"undeclared" poems
(10/13/12)
At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.
Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.
This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with *** hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.
This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.
They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.
They had Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.
Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.
The WOODSTOCK festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.
© L . RAMS
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
Millennials at Work and War
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Now thrown into the existential struggle
Surrendering their youth and taking up life
They muster in the fields and factories
And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars
Uniformed in an unappreciated sense
Of duty and dignity while scorned by those
Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth
And fling cheap mockery at millennials
Who take up tools and work and love of life
Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped
While generals dismiss their casualties as light
Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos
Who never got closer to any war
Than a John Wayne ketchup-bloody movie.
Some work long double shifts through university
In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery
Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts,
But expected to trust those who condemn them
For not being the greatest generation
As defined by those who never served at all
And while being criticized they will grab
A quick cup of coffee for the night shift
Staffing the hospitals and police patrols
That keep their sneering critics alive and safe
They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work
They drill for oil, these useless millennials
While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops
And YooToob computered jokes about them
Millennials have no time for coloring books
Or comfort animals or revolution
For they are weary with study and work
The best of them make no demands, but, sure
A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice
If only the scripted singer-songwriters
Would pack up the tired old stereotypes
And see millennials as they truly are
But darkness falls – they must go back to work
On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift
They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards
Instead through work they illuminate this world
And build it up with continued sacrifice
Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
follow me
if you can
thru tortured paths
and wintered lands
where the sun is lost
the moon unknown
beyond this dark
encroaching gloam
follow me
if you dare
where voices speak
in whispered layers
of external wars
undeclared
where twisting turning
bodies play
on silken sails
on captured waves
follow me
if you would know
where silver rivers
sometimes flow
and flying angels
falling lay
sweetly laughing
in their gentle way
follow me
if you wish
and play in childhood's
autumn mist
where paper dragons
fill the air
and broken hearts
still beating share
a love for passion's
written snare
follow me
and I will show
how wounded heart
now mended grows
where many paths
once hidden glow
and light the way
to where I go
.
http://oi61.tinypic.com/dc573k.jpg
.
.
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Current affairs, making family disappear.
Blood thicker than water; I can't see that from over here.
Haters show hate, to hide their fears, hide their faults by dissing piers.
Their hands weak so they dis their peers.
Weak-minded; Diss-impaired.
Test the truth and get dared
Like something that's undeclared.
Put a ring around your rosey,
Then I’m taking a chair.
The kingdom come;
The dynasty is aire.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Fandango we danced
was second to last
or was it tango?
we all are too clumsy
to move
too rigid
to see
things without limits
we need
no gimmicks
just a direction
or a simple question
to be answered
prevent brain cancer
become decent dancers
to get to know
there’s nowhere to go
if we don’t want to
but when we are about to
we need some fuel
to fill our engines
with pride
the heart and the mind
are never
good friends
in the world of dollars
blue collars
dark on the inside
breaking their stride
to fight
the poor
not the poverty
so unfair
but it’s the reality
of our lives
human hives
ideology of the masses
ruling classes
thy neighbour to despise
catch them by surprise
rot one from within
soon to take ‘em in
lose someone you love
to understand
there’s an undeclared war
that we can’t bystand
take part
start
to act, preach, teach, bleach
dye, cry
find an ally
before long
our song
will be that of joy
tactics we employ
are peaceful
spare no enemy
**** one - get one free
the tree
of life
having tea at five
some things never change
we are acting strange
conceived in liberty
created to be loved
but still in puberty
continuously starved
of little things we need
there’s just too much greed
open your heart
take my hand
for a start
we all have one goal
Sweet Lord
help us all!
22.10.2010
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
Inside me,
unfurling currents
adrift in confusion;
uprooted and unsure.
Silent leanings
Undeclared,
without reason,
Unstable and yet
seeking balance,
go tilting towards
secret places that
lie tender and unexplored.
So softly stroking the bowed back
of my subconscious,
a lover's caress of the mind.
The slow hand of thought
flowing across
the dark curtain of doubt.
Veiling, with sly intent,
obscure fears.
Spreading delicate tendrils
of uncertainty.
I am silent.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 8:32 AM UTC
TV’s going in living room
Talking about our doom
We’re laying on the front lawn
Yesterday’s long gone
Woman showing skin
Too fat, too thin
She can never win
Throwing up yet again
Listen up man
We’re all ******
Re-repeating reprimands
Demolition on demand
Locate security
Trying to make camp
In independent infidelity
Strutting to the bank
Cashing in corrupted currency
Stock markets sank
Guitar man teary eyed
Rock and roll came and died
Record producer’s big old lies
Broken dreams and wasted time
Colorado Smokey Joe lights a bone
Faded out to the ozone
Smoking on home grown
Got glaucoma? Get an O
Shut up dude
We’re all *******
Forget the olden days
Give marriage to the gays
Let go of the narrow minded silly ways
Let it be as common as classic Frito-Lays
Rolling in the new waves
Is it God who really saves?
Is there even one big deity?
Guess there is if you believe
Be born, live life
Go to college, get a wife
Get job, sacrifice
It’s the norm, is it right?
Have a kid, then have another
Father, mother
Sister, brother
Try to tolerate each other
Watch your back bro
Because I don’t know
Undecided, undeclared
Run in circles, running scared
Take a risk, double dare
Love needs to be redefined
Unanimously agreed and signed
Peace in the heart and the mind
Going down the rabbit hole
Striving for that same goal
Anti- bullying campaign
Kid comes home blood stained
Toughen up
Enough's enough
Individuality
Opposing mainstream reality
Wiseman taken as a fool
Becomes another social causality
Feel it
Taste it
On the back of your tongue
Hanging by the gallows martyrs hung
Climbing up the ladder’s rungs
Foul smelling whiskey bums
Grab a *** and stash it
Looking like your bat ****
Steal a car and crash it
“Always wash your berries before you eat them and fly toward the sun”
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
*His eyes rivet on the extravagant evening sun,
in frenzied creation, profusely mixing colors,
applying on the canvas of the horizon,
painting her, his lover with astonishing precision,
--portrait of a girl in love
unmindful of what the world thinks about her
and in total dedication to her man.
Love makes larger than life heroes out of weak mortals,
and creates echoes on the far horizons that keep on reverberating!
She sits quietly holding his hands as if it is all she needs
never thinking, it is obvious, whether this is a fallacy or ultimate truth,
that holds good for all the changing seasons.
With her long chiseled fingers she draws
something beautiful, a motif that emerged in her mind,
in front of them, the seascape, was a lively cyclorama
framed by bright ultramarine.
Like eels just out of water, their bodies gleaming,
bikini clad glam girls, beach soldiers spearheading
an undeclared beauty attack,
on the look out for hidden challenges
while walking past the love pair,
each one stands awhile, scrutinizing her thoroughly
measuring with a scale, hidden in those eyes,
as if she was a **** on parade, even women couldn't help covet.
Though inappropriately dressed, for the beachfront appearance,
she invites more attention, she is amused.
But after a tumultuous love, and eventful elopement
she is in bliss, in her love-land with her prince
she is just ecstatic, no thought could make her shake off her composure.*
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
Dear Sun-God,
The Bel fires are lit again,
but not to rejoice as before,
for they are flames of my bereaved heart.
They are embers of manifold sadness I feed upon
the feast of handfasting.
Every Adam and each Eve
a rich union of sprouting forests
with flowers and horns to crown their wantonness.
But for the Son of Moon,
No Son-God can be held
to coronate his nativity.
The flowers are shades of November
And the horns are spikes of pain;
for I cannot hear you in the air
nor feel you in the ground near.
The earth was shunned by the hands
that strum its heartbeat
and was sent back to slumber
in the pinnacle of May.
Have you not seen the call of Pleiades
when you took flight in the heavens?
Have you not heard the semantics of
the desert you landed on?
You left me the afterglow of you to stare
As I drink the ocean of our distance.
It might have put off the ache
if you had proclaimed the omens of farewell
and not a multitude of air for me to embrace.
If your feet touch my sacred earth again,
I will kiss you like infinity
and enfold you akin to eternity.
Be grateful I made it known
what compensation to deliver
against your undeclared departure-
your prelude to your return.
Love be not mortal,
Child of Moon
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 12:38 AM UTC
Our empty syncopation's are patiently ambushed
By restless margins of undeclared territory;
Shivering cymbals, entraining cloistered memories,
A nimbus inclining toward unredeemable quarries:
Refrains unimagined, of star-tipped dawns
Upon certain days of ritual, unbelievably worn.
Breathing dragons of fire-squandering meridians
Pour round water upon semblance's drowned emotion;
Cleave then to me, who cleaves to the last vestige
Of rarefied air, breathed by bellows-smothered centuries
When your foot trod the newly opened ****** earth,
And your hand hinged loves diagonal, even unto death.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 12:15 PM UTC
you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
me, i’ve got no plans to speak of,
still trying to figure myself out;
everything major still undecided and undeclared
because pandora’s box is
always really pretty until you open it,
and the future’s really alluring until you’re in it
and you’re wondering if it really fits.
and i know it’s stupid trying to
plan for a car crash,
to plan on ******* up
but i’ve been trying to take precautions
in case i don’t grow into who you were counting on.
i keep your promises tucked in my pocket,
you make vows just to talk about it.
and i don’t know much about fate
because once my horoscope actually told me
that i’ll be alone and unloved forever,
born under an unlucky star,
so i’m not placing my trust in the stars
even if sometimes i get the sneaking suspicion
they might just be right.
i’m trying to dictate my own future without having a tongue,
i’m trying to find a future i’ll be content living in.
people are always waiting for time to run out,
and i’ve always been waiting for the fall out.
because i know all good things have to end
all bands have to break up, all stars have to explode,
all slow dances have to still, and eventually
all loves have to run out in one way or another.
and i’ve got front row seats to
the inevitable explosion
because you’re a heart attack and i’m totally doomed
we’re just bombs going off too soon
we’re just strangers dancing in a crowded room
we’re just ****** up and wishing on the moon
we’re just racking up casual causalities
we’re just reading our fortunes
in the coffee grinds and tea leaves,
half-joking and half-a-little-too-honest
when you peered at yours and said,
“it says we’re gonna grow old and grey together,
and move out of the city and have a bunch
of loud mouthed kids with your eyes.”
i don’t know about the future
and i suppose you’d like to tell me about it,
after all you’ve had your whole future mapped out
since you were 16, sitting in homeroom
and hand-picking your life.
but it’s an affliction, all those ******* predictions.
don’t tell me where you want to be in five years in from now;
tell where you’re actually going to be tomorrow.
because i was dying for this week to be over
and then i was dying for this year to be over.
and i can see it clearly,
my whole life lived in transit
on the way to something else.
i was dying to finish high school
and then i was dying to finish college
and then i was just dying,
and i forgot to live in the present in my rush
to get to the future.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Best of all, there are lives in every skin. They know the words to your favourite language and the aching corporeality of smoke wisps as overused poetic analogy-- sativa with grapefruit, the particulars speak in toungezzz and sometimes I smoke **** and I'm so hungry, but I'm not hungry.. 6 o'clock and Dionysius means what the heaven needs **** done, it's awful-- no misfit twists and yab blam undeclared winter this year we call Fort Summerforever, BLANK, BLAM, expressive bottom-line, you don't look around anymore and check the bookshelves of your lives for those lucid Lucy detailers, trailers a warmer word for tracers, do the replacement parts fit all of the models and every time I went back to Trippy's it was the same guy, $70, oh the whole **** with the slide and all flattened preference to how in-this we are, how imagine how mystical, hanging those mushrooms on the wall, that weird pipe, cover ashes I dunno. In here it was I / thou and the digital paper-- I climb behind the eye and continent for a moment and hear see do 'it was a huge *** bag just filled with all this weed' bazooka balloon. crick the neck to create a feeling, oh but you'll listen to be come and be
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Repeating with
The frequency
Of apologies,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
While my head
Spins, and my
Innards lurch
Like carnival
Ride children,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
The chaos,
The orderly
Passage of red
Faced spectators
Drifting through space,
Their classic attempts
To embrace and
Disengage,
Grinning at what
Can't be erased,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
Like the sound of
Hopes cast into
The depths of hell,
Glinting tokens
You can't see
Seconds after you
Drop them in,
I'm the air,
I'm the disillusionment
That lets you know
When to be scared,
The anvil in
Your gut telling you
To stop,
I am the sweat
That drips
Like morphine
Into post-mortem
Pathways through
A needle
That needs sharpening,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening,"
This is just a test,
As they say,
It'll all be ok
Once some obese
***** wails,
The levees are stressed
And the horsemen
Idle and wait for the fail,
For the flood
Of repentance,
Of common
Indecency,
For the blood
From Ahab's whale
To initiate
The shackling
Of the sorrowfully
Undeclared,
"I'm not here,
This isn't happening."
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 12:33 AM UTC
when in the world’s leading democracy
a new president starts his office with
making life more expensive for average home owners
signing orders threatening the health of millions
restricting the publications of researchers
denying global warming
encouraging coal and oil companies
forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
to justify his ridiculous lies
blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
barring leading media companies from press conferences
waffling about his Russian connections
refusing to release his tax returns
ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
like the old Chinese did, to little avail
issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
causing confusion and harm and even deaths
banning even green card holders from entering the country
filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
he promised to clean during his campaign
people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the system
but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
like their private family businesses, for profit
courting kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
is quite OK with his campaign team members
his son and son-in-law
[ctd. fron line 2...] it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
if any
of democracy he has in mind
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:11 PM UTC
just a glance sets my mind into retrograde
no one ever questions the orchestration of an undeclared love
cover your tracks, maintain composure
plan scenarios in your head until you feel like a broken record over and over again
i like you i like you i like you i like you
but then?
reality.
I see you in blaring technicolor
and it's more than i asked for
for there is nothing worse
than truly seeing you as you really are
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC
....and who are we that Eton,Harrow do not see,
we are the sinking of the sun,the wreck of the S.S Great Britain has come.
Where once we were the universe,rulers of lands and seas,we have been brought down to our knees to slowly, slowly sink.
Drink and drugs the slugs and snails what ails us,do we know?
Council blocks and towers knock us down to build new towns and the green belt gets much tighter,landfills full up to the brim the doors of opportunity are locked,we can't get in,too fat,too thin,old school ties and gold tie pins and who are we?the
disenfranchised and despised by those that do not see the rising tide of poverty.
Those we passed on our way up are those who put a penny in this beggars cup and wave goodbye,the sky has dropped, the horizon dulled,pulled this and that way,can't pay the bills,drink and drugs the only thrills and betting on the three fifteen to race along another pointless dream,
horsemeat in the freezer section,the four fifteen was my selection which fell at the final fence.
Prozac helps us to relax,fuck the council tax and income band just put two blue pills in my hand and make it seem like it's a dream and we're not sinking,what a scream,a film show,I should go and see the launch,exercise to lose this paunch.
Tomorrow I may rise to see my ship Great Britain back at sea or I could stay in bed and thread excuses on a needle,sew myself a sweater,keep the heat in,can't afford electric fires not like those out in the Shires where logs are burnt,money earnt is money burnt in my opinion.
Back to basics,Luddite hills and give me two more small blue pills,put them on the bills of lading,degrading I can do,but you have so much more and it's ship to shore on the radio,rise me hearties off we go,one more mad dash to make some more cash,undeclared that's only fair,
the revenue can go and ***** and spin upon that middle digit,fidgeting?it must be fleas,do fleas get brought down to their knees?
You see,
in this last scramble to the death I ramble on with my last breath,they haven't taxed my fresh air yet but I bet they will,drink and drugs for one more thrill,up anchor as I will at will to drift away into the sinking of just one more day.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:38 AM UTC
Lonesome, with sustenance impaired,
whispers undeclared, echoed and ensnared,
overlooked and unprepared,
caught off guard, and truly scared.
Considered gone, inanimate,
benevolence, inadequate,
I self-destruct, in abandonment,
my ego, my own antagonist.
Recreant, my feet retreat,
unable to admit defeat,
somber skies, distant concrete,
starlight shows abyssal streets.
Breezes flurry overhead,
strands are stirring 'round my head,
my mind’s museful heed misread,
wet streams down cheeks of words unsaid.
My legs are fixed in place eternally,
as sunrise paints the sky so fervently.
The night's dark thoughts, an absurdity,
as I embrace life, remorsefully free.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
*I have often wondered what would have been
What could have been with you
Had it been a different place and time
If we had similar views
The paths we cross they all have reasons
Sometimes it's hard to figure why
We touch each others lives in some way
Then we say goodbye
Feelings were strong and very real
perhaps not strong enough
To cross those invisible borders
Chasing after love
Perhaps we should just smile and reminisce
The season that we shared
Keep the good, cast away the sad
Leave the feelings undeclared*
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 3:12 PM UTC
As the snowflakes touch her tear glazed face
Their grip gets tighter as they hit the brakes
On the life they found when they quit running in place,
Or walking, in his case....
The way you could feel it in the way that they moved
Or hear it in their soft sung blues
Or taste it in the drinks they brewed
While seeing it in their efflorescent views
And all at once they were walking in pace,
She kept his pattern without want or haste
But evanescent it was when it came to change
They were thrown a curve ball in a dangerous game
Suddenly their lives encumbered so much more,
They began seeing the light inside each open door,
And the incipient love that they created in war,
Took a new form that seemed to effortlessly soar
100,000 miles wouldn't keep them apart
They would fight to the death for this serendipitous art
No matter where she was it was never too far,
Without saying a word, he spoke straight to her heart
Road blocks were detoured and hurdles were jumped,
We maintained a hold on our love and refused to get stuck,
Devote time to each other,
And never give up
If you haven't found what you're looking for,
Close your eyes, and look down at the floor
Spin in a circle, five or six times,
Let yourself get lost in your altered mind
Remember the best things,
Aren't things that you find...
They find you,
At an undeclared time
Quit putting your effort
Into finding "The One"
And allow yourself
To have some fun...
I understand your need to run,
But I've found walking brought out the sun
And my empty hand was filled it seemed
The second I allowed myself to breathe
All you have to do,
is simply believe
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
If there was a chance that a sliver of hope in humanity
still looms within your hallow chest;
still waves a portion of your resplendent soul like how the Hunyak calls for innocence undeclared;
still looks at the moon embraced by calcium coated rods, wishing it to quench its thirst
Will you let it revel in its over-zealousness?
If not, can you explain to me why,
why have you disowned your responsibilities to mankind despite it, like velcro, wailed when you tore it from your skin?
On the matter of the justice deprived, what say you?
Does it serve a lesser purpose than frolicking on streets, crimson bathed?
Has Billy shown you the razzle-dazzle of murderer's row?
As Legends wreak havoc with twin brigands,
slander who took a page from libel and read out loud —with a projected voice echoing throughout the ages— erroneous eyewitness accounts
and rancor who is bisexual to atrocity and entropy and seemingly engulfs himself in them,
you sat pretentious on your wheelchair
Over looking war from a peephole in a filthy blue washroom
The bombs that we drop are no longer metaphors to modern ears
Neither do sacred extremes keep their insatiable thirst for ruptured streets a thing of faded memory
Attacks on clergymen are no longer a painting born from a misinterpreted dream...
And you, no longer can you regain your innocence for you have witnessed the dilation of dense war, pulling and ******* every ray of light from hope that it sees
Yet you did nothing.
If there is still a speck of humanity in the mind of a mechanical automaton like you,
Will you let it rip apart steel skin and touch the lives of those like you?
Will you let it carve a symbol on your forehead, to let people know you are to save the dying hope in humanity
Or will you let it bid farewell to fair weather forevermore?
Or even more so, will you let it brand you so that every time you hear its call for justice inside you, you cry an ocean of dissatisfaction?
In the matter of a dishevelled world, what say you?
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
when in the world’s (supposedly) leading democracy
a new president starts his office with
making life more expensive for average home owners
signing orders threatening the health of millions
restricting the publications of researchers
denying global warming
encouraging coal and oil companies
forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
to justify his ridiculous lies
blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
barring leading media companies from press conferences
waffling about his Russian connections
refusing to release his tax returns
ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
like the old Chinese did, to little avail
issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
causing confusion and harm and even deaths
banning even green card holders from entering the country
filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
he promised to clean during his campaign
people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the system
but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
like their private family businesses, for profit
fraternizing with kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
is quite OK for his campaign team members
his son and son-in-law & cetera
nominating well-known union busters
into the Federal Office of Labor
and a billionairess widely unaware
of the existence of non-private schools
as Secretary of Eduction
banning grandparents. grandchildren
as well as aunts and uncles
of gratuitously selected countries
from joining their families in the USA
believing that the US president & his cronies
stand above the law
[ctd. fron line 2...] THEN
it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
if any
of democracy he has in mind
Jul 19, 2017
Jul 19, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
A woman knows when a man loves her,
By Divine Grace she perceives such things;
Even when his love goes undeclared,
She can feel it vibrate her heartstrings
A woman knows when a man loves her,
Her heart opens when he turns the key;
From her face a noble radiance streams
Reflecting love's rare divinity
A woman knows when a man needs her,
Watchful she stands, ready to appease
With wise counsel and devoted love,
Putting both his mind and heart at ease
A woman knows when a man loves her,
She'll nourish love's seed until it grows
Into their own Garden of Eden.
O, there is no doubt, a woman knows!
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 6:01 PM UTC
My war with the mirror is undeclared
And every spoken word stings red
The glances are whispers unshared
I'm never sure what's in their head
I hate myself for the things I don't say
But I hate myself more for ones I do
My words, my only chance of being heard
Are always betrayed, delayed, pushed away
Smiles and giggles are all that I can provide
I couldn't, for a moment, push them aside
Because I hate myself for the help I need
I loathe every sentence that plants a wrong seed
Every conversation I could take back?
Well I might as well be dead
What good is a life if it cannot be spoken
What good am I if I can’t stop choking
Don’t call me sweet
Don’t you dare call me beautiful
Your words won’t fix this
But mine will.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 8:55 PM UTC
the designs
in the molding
on your face
features such
undeclared beauty
complete
with the ability of
foreign flight
to set sails
extravagant as the sea
the details exquisite
drawn so elegantly
magnificently
and hypnotizing
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC