and I’m not even thinking about her **** or her bra.
I start thinking about how white her teeth are,
and how much two people can never know about each other.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 12:15 AM UTC
Some people say Im mad I just blame the L-RAD
Attacked by services syndicate post grad
Breaking the code of conduct that's sad
Criminal cause nullify's the collaborative ad
All privileged storm troopers got more than I have
Is the conscience alive while watching that sat-nav?
As a key worker your care is what we have
But straying for a kickback is a dent & bad
The mental health stigma is the foot soldiers weapon
Labelling us mentally ill with the DSM con
Exclaiming we're mental while the victim is alone
Stigma comes from the compound hear us groan
Hearing me everywhere have traits of a stalker
Attacking innocents with energy weapons lawbreaker
Violating human rights piggy back hijacker
The conspiracy hypothesis is the startler
Whats the biological molecular structure
Of a mental health disorder
A caucus of people of who can shout louder
Followed by misrepresentation from a reporter
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 6:35 AM UTC
In the middle of folding laundry one afternoon
thinking this might not be a big deal
but then again it's not such a bad way to spend the day and
the back door opened and
my neighbor showed up in full paintball gun attire and
pointed his paintball gun at me and
yelled at me to get on the ground!
i smiled and
put down my child's underwear and
grabbed his Buzz Lightyear sound and
light activated laser gun that he had recently gotten for Christmas and
aimed it at him and
yelled NO! You get on the ground and
then 40 men rushed into my house and
at least 10 of them had rifles and
i was thrown down on the floor,
wood floor,
right cheek made direct impact and
**** that hurt and
i heard a shout of a voice ordering the 10 men with the 10 rifles pointed at my head
not to shoot and
that the shoot to **** order was off,
that it was a toy plastic gun,
he repeated,
it was a plastic children's toy and
in one fell swoop of motion my right shoulder was taken out of its socket and
**** that hurt and
twisted around behind my back in order to handcuff that hand to my other hand and
stand me up and
walk me out as I watched dozens and
dozens of what i could only presume to be storm troopers from the Star Wars movies wearing white protective gear covering their shoes bodies and
faces entirely
spilling into my house with the great invasion of an ant colony and
several groupings of men in black pants and
black shirts with white letters on the back spelling out different acronyms such as S. W. A.T., and
K.B.I, KDH&E;
The storm troopers were actually Bio HAZ MAT men
testing to see if the air quality in the house was higher than their acceptable limits of
risk of having a chemical explosion occur
while in the house on that afternoon of January
when officers of the Sheriff’s Office Special Operations Group
executed a search warrant at my house on Main St.in my small town in Kansas and
made entry at the location and
took me into custody while
Certified **** Lab Techs from the Sheriff’s Office
collected 2 Mountain Dew bottles and
some rubber tubing and
rendered the items safe and
Agents of HazMat Inc. were contacted and
responded to collect the hazardous materials for disposal
I sat in the back seat of the cop car and
thought this might be a big deal
this could be a bad way to spend the day
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 2:42 AM UTC
Well....
Last night
Skip came to the rescue
**** Pennsylvania state troopers
No wallet for proof
Called Skip, 1am
He walked in the snow
Just to help drive us home
He didn't have to
But, he came to the rescue
Probably lost about 6 hours of sleep
But **** if he's not a good friend to keep
If only I could repay him in some way
Well, my only talent is poetry
So here's what I'll say...
Thank you Skip
So **** much
You went out of your way
It must have been tough
I'm not sure what else to do
Besides just saying thank you
For coming to my rescue!
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
The storm trooper costume was somewhat of a joke between us friends. When we were 20, we dreamed of buying houses full of useless merch that fans buy out of love for something, but really just feeds the capitalist machine. Those friends are gone now and so are those dreams. The apartment is bare and empty, save for rusty heater that groans like an old drunkard, the hard bed in the corner next to the window that lets in the cold winter air and the single chipped wood table that wobbles on its uneven legs. There isn't even a lighter for the cigarettes.
I wonder how much Darth Vader paid his storm troopers? I wonder what it would be like to be in that suit, firing guns at Jedi Knights but not really hitting anything. I wonder what it will be like to be on spaceships travelling between galaxies and different points of the universe at light speed, setting eyes on new planets and whole new species that may range from space worms to aliens with higher intelligence.
Then again, there was that possibility that I could die. I was part of an intergalactic army after all. I'd be no match for a Jedi and i'd probably have no idea how to work my own weaponry. You probably can't smoke or drink, either-- lest you wish to incur the wrath of Darth Vader but... despite all that, I'd still take it over all of this grimey ****
After all, anywhere was better than here.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Bell bottom hip huggers
And my Frankenstein shoes
That had stack soles and heels
That I could only barely use.
A crop-top sleeveless tee shirt
With a superman emblem on it
And diamond ring on my hand.
In case I might have to pawn it.
Because we were picketing
Downtown at the City Hall
And at some police stations.
It was the seventies after all.
Our parents raised us to acquiesce
It was their America they protected.
And it was just exactly this blindness
That we, en masse, all rejected.
We failed to understand them
The generations that came before
That prized prejudice and bias
And celebrated sending us to war.
We felt there was another way
To go about sweeping social change.
We saw beating and fire hosing
As nefarious and more than strange.
We got beaten ourselves and jailed
For just pointing injustice out to them
And watched our sit-ins and love-ins
Turned into scenes of ****** mayhem.
We heard them call us all criminals,
Long haired ******* was a favored taunt.
It seems we were entitled to our opinions
As long as we didn’t chose to flaunt.
It felt so very much like **** Germany
Including storm troopers and jack boots
And the local politicians were obviously
At least agreeing if not in cahoots
With the police in their fear of rebellion
And protecting their good paying jobs.
So, they beat us and vilified the students
Calling them ***** communists, and slobs.
And, yes, some of us were getting high
Back in our homes and apartments.
Sometimes it seemed the only way
We could deal with the estrangement
Between what our country said it was
And what it turned out it really was.
It was hard to realize our land wasn’t free
And there was no social Santa Claus.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 1:00 AM UTC
All I want is a stick-up light, so I can read at night,
between my bedpost and bedside whiteboard
beside the baseboard,
outlet occupied by a black power cord,
the bookshelf, both coffeemakers,
the power strip duct-taped to the cream brick wall,
the bush outside,
the sidewalks, the brick walks,
the burnt caramel steel fences separating Washington babble
from Lyco small talk.
With one touch,
I’m lying against the wall
on acrylic-painted stretched canvases,
photo booth strips, a brick and sky scene,
gouache and ink sketches, that Giant
receipt with teal pen in the margins,
and developed photos of storm
troopers, ****** microwaves,
and forklifts moving trash sofas
around from film class.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
here in Australia
we're hitting the hay
as we must get rested
for a new day
the midnight oil
we shall not be burning
we'll be flat out
on our backs snoozing
we'll file into our beds
as tired troopers do
and partake of some slumber
for an hour or two
in the morning
we'll arise in a refreshed mode
ready to take on
another work day load
so its nighty night
from the Southern Cross land
we're hopping aboard our mattresses
to travel to dreamland
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
*whenever i drink with friends, i wake
up the next morning thinking i had a midlife crisis
and bought a yacht with my debit card,
given that i was using the card on 3.50 pints of guinness.*
a loveless scene, that is, full of laughter
and itemisation of the surroundings -
in an adams’ family house type of pub
with gargantuan pillars and more expanding lung space
than in an asthmatic convention the troopers
gathered for talk of almost anything.
one was giving into the psychological testament
of “stealing the show,” playing on the whole social aspect
of respecting the presence of strangers -
a william blake quote was heard -
but since it wasn’t properly quoted the suggestion was:
don’t quote poetry verbatim within a millimetre off precision,
it’ll show you’re not a poet, plus the listener will not investigate
something that’s quoted perfectly.
the quote: had anger with my friend, told my anger
my anger did end. hand anger with my enemy,
didn’t tell it, my anger grew, found my enemy dead
by the apple tree. the prompt for all this? pears,
we were talking with pears in mind.
- we’re talking drinking after a bottle of brandy and three beers
having walked the distance between romford and seven kings. -
all throughout it was concerning to look at the old man
and two frisky girls - we’re talking: are we really going to be
the young philosophers? all the old men in our age are corrupt,
i wouldn’t trust them with a pen let alone a sword -
so while the youth languished the old man took to the girls -
but i laughed on purpose to peacock myself into the eyesight of one,
in the end, i got as close as getting her to go outside,
kissing her hand and forehead and doing some māori hongi,
but then she started with auschwitz dating dynamics: number! nummer!
schnell schnell!
oh right... my house no. 01708766... that’s as far as we got, before she lost
interest and i ended up walking home with a traffic sign signature’d
by my fist; that’s how i practice, hoping for an even connection
between my index and pinky knuckle;
and now? now i’m going to drink a stale 7% with a cigarette **** in it,
cough up a saliva schnitzel and wear sunglasses.
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
A horse to Ride, A sword to wield,
an ocean of grass to tame.
The Seventh was out in the field
to make George Custer’s name.
The village stretched before them,
Custer split his force in three.
Reno’s men struck from the south
and were taking casualties.
Did Custer reach the river
before the natives struck?
This hero of the Civil war
had just run out of luck.
Major. Reno sensed the trap and fled
And found a place to stand
Benteen brought his men to Reno
to lend a helping hand.
A horse to Ride, A sword to wield
An ocean of grass to tame
The Seventh was out in the field
to make George Custer’s name.
Out upon the greasy grass
George tried to make a stand
Two hundred men surrounded
There was a breakdown in command.
Outnumbered and surrounded
Some men simply broke and ran
But death was not to be denied,
Their blood fed thirsty sand.
Custer, mortally wounded,
with a bullet near his heart.
did not live to see the rest.
His troopers hacked apart.
The position held by Reno
And commanded by Benteen
survived several furious assaults
before the natives fled the scene.
Relieved by General Terry’s force,
They sought their fallen ones-
The bodies hacked and naked,
decomposing in the sun.
No horse to Ride, No sword to wield,
an ocean of grass untamed.
The Seventh lay out in the field
That was the cost of fame.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC
Hard rain falls
Whilst fighting fists ****
Power rules them by scarily deep drawl
"War cries"
For them all
Off with them all
By the time of the fall
We'll **** them all
Dying in the midst
Whistle blowing
In the warring wind
Making our stand
Fighting for our rights
Get up stand up for your
Rights
Don't crawl
You may fall
In the sailing squall
Our worst hurricanes hold
Your home in its waves
It cascades the grace
Towards the direction of dreary
Eyes that can't dream
Looking at your resting reflection
In the greener waters?
Sea of the hooded sharks
Fins keeps us in the view of danger
In the transparent waters
Maybe the ranger will
Save you from the storm
Hoping storm troopers
Make you a service ranger
Kids stuck in the Syrian war
Are they just children
Dying for peace
With their dreams
Resting with ashes
That should have belonged
To the seas
And lot of watching
In the end just believing
That war is a belief
War is Peace
Orwell oft' is right
Ignorance is Strength
Freedom Is Slavery
Since,
God watches
Fighting with his ignorance
With enslaved strength
Freedom Is Strength
And it is powerful
Since, it prays
For praise
Like Madonna
Painted on the oil
Thou art Hope
"Your art ropes me in"
In The Cathedral
Your Hope brings art
To the ghouls
They are,
The ghosts of the many souls
And the Jews
Chambered in the gas
Ceiling
Breathing through a mouth-piece
"I'm dying, the fumes"
They're tearing my lungs to pieces!
Thinking
Where is the crimson tide
Is it peace
Whilst drowning in
The horizon?
In red hues
In the death
Of the dead sea
The laurel wreath
Lies floating with the breath
Oh capt'n capt'n
Of the sailing wind
Nails to the coffin
The wind whistles
Jesus Is Dead
Jesus Is Dead
Jesus is the dead?
Resurrected in the end
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
Remember your training!
Shouts the sergeant
Man those bugs are ugly
I am watching clips from Starship Troopers
And how heroic you are
Sergeant Sugar Watkins
You stayed and fought
To the bitter end
To save your friends
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
The speed with which it funnels into the sky
******* down to earth the torrents
that reached heaven
through oceans, mountains of majesty
and mists of mystery
now tearing down like a scythe
cutting pathways through manicured towns
and always aiming for stadiums of gathered people
the storm presses its anger
into the psyche of the sacred scared.
Here for a moment
grey willed and dense swirling
in a hula- hoop of swinging hips
dervish twisting
settling, unsettling
Gone suddenly.
Pick up the pieces
and wait for next seasons moods.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
“These are supposed to be our best years
our most memorable.
Shamefully,
we are a generation of alcohol amnesiacs
we barely remember the names of those who have
filled our beds.
Its all a quest to find the ONE they say.
The weekend warriors battle through
the multitude of diseases,
what troopers.
You really have to ask yourself,
is it all really worth it?
The hangovers,
the blackouts,
the bad dreams and tormenting dizzy memories.
The STI’s,
the fall outs, bust ups, and broken friendships.
All of this from inside a glass.
You pay for it from the cash in your pocket, but your left with shattered lines across your face.
We are marred by our regrets.
So,
is it worth it?
yes?
Then what can I get you?” Asked the bartender.
“These are supposed to be our best years
our most memorable.
Shamefully,
we are a generation of alcohol amnesiacs
we barely remember the names of those who have
filled our beds.
Its all a quest to find the ONE they say.
The weekend warriors battle through
the multitude of diseases,
what troopers.
You really have to ask yourself,
is it all really worth it?
The hangovers,
the blackouts,
the bad dreams and tormenting dizzy memories.
The STI’s,
the fall outs, bust ups, and broken friendships.
All of this from inside a glass.
You pay for it from the cash in your pocket, but your left with shattered lines across your face.
We are marred by our regrets.
So,
is it worth it?
yes?
Then what can I get you?” Asked the bartender.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
We are the dark clouds over the horizon
the multi faceted dark of your imagination
your super dupers
your starship troopers
We rampage into the danger zone
most fearlessly, jacked up on our own
we are your dreams and nightmares
the dark creatures of your own danger zones
We do strive, some of us starve
we creatures created on mars
the children of disbelief
the sweet sparkles of stars
It is a true weekend
a rampage into the danger zone
in this place I must be true
till the day I get back home
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 5:52 AM UTC
i was romanticising her genitalia like oysters,
i know the boys in school thought
of fish first, but the same boys didn’t go
to brothels and seen prostitutes oil up;
come to think of it, given the above facts
i’m going to romanticise her genitalia with leeches
from now on - and in reverse? as for me?
well plenty of skyscrapers... boring...
comparing her’s to leeches fits the strategy;
and once, and once a boy of sixteen could
buy a ***** mag in a shop in Ypres without
the female shop owner looking at him like some pervert.
Ypres? yeah, school trip, visiting world war one trenches,
enjoying the atmosphere running in them like a
crazy dispatches boy trying to **** some chlorine on the sly,
which i think is the scary bit, but don’t worry,
we had female troopers with us, so we could shoot and ****
and not worry about the infidelity of our girls back home
to some shady ‘enry ‘hinaski.
but from what else i can remember, six of us broke off
from the rest and decided to go to a brothel,
but being schoolboys we didn’t have enough money
or were simply not convincing material for a free one with
the belgian beauties -
i had to wait a few more years before i had enough dough
but then it was with a ukrainian beauty in poland
after i realised that the university i attended was a nunnery.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
Looking out of the window
I see the red white and black flag fly
oh what a joy
to live in a country like this
All the filthy Jews and Catholic ****** burnt
oh to see my sweet flag fly gives me so so much joy
oh this land of sweet nightmares. I do rule
and F**k them for I will **** them all
The ****** camps are still burning on overdrive
we mean to **** every f**king one
the storm troopers love it
shooting Jew children in the head
Oh what a glory it was
when I lived
yes lived in
1941
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolarisKourtis
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:19 PM UTC
See Yiska
the snow
is falling
a tractor
pushes its way
through the snow
on the field
gulls and rooks
follow in its wake
the sky a dull grey
the sun wiped out
or nearly so
hear Yiska
the wind
through the trees
the birds calling
hear the snowflakes
silently falling
hear our breath
expressing
as we speak
or remain silent
feel Yiska
the snowflakes
on our faces
on our noses
hold out
your slim hand
let the palms
hold the snow
feel my closeness
sense me
drawing near
the nurses are talking
they talk
of their love lives
of the ***
they've had
hear their words
how they tease us
their words
of **********
and freedom
and normality
feel the emptiness
bite us
our nerves taut
as wire
as we walk
see Yiska
how they walk
the nurses behind us
and before us
see how
their heavy coats
hold them
their black boots
marching like troopers
hear the nattering
of their lips
and tongues
sense my mental fatigue
and yours and ours
wait Yiska
they will take us
back to the hospital soon
and lock us up
once more
in the white ward
with the dull
water coloured prints
and photographs
of yesteryears
be near Yiska
let our fingers touch
let us feel
too little
or sense too much.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
Though I lead a new tomorrow
With a pioneer's resolve
I find that Someday I still follow
In its footsteps of the settler's
Beaten paths of sorrow
Tread upon by kings of old
Who tear my flag to tatters
As they colonize my soul
Then rip my constitutions up
In favor fortunes stoled
Profiting from trails we blaze
Through fields of labor slaves
Which begs the question arms to raise
And manifests my destiny
In fifty shades of Shay's
No more to pave the streets I've seen
All walks of life share brave and free
Dead-ended by the God machine
Whose forked-road tongues divide these signs
To boulevards of broken dreams
Yes this is where we will declare
The carnage of the despot's sword
To common man's, can not compare
The power of the people's word
Is any tyrant's worst nightmare
So wall us up in torture cells
You can't contain our minds
Abort the right to wedding bells
Love, like truth, can not be killed
By pockets full of shells
Unloaded in a hail of liar
Mass control of information
Molotov cocktails conspire
To stockpile human lives
To serve the evil empire
As storm troopers deployed
To combat the invasion
Of the aliens employed
By the Death Star super weapons
That will leave all worlds destroyed
When the facts are sold as fictions
That the junkies overdose on
As they pay for these afflictions
No one covers in this system
They just feed zombie addictions
That divide us into factions
In this race of arming fear and hate
With masterful distractions
Misconstruing civil wars
With patriotic actions
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:54 AM UTC