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

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

whispered…

whispered

though
i’m not at liberty
to
provide
any details
a
word
of 
caution
might
be appropriate
the package
of
perks
given to you
as
part
of
your
induced
birthright
owing
to your
race
should be carried
quite
carefully these days
there are stories
not
of robbers
that
you’ve been
taught and told
to
fear
but
rather
those pretending
to be
your brothers
the ones
carrying
stones
hidden behind
their
veil
of
lies

discrete deaths…

discrete deaths...

rarely found
on
page one
and
almost never
listing
the names
of
those murdered
instead
a monotone
vague portrayal
of
human lives
is
presented
as if
they were
some inert
objects
that were
merely
crushed
and
should be
of
no concern
to you
but
the assassins
carried out
their heinous
deeds
saying
hallowed be thy name
your name
for
you
are society’s
holy ones
whose lives
are
to be protected
at
all costs
from those
different
from
you
whether
it be
a child
or
a pregnant woman
combatant
or
noncombatant
nothing matters
but
thy
holy name

grasp straps and pull…

distant words
abhorring
overheard
intended
but
veiled in denial
then
an
all’s well smile
flutters before eyes
repeated gestures
of
oppressors
seen
more times
than
one can count
objective
to grease
success’ pole
before
anyone attempts
to
climb out
of
poverty’s pit
a pit
stared into
by
tormentors
from
its edge
gilded
with
promises
serrated sides
from which
despots
offer
encouraging words
and
relay
how they
arose
from the pit
but
they used
the
stairs

 

legal injustice …

pair of old work boots
sold as if they were brand new
like promised freedom
but boots have structural flaws
they don’t have any bootstraps