the watchmen waketh…

 

beneath the earth
the army of the dead
move in unison
to the rolling pitch
of the underground train
marching to the surface
passing the roach infested
dark alleys of shadow people
the ones who beg for alms
as the hollow souls scurry past
the army must stay its course
headed for their burial abodes
crypts of glass and polished steel
for they have bartered their souls
for transient wealth and fame
a bloodless coup of a nation
where only pleasures of the flesh
are considered worthy
but at night
curtains drawn
flickering news stories
of the anger
of those who sought alms
makes every shadow
move independently
on the walls
a creeping fear
that makes even
the dead
turn
in their
graves 

 

This poem represents my final response to  the third challenge series between Jade and I.  This challenge is somewhat different in that the prompt is now an audio prompt.  Each poet provides the other with five instrumental songs (so that the song’s words do not interefere with the poet’s) from which the poet is to write a poem.  Jade has written her first response which can be found here

if there is justice…

the blood
you have spilled
shall form the walls
around heaven
barring your entrance
and paving the way
to hell’s brides
behind each
of the seven veils
you shall find
the rotten corpses
of the women
you have slaughtered
like a hungry dog
you will  lick the heels
of hate
curl up beside
the most damned of life
your prize shall be
to trade places
with those you’ve killed
and the pain
of their death
shall be yours
over
and
over
again
may
the gods
make
it
so

on the edge…

Challenge Photo II from Jade

the gray morning
air presses hard
against me
holding back
the sounds
of my footsteps
that were so clear
and distinct
as i began
this journey
but now
all i can hear
are my labored breaths
in and out
and
my throbbing heart
a heart seeking
to escape
these city walls
to leave behind
this street
where laughter
and joy
have fled
where only
your memory resides
shrouded in betrayal
wearing a cross
of lies
to conceal
the truth
of who
and what
you are
and what
you’ve done

 

This poem represents my second response to  the second challenge series between Jade and I.  As you may recall, each poet provides the other with a series of photos, visual prompts,  from which the poet is to write a poem.  Jade has written her response which can be found here

and they did unto others…

just like before
the hole was dug
perhaps it was
more of a trench
a mass grave
for the living
families
were herded in
beaten men
pregnant women
helpless children
all into this ghetto
sealed
with walls
wires
checkpoints
ships
and of course rules
for maintaining
social standards
everyone in
no one out
like every
grave

moon weavers…

 

perhaps this is some foolish
childhood memory
but
within each memory
lies some strand of truth
i speak to you of moon weavers
few outside these walls
know of them
so you must listen carefully
and heed my words this night
at the edge of the forest
in the small meadow
where the fog crawls
along the ground
are the spirits of warriors
the ancient ones
they spin silver threads
into braids of tears
placed upon our doorsteps
as gifts and protection
for those of us
who should own the land
if you must walk at night
you must not let a moon weaver
pass through your body
for if you do
you will feel
the sorrow of a hundred years
ancestors will appear before you
their death will feel like your death
the slaughter and rape
of those who loved this place
bathed in fire while they slept
ran down by horses
branded with bayonets
such visions have driven some mad
so beware my friend
for what you see
may be
your own history
or
mine

i’m cold…

 

the air in here is thick
with the memories of a thousand souls
death covers the floor and walls
small cracks here and there
have the smell of blood
recalling the tortured human beast
that waged war here
and is waging war
again
so
near to here
in an arena
without walls
for the entertainment
of new generals
and rulers
of
the
empire
of
greed

sea shell…

once
     life
          was within these pearly walls
feeling
      warmth
           like the embrace of a nude lover
now
     only
           the shell remains filled with moss
moss
     growing
           like the hate within her soul