These “United” States…..
False Front Federacy
Deceptive Divided Districts
Pyrite “Golden” arches
Save the whales…unfurl the “sales”
“Birthers”… Self-Worthers
Pious Pilferer’s, Rap Crap…Thugwump
Viagra for the hard…
Up yours…buddy!
Faux News…Pasty Pews
We hold these truths to be
Self-evident…All men are created…
Red vs. Blue….Black all over
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Star Power, Wilted Flower
Watched a Silent Movie
Made in Nineteen Twenty-Five
Not a single solitary face
In that Movie’s now alive
They laughed and joked
For they were young
And drank and smoked
Then so begun
The inexorable trip
Of their celluloid death
Up the lush carpeted aisle
A black and white breath
Embracing… faded immortality
Made in Nineteen Twenty-Five
Not a single solitary face
In that Movie’s now alive
They laughed and joked
For they were young
And drank and smoked
Then so begun
The inexorable trip
Of their celluloid death
Up the lush carpeted aisle
A black and white breath
Embracing… faded immortality
Hereafter Next
What is Heaven?
The eternal quest, the search for bliss
In the Preacher’s sermons, or a dying kiss
Will the blind suddenly! Obtain the gift of sight
The beauty of a sunrise, a star clustered velvet night?
Will the mute, at last, be allowed the right to speak?
The gesturing resigned, now a voice for what they seek
What of the man whose legs exist no more?
Is he to now have “shoes” and dance across the floor?
And what of the deaf who’ve lost the joy of sound
Will violins and nightingales regale when they’re around?
If heaven-bound souls passed where the sun does smolder
Are sweat inducing days to be replaced by air that’s colder?
Is it to be expected that the old will stay that way
Or will the flower of youth replace the aged, wobbly sway?
And what of adolescent, the infant and the child
At what age will their existence be so forever dialed?
Might we expect lions and tigers to roar in afterlife?
Or what about the roar of a pious, nagging wife?
What of the fellow whose Nirvana is to drink?
Does a corner barstool wait, in a room where glasses clink?
Can we expect the hungry will get enough to eat?
Will starved, protruding bellies get a dinner table seat?
What about a slave who expired at the cotton gin?
Have his dreams of glory been “rewarded” with a new white skin?
Will the KKK racist who at long last embraced Christ
Now join his hands with Black man in afterworld splice?
Will spiders be in heaven, with webs of every size?
Some folks don’t like spiders, but some folks don’t like flies
On a cool and blustery morning in the happy hunting ground
Will native tribes be hard at work and the white man not yet found?
It’s Valhalla to the Nordic and Zion to the Jew
And countless visions from countless souls who stretch from them to you
But most of all is justice hereby practiced in this place
Equality for tortured souls and broken backs no matter creed or race?
And will the perpetrators of suffering connive to pass the gate?
Or does the tally and intent of one’s deeds decide their final fate?
What is heaven, we pondered, at the beginning of the poem
For some it’s escape, for others, illusion, and for some it’s just called…
Home
The eternal quest, the search for bliss
In the Preacher’s sermons, or a dying kiss
Will the blind suddenly! Obtain the gift of sight
The beauty of a sunrise, a star clustered velvet night?
Will the mute, at last, be allowed the right to speak?
The gesturing resigned, now a voice for what they seek
What of the man whose legs exist no more?
Is he to now have “shoes” and dance across the floor?
And what of the deaf who’ve lost the joy of sound
Will violins and nightingales regale when they’re around?
If heaven-bound souls passed where the sun does smolder
Are sweat inducing days to be replaced by air that’s colder?
Is it to be expected that the old will stay that way
Or will the flower of youth replace the aged, wobbly sway?
And what of adolescent, the infant and the child
At what age will their existence be so forever dialed?
Might we expect lions and tigers to roar in afterlife?
Or what about the roar of a pious, nagging wife?
What of the fellow whose Nirvana is to drink?
Does a corner barstool wait, in a room where glasses clink?
Can we expect the hungry will get enough to eat?
Will starved, protruding bellies get a dinner table seat?
What about a slave who expired at the cotton gin?
Have his dreams of glory been “rewarded” with a new white skin?
Will the KKK racist who at long last embraced Christ
Now join his hands with Black man in afterworld splice?
Will spiders be in heaven, with webs of every size?
Some folks don’t like spiders, but some folks don’t like flies
On a cool and blustery morning in the happy hunting ground
Will native tribes be hard at work and the white man not yet found?
It’s Valhalla to the Nordic and Zion to the Jew
And countless visions from countless souls who stretch from them to you
But most of all is justice hereby practiced in this place
Equality for tortured souls and broken backs no matter creed or race?
And will the perpetrators of suffering connive to pass the gate?
Or does the tally and intent of one’s deeds decide their final fate?
What is heaven, we pondered, at the beginning of the poem
For some it’s escape, for others, illusion, and for some it’s just called…
Home
No Worries
On a hot summer day,they laid waiting to "morally" beat us
My guileless,waifish host and I an unnamed fetus
Organs undeveloped, a still forming heart
This is my tale, here is where we start
Instead of the vacuum of eternity’s tranquil tomb
On this blistering day, I lay unaware, in the womb
The young girl who conceived me, had just been persuaded
That the life now inside her, had been “God created”
She’d come, that searing day, to unload a burden
“I can’t have this baby, of that much I’m certain.”
Frightened and alone, she had made the decision
But arrived that fateful day, to face hostility,derision
Stepping from the bus, she walked three blocks to the clinic
And was approached outside the door, by a reproductive cynic
He held in sweaty palms many pamphlets, notes and papers
One even said, as he read “there’s a place for kin of rapers”
Another man soon would join him, and he toted a large sign
It depicted a bloody fetus, and said “Abortion is a crime”
I, of course knew nothing, for you see I had no brain
But the men, on sweltering pavement, were convincing “I’d feel pain”
My young host, with hands now trembling, spoke thru flooding, burning tears
“Please stand aside, I’m not able, to deal with this for eighteen years!”
The men were forceful and persuasive, in their steadfast need to prod
Saying “You must always understand that you’ll have the help of God”
Sensing, a reluctance, they pressed ahead with well-laid plans
Telling my host, that one day, she’d be glad she took this stand
The teenage girl I was inside, implored the men, “ My Dad will beat me”
But the men, soaked in sweat, warned anew “Satan would greet thee”
Defeated and now sobbing, my young host now turned around
Proclamations of, “You won’t regret this,” she took the bus, back to town
The men shook hands in exultation, another life had just been saved
Then went on home and ate a pizza, spoke of success, perdition waved
My little host, soon turned to drugs, for the friend that she so lacked
Her secret hope, was that I’d die, if she could stay perpetually whacked
It didn’t work and I was born, gasping for breath, my lungs like peas
And now my “Mother” got down and prayed, on skinny legs and bony knees
Begging forgiveness, but also angry, imploring God to hear her voice
She spoke impassioned, impugned of justice and of her kind to have “choice”
“We are girls, and we are women, surely this you’ve always known
And our bodies, belong to no one, save ourselves, they are our own
If God is mercy, if God sees all, then take the time and see in me
My own dreams, my own fears, my own desires and my right to be free
We’re not machines or incubators but living beings traveling many paths to light
Oh please, dearest God, judge not harshly, and understand our eon’s plight”
In a room with plastic trays and feeding tubes sick babies cried
I, with lungs like peas, and tortured breath, this night I died
And my Mother, fifteen years old, would soon be charged and so indicted
Her doom and mine, eight months ago, in scorching sun, had been decided
And so she now, as before, stands alone to meet her fate
Whilst "two friends," never forgotten , prepare for battle feeling great
Armed with pamphlets, notes and papers, dead fetus signs in parking lot
Blissfully ignorant,of a girl,her life shattered,and one "forgotten" now dead tot
My guileless,waifish host and I an unnamed fetus
Organs undeveloped, a still forming heart
This is my tale, here is where we start
Instead of the vacuum of eternity’s tranquil tomb
On this blistering day, I lay unaware, in the womb
The young girl who conceived me, had just been persuaded
That the life now inside her, had been “God created”
She’d come, that searing day, to unload a burden
“I can’t have this baby, of that much I’m certain.”
Frightened and alone, she had made the decision
But arrived that fateful day, to face hostility,derision
Stepping from the bus, she walked three blocks to the clinic
And was approached outside the door, by a reproductive cynic
He held in sweaty palms many pamphlets, notes and papers
One even said, as he read “there’s a place for kin of rapers”
Another man soon would join him, and he toted a large sign
It depicted a bloody fetus, and said “Abortion is a crime”
I, of course knew nothing, for you see I had no brain
But the men, on sweltering pavement, were convincing “I’d feel pain”
My young host, with hands now trembling, spoke thru flooding, burning tears
“Please stand aside, I’m not able, to deal with this for eighteen years!”
The men were forceful and persuasive, in their steadfast need to prod
Saying “You must always understand that you’ll have the help of God”
Sensing, a reluctance, they pressed ahead with well-laid plans
Telling my host, that one day, she’d be glad she took this stand
The teenage girl I was inside, implored the men, “ My Dad will beat me”
But the men, soaked in sweat, warned anew “Satan would greet thee”
Defeated and now sobbing, my young host now turned around
Proclamations of, “You won’t regret this,” she took the bus, back to town
The men shook hands in exultation, another life had just been saved
Then went on home and ate a pizza, spoke of success, perdition waved
My little host, soon turned to drugs, for the friend that she so lacked
Her secret hope, was that I’d die, if she could stay perpetually whacked
It didn’t work and I was born, gasping for breath, my lungs like peas
And now my “Mother” got down and prayed, on skinny legs and bony knees
Begging forgiveness, but also angry, imploring God to hear her voice
She spoke impassioned, impugned of justice and of her kind to have “choice”
“We are girls, and we are women, surely this you’ve always known
And our bodies, belong to no one, save ourselves, they are our own
If God is mercy, if God sees all, then take the time and see in me
My own dreams, my own fears, my own desires and my right to be free
We’re not machines or incubators but living beings traveling many paths to light
Oh please, dearest God, judge not harshly, and understand our eon’s plight”
In a room with plastic trays and feeding tubes sick babies cried
I, with lungs like peas, and tortured breath, this night I died
And my Mother, fifteen years old, would soon be charged and so indicted
Her doom and mine, eight months ago, in scorching sun, had been decided
And so she now, as before, stands alone to meet her fate
Whilst "two friends," never forgotten , prepare for battle feeling great
Armed with pamphlets, notes and papers, dead fetus signs in parking lot
Blissfully ignorant,of a girl,her life shattered,and one "forgotten" now dead tot
Sista Hedonista
If Palin can "refudiate"
Perhaps we need some "expleening"
It’s not creation she champions
But devastation she is leaning
This woman simply is a member
Of a sect that never "ceasta"
To amaze with gluttony
And politicize “Starve the beasta”
Along with Beck and Rush and Co.
They constitute a cabal of "creepstas"
Indulgent hacks with axe to grind
Upon the necks of the "leasta"
They take the cash and spread their rash
Scurrilous mass media "peepstas"
And so deserve, the title of
Terrorists….The "Hedonistas"
Perhaps we need some "expleening"
It’s not creation she champions
But devastation she is leaning
This woman simply is a member
Of a sect that never "ceasta"
To amaze with gluttony
And politicize “Starve the beasta”
Along with Beck and Rush and Co.
They constitute a cabal of "creepstas"
Indulgent hacks with axe to grind
Upon the necks of the "leasta"
They take the cash and spread their rash
Scurrilous mass media "peepstas"
And so deserve, the title of
Terrorists….The "Hedonistas"
Monday, July 19, 2010
Crawlers
Tea Baggers at the Malls
Deficit Philosophers in Legislative Halls
Immigration Nativists advocating Walls
Racist propaganda hyped by Flacks
Socialist Hysteria inked on Plaques
Second Amendment “Militiamen” Gun Whacks
The fires still burn, Dr. King, they simply can’t be doused
It’s frightening what crawls from the cracks
With a Black Flag over the White House
Deficit Philosophers in Legislative Halls
Immigration Nativists advocating Walls
Racist propaganda hyped by Flacks
Socialist Hysteria inked on Plaques
Second Amendment “Militiamen” Gun Whacks
The fires still burn, Dr. King, they simply can’t be doused
It’s frightening what crawls from the cracks
With a Black Flag over the White House
Sinking Feeling
I stand on the deck… white knuckled hands
Grasping the rail
I hold on as we submerge
My lungs should have exploded
As the lights of civilization
Streetlights, neon signs and dimly seen stars
Fade into inky blackness
Along with gurgling, echoing screams
Of my fellow countrymen
Calloused hands and Manicured hands
Interlock and Pirouette towards
Their watery grave
It seems an eternity before we hit…bottom
A moonless, leaden world
Devoid of hope and sight
Yet I can still “see”
A life preserver snaps its tether
And jets past me
U.S.S. America emblazoned across it
Our ship of state… has sunk
The “debris” field is enormous
Humanity, Compassion, Dignity
Ignorance, Hubris, Avarice
Gasping guppies
Grasping yuppies
I-pods and Monetary Gods
X-Box Games and Faux Fox Shame
Assume a new, permanent address
Along with one white, sightless, befuddled snail
Who finds a new home: A Starbucks cup
On the night of April 14/15, 1912
The mighty Titanic
Her gleaming decks awash in ambition and wealth
Pursued a course of reckless abandon
Of glory…”Rushing” headlong into disaster
The “lower” classes proud…yet still groveling
Trapped below… behind doors of inequality
Now I, and I alone witness
The cyclical nature of history
Watching, two miles under the sea
As the The America
Nearly one hundred years later
Halved, shattered, splintered
Hatred, Bigotry and Injustice having
Worm-holed her “unsinkable” hull
Arrives at the destination
She seems so inexorably destined to achieve
The Titanic, victim of man’s greed and folly
Now has “a soul mate” in her fateful, frigid tomb
Eighty years passed
Before the Titanic was found
Euphemistic dreams of “raising” her
Dashed… like a champagne bottle
Once did, long ago… across her sturdy, imperious bow
How long, I ruminate
Before the America “is found”
Before hopes of “raising” her
Are forever extinguished
By the cold, icy grip of reality, Mother Earth
And eternity…my fingers quickly shred to bone
And the flesh rips soundlessly from my body
My eyes explode outward from my head
One floating up…and looking down
One sinking down…and looking up
Forever…looking up
Grasping the rail
I hold on as we submerge
My lungs should have exploded
As the lights of civilization
Streetlights, neon signs and dimly seen stars
Fade into inky blackness
Along with gurgling, echoing screams
Of my fellow countrymen
Calloused hands and Manicured hands
Interlock and Pirouette towards
Their watery grave
It seems an eternity before we hit…bottom
A moonless, leaden world
Devoid of hope and sight
Yet I can still “see”
A life preserver snaps its tether
And jets past me
U.S.S. America emblazoned across it
Our ship of state… has sunk
The “debris” field is enormous
Humanity, Compassion, Dignity
Ignorance, Hubris, Avarice
Gasping guppies
Grasping yuppies
I-pods and Monetary Gods
X-Box Games and Faux Fox Shame
Assume a new, permanent address
Along with one white, sightless, befuddled snail
Who finds a new home: A Starbucks cup
On the night of April 14/15, 1912
The mighty Titanic
Her gleaming decks awash in ambition and wealth
Pursued a course of reckless abandon
Of glory…”Rushing” headlong into disaster
The “lower” classes proud…yet still groveling
Trapped below… behind doors of inequality
Now I, and I alone witness
The cyclical nature of history
Watching, two miles under the sea
As the The America
Nearly one hundred years later
Halved, shattered, splintered
Hatred, Bigotry and Injustice having
Worm-holed her “unsinkable” hull
Arrives at the destination
She seems so inexorably destined to achieve
The Titanic, victim of man’s greed and folly
Now has “a soul mate” in her fateful, frigid tomb
Eighty years passed
Before the Titanic was found
Euphemistic dreams of “raising” her
Dashed… like a champagne bottle
Once did, long ago… across her sturdy, imperious bow
How long, I ruminate
Before the America “is found”
Before hopes of “raising” her
Are forever extinguished
By the cold, icy grip of reality, Mother Earth
And eternity…my fingers quickly shred to bone
And the flesh rips soundlessly from my body
My eyes explode outward from my head
One floating up…and looking down
One sinking down…and looking up
Forever…looking up
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