the back of the bus…

the back of the bus

welcome
have a seat
at
the rear
of
the bus
we’ve
designed it
so
it looks
just
like
the front
only
looking to
where
we’ve been
it even comes
with
its own
humanoid driver
fashioned
to look
like
lincoln
for we know
how much
your
people
admire him
even though
his motives
for
your emmancipation
were
less
egalitarian
than
you’ve
fantasized
however
that has
served us well
you
continue
to
blindly vote
for
our candidates
out of
allegiance to the past
and
we’d like for you
to
continue
so we
place
center stage
one or two
of
yours
on
every
campaign camera angle
remember
even if we limit
your voting rights
we
want you to stay
right

fear #4…

hounds of hell

pledges
of
allegiance
in pursuit
of 
singularity
whether
it be
religious
political
or
social ideas
have created
the greatest
nightmare
for all
those
covenant words
transform
even
the lambs
of
god
into
the hounds
of
hell
willing
to shred
even
the flesh
of
their own
offsprings
to feed
the lust
of
intolerance

 

 

a simple choice…

a simple choice

if we gather up
all
the helpless children
of
the world
and
place
their starving bodies
into
a pit
telling you
that
only a handful
can be saved
then
ask you
who shall we save
most
of you
would choose
the ones
that
look
the most
like you
some of you
will
protest
and
declare that
you
would save
a broad spectrum
of
children
not dependent
upon
race
but
look into that pit again
stare
into those
sad emaciated eyes
tears dried on skin
and tell me again
skin
would not be considered

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

 

 

millwright…

millwright

they tossed
the loose end
of the rope
onto the tree
his skin
blackened
by
african sun
the sun
that
fostered
all
of
creation’s life
speaking
in tones
sown in his voice
by god
he said
you are the blood
of my blood
so i
have slept
with your mother
giving birth
to you
i have slept
with your wife
giving birth
to your
sons and daughters
and
even in death
i will sleep
with your daughters
giving
birth
to the ages
you
cannot separate
my blood
from yours
you
lie
in the shallow grave
of
denial and deception
breathing in the hate
of madmen
and
with those words
he closed
his eyes
and
died
of
natural causes

mr and mrs creamcheese…

mr and mrs creamcheese

ken
      and
karen
don’t
       quite
              get it
freedom
            isn’t about
the small
              amenities
                            and
              tokens
                        tossed
             here
                    and
            there
as
    some
    conciliatory
                     means
    of
       reducing
                    their
       guilt
for
    that doesn’t
                       change
            the fact
                         that
it’s
     still
           a cage       
 for
           those

without

            freedom

 

 

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

 

 

from freedom’s well…

from freedom's well

when people
were murdered
needlessly
there was
a brief
outcry
for justice
how could
anyone
accept
a vigilante inflicted
death penalty
for
merely drinking
from
freedom’s well
people
were so angry
for a while
but
when
it was pointed out
to
the gathering
crowds
that the well
holds
a forbidden sacrament
not
to be imparted
to
just anyone
according
to
our
founding fathers
only
the children
of
leukothea
are
permitted
to
drink from the well
and
with those words
as if endowed
with a blessing
the crowd
dispersed
singing
the national anthem
and
that old standard
this land is my land
private property