vengence

by

wasted lines…

industrial sounds
of
anger
gears
grinding
metal plates
of
yesterday
pressing hard against
the soft
molten
moments
of today
deforming
the natural shape
of
love
into some
contorted
fictionalized mask
a mask
to be worn
on occasions
of your
theatric outbursts
oh
the theater
of
the absurd
a one-act play
performed
all to often
before
an audience
of
one

 

by

cross-examination…

 

the chalice was filled
with the warm blood of children
during morning prayers
for they were non-believers
non-believers in your god
your god’s the true one
but does your god fear children
are not divine words
enough to sway young minds or
are you the non-believer

 

by

having found a dead bird on my stoop….

 

i fully understand
life’s
hardships
and
survival rules
but
cannot understand
how
or
why
one would
want to encourage
the deaths
of
others
are
people
so
naive
as
to
believe
that
their fate
is
not linked
to
the victims
of
their crimes
of
desire
can they not see
that
this body
of
existence
is
comprised
of
different parts
but
still
a part
of the whole
if one slits
a wrist
death
in
emanate
to
all parts
even
if it was
the right hand
that
offended
the left
all parts
once cut
bleed
the blood
from
the whole
and
though
death may be
slow
death
will soon arrive
to
all
parts

 

by

it just got personal…

 

reasons for entry
differ
patriotism
poverty
or
boredom
with
where one lives
for some
training builds
a sense of allegiance
to
the flag
for others
an outlet
for
emotions
regardless
battlefields
those human devised
disasters
like
all disasters
makes the unwilling participants
face
life’s uncertainties
and
how in the blink
of
an eye
death
that
primal disaster
can wipe away
existence
so
in that light
death becomes a teacher
teaching
what’s important
our
morality
and
community
a community
that
we would
die for
and
when
one is torn away
from
that community
like all families
there is
grief
but
there is an urgent need
for
revenge

 

by

requiems in the sand…

 

i’ve started writing
my new poems on the beach
words briefly exist
like the lives of those they speak
voiceless souls trapped in man’s games

 

by

the poet…

 

walks
just outside
the
circle
of
acceptance
a daily exercise
of
self-awareness
rather
than
some
political statement
of
indifference
to
the routine rhetoric
of
elected demigods
demigods
whose
heart-felt solution
to
problems
generally
involves
an
assassination
a
historical pattern
that
is practiced
by
today’s
world leaders
regardless
of
religion
or
race
or
one’s
previous
level of persecution
from
others
it’s just
the thing to do
when
people fail
to
to comply
of course
one
should not presume
that
justice
will
in any way
be
served
for
justice
is
apparently
negotiable