Our People


Statue of LibertyI found God on the back of a dollar bill.  He spoke with few words— Some might say only in sign language, but I could hear the shouts.  The eternal struggles of a people.  Not those who fled across a desert, but those that live in paper temples— Traded in their glass houses for something more-flammable.  Whoosh.

Our people washed ashore.  Broken…forgotten, but determined.  We slaughtered our way to the Golden Arches in a mere two-and-a-half centuries, and while the world laughed we kept quite till the bombs fell.

We stayed silent.

We bided our time.  The world came crawling…begging for our help.  Before we walked on the moon, we ended a Great War.  Now who was laughing?  Definitely not the sleeping giant—  We were proud.  We built great things, we defined generations with our ingenuity, we carved the face of the world in our nuclear image, but we stumbled…we bloated.

And, then the flies came.

They picked at our flesh and laid their eggs in the crevasses of our economy, education, and the very hearts and minds of our people.  We call ourselves progressives as hate runs rampant.  The peaceful have become weak.  There was once a time when the peaceful picked up muskets to fight a world power, and now Guerrillas do the same.

The giant is down—  Pinned by sticks and rope.  We traveled to lands with little people, but we were never meant to stand in quicksand…we were meant to stand tall.  Lady Liberty please light the way, again.  Please Lady Liberty…please.

Tell Me What’s Worth Fighting For?


Tell me what’s worth fighting for?

Inky blackness, wet with regret?

We stand alone in a crowd

We stand huddled in the masses

 

Being herded towards a cosmic cliff

Diving to the rainbow rocks below

Shades of brown becoming shades of red

My endurance meant nothing at the end

 

I’m not allowed to say certain things

I live listless nights portraying

a confidant, a friend, a mentor

All for nothing, all for nothing

All for nothing, all for nothing

 

Dew droplets rush past

Such a waste is the past

We reflect in torment the lives we changed

But we cry the most for our own

 

Drenched in sweat…we survive the fall

Born from the ashes of ourselves and battle

I converse in solace to two souls willing to prattle

We hit the bottom.

 

I jolt— Awake, confused and lost

I am among the land of the dead.

I shuffle with my brethren to the bread lines

Remembering my falling dream…my fallen dreams.

My crayon colored canyons filled with blood

Amerika


Thick as thieves we were, thinned from the thicket

Floating on a flotilla of plastic down the River Styx

Tossing Dentabone’s to Cerberus as we held our palms high

We didn’t beg for forgiveness, we gave into Wal*Mart and Wall Street

 

Our Big Bang was less than whimper— More like a whisper.

Hush the tanks are coming.

The tanks are coming.

 

Our oiled war machines are T-1000s in the shadows

Glowing eyes, winking to McDonald’s ball pit children

A hare’s breath away from making a glass desert

Dollar sundaes at the Golden Arches for all the good little boys and girls

 

We have become the ghosts of revolutionaries and innovators

Muskets long traded in for an H2 and a Zune

Classless brutes who bitch about the classes

A council of kings and circle jerk aficionados

 

The Serpent God-King demands our obedience

We oblige, because our mouthes are full

Dripping from self righteousness and indulgence

We Nazi salute because America doesn’t kneel

 

We sail the very last river with a Rebel flag held high

For not only have we filled its shores with Miracle Whip

We traded in our heritage to the devil for a collar

Now with palms held high…

….the three-headed beast satisfied

….and no where left to invade

We chain ourselves to this eternal post— Panting for pennies

 

We never knelt before God, so why not become Beezlebub’s lap dog?

After all…this is America’s legacy.

 

“Resurrection”


I have definitely been remiss in my posts.  With the holidays, and my reentry into University my time has waned quite considerably.  I do apologize for my lack of updates and posts, especially to those of you who follow regularly or subscribe via Kindle…it truly is not fair to you who are paying for monthly content and not receiving it.  If you’ll stay on board a few months longer I do promise to up the post count by providing (hopefully) quality posts that’ll draw in more readers and keep the ones that have always supported me.

As a sort of symbolic gesture I give you “Resurrection.”  I have never been one to enjoy poetry, but this last quarter I was required to an introductory poetry course at Eastern Washington University that really opened my eyes.  I fell in love with T.S. Eliot…and hard.  “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” is magnificent, and after reading it you open up to the world a little bit more than you were before.  Others also caught my eye and others I will always be disdainful of, but in the end I had garnished a bit of appreciation for the art which has led me to the writing of some of my own poetry.

Personally, I find my foray to be a bit shallow, but I am trying to improve.  “Resurrection” is the first hopefully many shallow forays, but for the content of the preface I think it fits quite wonderfully.  Read, comment, and enjoy.

“Resurrection”

His Walther PPK loosely holstered and licensed
A weathered Q Branch hidden with gadgets
to aid in his explosive endeavors;

Globetrotting to gather women–
left garbless & satisfied
they strike and parry in lust

Till the sky fell he was flat,
and
while he slowly declined the world became…
not enough.

The women fade under forgotten title screens
And, now he is grizzled and worn.
But
like his chief hobby

The Double-O is Reborn

Liquid Laughter


A San Francisco socialite caught in the rain dubiously grinned and threw her crimson coat to the left leaning winds. She laughed and held her palms to the sky, and the little dust centered droplets struck her golden locks as innumerable acts of eternal defiance.  She kicked up her spirits and dug her heels into a nearby bar to partake in even more spirits.  With friends around, she laughed and cried so hard that her muscles ached for days.  A whiskey and pepper is also she asked for and the handsome bartender was always more than happy to oblige.  It was a night to remember.

The bay glistened in with the reflection of the moon and the rain hardened and ebbed like the lunar tides—always contracting and blissfully reacting to its carnal urges.  The red-heeled woman followed suit and fell backwards into a waiting pool only conceived by a deity awaiting her fall.  She collapsed into the still sea.  Flashes of red emanated from her.  She glowed.  The onlookers watched a moment nestled within another moment—all in slow motion.  The VCR hit play as she bobbed back and everyone cheered at her laughter, held a beer in salute, and dived into the infinity with her.  It was evening destined to be heavenly and on a level only imagined by prophetic poets.  They scribble away trying to capture a scene that could only be captured by the human experience.  No amount of skill or technology could replicate the night that began in rain and ended in liquid laughter.

Almond Sliver


The people nowadays are all just a herd.

I hate it; I can’t stand being a sheep.

I see my fellow man’s morals begin to blur.

Everyone’s shouting, but I can’t hear a peep.

 

I watch dumbfounded as everyone yells.

I want to yell back. I want to bellow and bark.

But, what’s the point in a land of living hells?

They stand occupied, loud and silent, in park.

 

I believe, but I know pessimism better than most.

I trust in a shambled system that just needs more.

I’m not alone. Everyone’s lost– from coast to coast.

When did the wealthy and the rich forget the poor?

 

When did the poor start asking for freebies?

When did the middle get lost and forgotten?

It was the day the rich gave ‘em Rabies.

It was the day the government began rottin’.

 

I maybe lost, but my pen will be found.

It may be tumultuous, but I’ll make a legacy.

When I’m dead and gone, and in the ground

My word will live on like holy regency.

Remember, Remember, the 11th of September


 Remember, remember, the 11th of September
 The Trade Center ruination and plot;
 I know of no reason why the Trade Center
 Should ever be forgot.

 Al Qaeda, Al Qaeda,
 'Twas their intent.
 To annul morale and hope
 Three planes of bane overhead.
 Poor old America to overthrow.
 By our own providence we preserver'd
 With firemen's lanterns aglow and 
                          the will to rebuild

 Holloa boys, Holloa boys, let the bells ring!
 Holloa boys, Holloa boys, God bless America!

Remember Me


I wish upon the stars for one last breath, one last thought, one last moment with you.  I may be gone, but even in the darkness I dream of only one true love and that love is what keeps me in your thoughts.  Your blonde locks and blue eyes always leave me wanting more of your gorgeous smile, but today is the today that I have to say goodbye.  I don’t want to go, but the Devil has come to collect and I’ve only got a Chevette and red Chucks to carry me away.  Remember me, remember me.  I’m almost dead, I’m almost gone.  Be happy, be strong.

Short and sweet. Sweet and concise. Concise and correct.


Twist and turn like an electrified spider…legs outstretched…all eight, count ‘em.  Long and straight dipped in sweet tea for an appetite suited only for chocolate covered frogs and snails.  Grab a Dachshund by the tail and pull.  Ask the badger at the end of the tunnel for a receipt because that Pheasant hasn’t paid his borrow bill in over a month.  His daughter is outside next door sellin’ marmalade to Darth Vader in an effort to pay the bill and reach the dark side.  Pinky would know that side of the moon because the force choke only works on the appendages of an arachnid…hence the sweet legs of the neighbor.  Force choke that bastard because the only badger that befriends a Dachshund is unfortunately…a dead one.

Even at the end of that bright light the white lantern wouldn’t resurrect the badger in an attempt to make Deadman jealous.  The only one worthy enough to pull off a double back flip without a net could counteract that smart mouth.  The fish that fly to the fringe of the galaxy balk at the net, because only they can hitchhike without the guide.  With an iPod jammin’ the intergalactic fish flounder in a rhythmic jingle that leaves star dust frozen in awe at the fringe of a black hole.  With a slight wink a son grabs that black hole and asks his father, “What’s this?”

I wish I drew this.

And, in a cosmic flurry that causes the stars to war within one another, the badger to lay to rest, the Dachshund to jam to the stolen iPod, and most importantly the Pheasant to finally pay his bill without the death of single spider…and, that my friends…was all in the father’s reply.  Short and sweet.  Sweet and concise.  Concise and correct.

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