diversionary tactic…

diversionary tactic

the numbers we use
can conceal horrific facts
like deaths per thousand
but it’s different if we say
a child is shot every hour
in this right to life nation

 

 

and you were expecting what…

and you expected what...

from its inception
the law
has been
unequal
for those
under
it
its function
has been
and
continues
to be
to
maintain
servitude
and
the clear
separation
of
the haves
from
the have nots
a systematic method
of
oppression
that gives
the illusion
of
freedom
and
the fasle expectation
of
impartial justice
bolstered
by
the bedtime stories
from
history
about
heroic acts
that
never occurred
or
occurred
in
a less than
courageous
manner

 

 

weapons of mass destruction…

weapons of mass destrction

few will understand
that there are doomsday machines
systematically
for centuries destroying
and consuming the planet
the soulless machines called man

 

 

by any other name…

by any other name

though
they
walk the halls
of
congress
as
representatives
of
the people
we typically
find them
enaging
agreeing
or
offering to engage
in
dubious
conduct
and
behavior
in
return
for
a fee
if they walked
the streets
they’d be
called
something else

predawn meditation #3…

predawn meditation_1

there are those
who have disappeared
who we can see
each day
nameless to most
but well known
to street spirits
those
souls
that inhabit
the corners
of
society’s eyes
homeless
in
a traditional sense
no
neatly manicured
lawns
or
gardens
surrounding
snowwhite-like-cottages
cottages
built on land
stolen
from
indigious people
but
since
they have
no land
to be acquired
whatever self-respect
they possess
becomes
what the police
are instructed
to rip away
making those
in
the society
avert
their eyes
from
the naked souls
they have
created

predawn meditation #2…

predawn meditation_1

with their
legal immunity
those sworn
to
uphold the law
have in truth
become
the law
capable of becoming
the judge
jury
as well as
the executioner
as long as
they
facilitate societal aims
those objectives
of
maintaining the oppressed
in
their
proper place

like the good old days…

field of dreams

ain’t nothing new
‘bout
the way
we’re treating vets
after
the
so-called
revolutionary war
our
first civil war
profiteers
thanked vets
by stealing
the land they had
defended
with
their lives
leaving them
penniless
and
homeless
been that way
with profiteers
every since
oh some
people have
stepped up
recently
to help
but
those corporations
and
individuals
who’ve really profited
from
their service
and
lives lost
haven’t done
a damn thing
‘cept to say
thank you for your service
and
congress
only does
what they’re
forced to do
so many vets
are right where
the first
patriot soldiers were
with
no place to sleep
no meals to eat
and
no meds to suppress
the nightmares
of
blood and body parts
all they get
is an overdose
of
police
those
desk jockeys
that didn’t see
combat
so
do keep
your sorry ass
thank you for your service
till some
real help
is offered

insufficient for purpose…

insufficient for purpose

ain’t got
no fancy
iambic pentameter
to wrap around
my words
nor
sweet rhythms
to conceal
the crimes
of our time
no metaphors
for the sounds
of bullets
ripping
the flesh
of children
huddled with fear
in their classrooms
can’t find
an anonomatopoeia way
to say
the gun lobby
is french kissing
dollars
into the mouths
of senators
so they’ll
turn a blind eye
to the streets and classrooms
flowing
with innocent blood
but they ain’t
the only ones
refusing to see
that racism
defines this nation
and perhaps
the entire white world
for tears are shed
when ukrainian children die
but not even a sigh
is heard
when children starve
to death
in africa and bangladesh
or
children are struck down
by an israeli drone
there’s no fixed meter
that can convey
the absolute sadness
of parents
with their child’s death
no poet can ever
capture the emotions
for such an event
we merely stutter
our thoughts in words
onto the page
hoping to express
our personal rage
at the inhumanity
of mankind

unfinished bible verse…

unfinished bible verse

sorry
just ain’t
feeling
that good today
my bunions
are giving me
fits
not to mention
the shooting
last night
lord
the police
were out
in mass
and
descended
on those children
having
a street party
right outside
the church doors
fact is
it was
a church party
the pastor’s son
thought
it would be
a great way
to attract
community youths
but
it attracted
more
than youths
it was a magnet
for
the police
before you knew it
the pastor’s son
lie
in a pool
of
blood
ain’t that
something like
that story
of isaac
and
abraham
‘cept
with
a sad ending
and
no god
intervention

 

 

so many poems…

so many poems

i wonder
if
anyone
stops and stares
at
these billboards
of
my mind
the words
that
i place
upon
the page
i suspect
most
will be forgotten
along
with
my name
that is
of
course
not much
of a surprise
we poets
for centuries
have pasted
our feelings
on
every surface
possible
words
often erased
by
ignorant
self-serving hands
or
those frightened
by the truth
but
we have
had
our say
and
on occasion
are able
to give voice
to those
who dare
not speak
giving voice
to those
unheard
we poets
attempt
to yell above
the vulgar platitudes
of
concern
and
empty promises
promises
for a better day
if only the oppressed
will
give
it
time
time
the one thing
they’re permitted
to have
and
oppressors
want them
to waste it
waiting
for what will
never
come