Expensive
See this shirt?
it cost a penny to make
but I sell it for a dollar
made a dozen
reaping a buttload
of cash profit
credit checked
cashed my check
profiting for capitalism
contributing to education
of the public discourse
seeking refuge in my refusal
to bargain
up the ante, production cost
the same. little boys in sweat
shops constructing
each seem, half a penny for every
hour, by end of a day
not enough to buy canned
soda from vending machine
each shirt thirty dollars
profit margin extended
fat cat in a tight coat
big bellied prancing
along on pogo stick on
assembly line floor
flattening puppies
skin tight to bones
starving, investing in iPhone
relishing my cash flow
spread it on my oatmeal
gratifying to dump it
down drains in front of friends
peripheral vision of hungry
baby unable to suckle
because mommas run dry
have mansion on a hill
a brothel in my office
swimming in dimes and nickels
showering with Benjamin bills
fireplace stoked with George Washington's face
to keep me warm
my yacht beached on my Arizona lawn
sit in captains quarters sucking on
quarters, snorting up coke
off a strippers ass crack
while little girls get
arthritic pains in overworked hands
donate a grand to a charity cause
get a million dollar tax break
to buy another home
smelling of pine sol and window cleaner
little child deposits penny in piggy bank
almost able to by soda pop
but spends it on slop
to take care of sister and pops
out of sight out of mind
dollar shirt is a designers dream
wear it on red carpets
I'm living American dream
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Monday, October 29, 2018
Inktober #21: Drain (October 21st, 2018)
Drain
energy
sapped
slinking
down
in
whirlpool
gurgles
bubble
from
void
belching
curse
words
unto
air
moisture
left
behind
but
nothing
to
wipe
it
with.
energy
sapped
slinking
down
in
whirlpool
gurgles
bubble
from
void
belching
curse
words
unto
air
moisture
left
behind
but
nothing
to
wipe
it
with.
Inktober #20: Breakable (October 20th, 2018)
Breakable
Collision is imminent between those that needed love and those that required a hand to hold
these entities that had no qualms before, crush their mutual wants into a spiral of chaos
and in this world of marriages and vows, what can anyone hope to achieve by ignoring their
instincts.
Repression explodes out so that shards of ourselves attach themselves into flesh, embedded
so that blood seeps forward and builds on the wound causing a wince of pain that stings
and denigrates their souls all because it was bad to see naughty parts, as if it were injustice
to speak: vagina.
In the hopes of scheming for a worthy cause good people cant help but fuel the fire of their
oppressors, hope for ideals, but sinking fully into a mud that deems people worthy of death
as if they spoke god's words while also denoting that he were one to work in mysterious
ways.
Yet, after all of that talk, and all of those tears the pitiful causes self destruct, and embed those that already housed the glass with more glass, shards of broken people, who deemed that women were lesser than men, when women carried the oven that baked the human species in order that it sustain
into tomorrow.
How then, are we fathoming our own demise, when we are smart enough to spot the pitch
before we purchase a car we no longer require, and we justify our reasoning for beating our sons
as something not primal, but you wanted to, showing dominion, and you can't face it that you wanted
to be God.
Collision is imminent between those that needed love and those that required a hand to hold
these entities that had no qualms before, crush their mutual wants into a spiral of chaos
and in this world of marriages and vows, what can anyone hope to achieve by ignoring their
instincts.
Repression explodes out so that shards of ourselves attach themselves into flesh, embedded
so that blood seeps forward and builds on the wound causing a wince of pain that stings
and denigrates their souls all because it was bad to see naughty parts, as if it were injustice
to speak: vagina.
In the hopes of scheming for a worthy cause good people cant help but fuel the fire of their
oppressors, hope for ideals, but sinking fully into a mud that deems people worthy of death
as if they spoke god's words while also denoting that he were one to work in mysterious
ways.
Yet, after all of that talk, and all of those tears the pitiful causes self destruct, and embed those that already housed the glass with more glass, shards of broken people, who deemed that women were lesser than men, when women carried the oven that baked the human species in order that it sustain
into tomorrow.
How then, are we fathoming our own demise, when we are smart enough to spot the pitch
before we purchase a car we no longer require, and we justify our reasoning for beating our sons
as something not primal, but you wanted to, showing dominion, and you can't face it that you wanted
to be God.
Inktober #19: Scorched (October 19th, 2018)
Scorched
what i remember most about election 2016,
in which my fellow country men elected
a showboat assassin, is that i had won my argument
that evangelical christian were hypocrites,
not every single person inside the organization
but every single one that changed stances
to promote hatred I'd seen seething in their hearts.
day one it's a dismissal of someone who
did not follow the rules, day two it's a refusal
of popular culture, art, that might say anything
beyond texts of bible, day three it is
a neo-testament proclaiming fiction of boy
wizards and psychic pocket monsters are
a threat to fabrics of faith, day four its saving
fetus' but starving children that don't carry
crosses round their necks, day five its choosing
between broadcasting to strangers or feeding
your neighbors, day six its abandoning
supposed friends to let them linger out in
that big bad world where syringes full of
poison can more easily find the way to their veins,
and day seven its watching the world weary
suffer while you praise satan sitting inside
his blood soaked white house but spew it out
of your lips as in god's almighty name. I recall
2016 when my biggest concern for hypocrisy
in my previous church-home had hit home run
across fields and moral bankrupcty was finally
achieved. ruined for good ones, faith followers
who wanted to leave a better world for children
not a repetition of history in hopes of an
eventual apocalypse. congratulations! i renounce
your institution, evangelical liars, i hope pentocost
finds you and casts you into pits of shit, and those
that you despised who never hurt a fly get to huddle
round your lord and savior while you bask
too late in the hell you were always primed for.
what i remember most about election 2016,
in which my fellow country men elected
a showboat assassin, is that i had won my argument
that evangelical christian were hypocrites,
not every single person inside the organization
but every single one that changed stances
to promote hatred I'd seen seething in their hearts.
day one it's a dismissal of someone who
did not follow the rules, day two it's a refusal
of popular culture, art, that might say anything
beyond texts of bible, day three it is
a neo-testament proclaiming fiction of boy
wizards and psychic pocket monsters are
a threat to fabrics of faith, day four its saving
fetus' but starving children that don't carry
crosses round their necks, day five its choosing
between broadcasting to strangers or feeding
your neighbors, day six its abandoning
supposed friends to let them linger out in
that big bad world where syringes full of
poison can more easily find the way to their veins,
and day seven its watching the world weary
suffer while you praise satan sitting inside
his blood soaked white house but spew it out
of your lips as in god's almighty name. I recall
2016 when my biggest concern for hypocrisy
in my previous church-home had hit home run
across fields and moral bankrupcty was finally
achieved. ruined for good ones, faith followers
who wanted to leave a better world for children
not a repetition of history in hopes of an
eventual apocalypse. congratulations! i renounce
your institution, evangelical liars, i hope pentocost
finds you and casts you into pits of shit, and those
that you despised who never hurt a fly get to huddle
round your lord and savior while you bask
too late in the hell you were always primed for.
Intober #18: Bottle (October 18th, 2018)
Bottle
My message was written on paper, tightly
rolled up in a scrolled style, and placed inside
mouth of wine bottle.
I pulled back my arm, bottle in hand,
and relinquished it with a force only I
could muster.
As it sailed through the air it hissed at the wind,
my notes life enlivened with bile, and the wind
knowing it would poison water.
The splash was whispered in hollowing air
and the collision of glass with sea surface
could almost be said never to have happened.
I pondered the universe as it floated away,
but stopped my thought process when it was
forced back to me by wave after wave.
The beach hugged it, and indented it in sand
and I pulled it up into my arms and was
indebted to the beach.
My message was filth, meant to harm its
holder, and I did not want to force that
hate on anyone,
even if for a moment,
I did.
My message was written on paper, tightly
rolled up in a scrolled style, and placed inside
mouth of wine bottle.
I pulled back my arm, bottle in hand,
and relinquished it with a force only I
could muster.
As it sailed through the air it hissed at the wind,
my notes life enlivened with bile, and the wind
knowing it would poison water.
The splash was whispered in hollowing air
and the collision of glass with sea surface
could almost be said never to have happened.
I pondered the universe as it floated away,
but stopped my thought process when it was
forced back to me by wave after wave.
The beach hugged it, and indented it in sand
and I pulled it up into my arms and was
indebted to the beach.
My message was filth, meant to harm its
holder, and I did not want to force that
hate on anyone,
even if for a moment,
I did.
Inktober #17: Swollen (October 17th, 2018)
Swollen
When bee sting
stung and made me
wince to have been
harmed by insect
tool, I collapsed
into a pile
of leaves carefully
assembled to break
my fall. In my
heart I felt
rush of venom
hit me, with
no more a care than
to fall asleep
in a cushioning
that God gave
me.
When bee sting
stung and made me
wince to have been
harmed by insect
tool, I collapsed
into a pile
of leaves carefully
assembled to break
my fall. In my
heart I felt
rush of venom
hit me, with
no more a care than
to fall asleep
in a cushioning
that God gave
me.
Inktober #16: Angular (October 16th, 2018)
Angular
if attempts to eschew the facts is any measurement of oddities then it should be noted that there is nothing to calm the masses who want nothing but to be entertained by people on the brink of society.
as marginalized people choke on their predicaments poor trash gawk and grin as show tunes permeate the air from their lips in a shallow assertion of their dominance with the backing of their faux Jesus Christ.
they spew out hymnal music, though its been ages since they've cracked open the book and feces smells emanate from pew seats, made up of wood and tarnished with the asses of a million false prophets.
if looked at through a bloodied prism their religion of aiding the poor has been entrenched in a snapping dogs jaws so that the poor are horror movie villains, and the victimized are now the monsters.
if we attempt to justify our hate, we can always find a way to vomit expletive's without ever saying them, without an enunciation of: fuck, shit, damn, hell, piss and cunt, we exalt a higher level of blasphemy as we God damn the ones who need to be pitied.
eschewing the words of a love they neighbor lord and savior man is the largest affront to his name than anything mortal man can say, and using him to claim a higher authority, that is the greatest curse word of all, and when that after life comes and the heaven you so crave is in reach, you shouldn't be shocked to find yourself in the company of thine fuhrer.
if attempts to eschew the facts is any measurement of oddities then it should be noted that there is nothing to calm the masses who want nothing but to be entertained by people on the brink of society.
as marginalized people choke on their predicaments poor trash gawk and grin as show tunes permeate the air from their lips in a shallow assertion of their dominance with the backing of their faux Jesus Christ.
they spew out hymnal music, though its been ages since they've cracked open the book and feces smells emanate from pew seats, made up of wood and tarnished with the asses of a million false prophets.
if looked at through a bloodied prism their religion of aiding the poor has been entrenched in a snapping dogs jaws so that the poor are horror movie villains, and the victimized are now the monsters.
if we attempt to justify our hate, we can always find a way to vomit expletive's without ever saying them, without an enunciation of: fuck, shit, damn, hell, piss and cunt, we exalt a higher level of blasphemy as we God damn the ones who need to be pitied.
eschewing the words of a love they neighbor lord and savior man is the largest affront to his name than anything mortal man can say, and using him to claim a higher authority, that is the greatest curse word of all, and when that after life comes and the heaven you so crave is in reach, you shouldn't be shocked to find yourself in the company of thine fuhrer.
Monday, October 22, 2018
Inktober #15: Weak (October 15th, 2018)
Weak
idealism
as a weakness
thats the concept
they want to permeate
as though cruelty and selfish-
ness were the right of way just because
of complacency. Or how school work is busy
work when real work is death, and as they symbolically
commit suicide from the roof of the church-school they can
claim they were correct. when self-fulfilling prophecy's of fatalistic
men are seen to be the order of the day they ignore that the only reason they
are choking is because they wouldn't throw the bones away. They will stare into
the afterburners of a ballistic missle and proclaim, "the good lord almighty is punishing
the wicked," and from across the sea another friendly missile zeroes in with a prayer behind it
aimed at praying one unaware he'd cursed himself. And as the world recovers from its dick measuring contest
the children will be silent, wondering how their parents could squander their bread.
idealism
as a weakness
thats the concept
they want to permeate
as though cruelty and selfish-
ness were the right of way just because
of complacency. Or how school work is busy
work when real work is death, and as they symbolically
commit suicide from the roof of the church-school they can
claim they were correct. when self-fulfilling prophecy's of fatalistic
men are seen to be the order of the day they ignore that the only reason they
are choking is because they wouldn't throw the bones away. They will stare into
the afterburners of a ballistic missle and proclaim, "the good lord almighty is punishing
the wicked," and from across the sea another friendly missile zeroes in with a prayer behind it
aimed at praying one unaware he'd cursed himself. And as the world recovers from its dick measuring contest
the children will be silent, wondering how their parents could squander their bread.
Inktober #14: Clock (October 14th, 2018)
Clock
They think of faces with hands pointing at numbers
digits dictating time to people who sit stoic in chairs.
They think of a tick tock, like a trick clock that beats
per second, towards minutes, humming the hour as
each day passes into months, before years become
centuries to eaons.
They think its a one way street because they haven't
cared to walk it back because they have not power
to time travel to a distant time before hellfire spilled
upon mechanisms.
They think its a cycle when its really limitless
how we can hate eachother but also love, and how
loud the hate can sound, so that soothing sounds
of love are but whispers in the crowd.
They think as the digital read outs blink and scream out
signallying the morning bell that they do not need to
be ready for yesterday as moon plots murder of sun
because he is always flashing him his junk.
They think it's silly to ponder it, that time is but a construct,
wristwatches ranked pointless, alongside chains of pocket
watch that jingle and jangle even as they dangle out of
pockets of old timers who still can't fathom that tomorrow
is not forever, but who cast votes as though time is limitless,
because it is, but you're children are not.
They think of faces with hands pointing at numbers
digits dictating time to people who sit stoic in chairs.
They think of a tick tock, like a trick clock that beats
per second, towards minutes, humming the hour as
each day passes into months, before years become
centuries to eaons.
They think its a one way street because they haven't
cared to walk it back because they have not power
to time travel to a distant time before hellfire spilled
upon mechanisms.
They think its a cycle when its really limitless
how we can hate eachother but also love, and how
loud the hate can sound, so that soothing sounds
of love are but whispers in the crowd.
They think as the digital read outs blink and scream out
signallying the morning bell that they do not need to
be ready for yesterday as moon plots murder of sun
because he is always flashing him his junk.
They think it's silly to ponder it, that time is but a construct,
wristwatches ranked pointless, alongside chains of pocket
watch that jingle and jangle even as they dangle out of
pockets of old timers who still can't fathom that tomorrow
is not forever, but who cast votes as though time is limitless,
because it is, but you're children are not.
Inktober #13: Guarded (October 13th, 2018)
Guarded
Who has had access to her heart but a pair of careless hands
that encroached upon her sanctity, fouling it up under scrutiny
like ants under focused light of magnifying glass being kissed
by the sun, and the result was just as damaging.
So, who can assume to understand her reservations when the men
beckon on her, when they call, and they holler, and whistle as if
she'd been wearing a dog collar, how they'd fondle her as if she
were a piece of prime meat, but discard her like a piece of trash,
and somehow get the media to join in spitting on what's already
been maimed.
What could be more suspected: that she was careful because of history?
Or that she simply spurned their advances because those hands had
never considered her demise?
Who can judge a guarded heart? When unprotected they are often
sullied by careless fingers, and cruel intentions and only the lucky
get out unphased.
Who has had access to her heart but a pair of careless hands
that encroached upon her sanctity, fouling it up under scrutiny
like ants under focused light of magnifying glass being kissed
by the sun, and the result was just as damaging.
So, who can assume to understand her reservations when the men
beckon on her, when they call, and they holler, and whistle as if
she'd been wearing a dog collar, how they'd fondle her as if she
were a piece of prime meat, but discard her like a piece of trash,
and somehow get the media to join in spitting on what's already
been maimed.
What could be more suspected: that she was careful because of history?
Or that she simply spurned their advances because those hands had
never considered her demise?
Who can judge a guarded heart? When unprotected they are often
sullied by careless fingers, and cruel intentions and only the lucky
get out unphased.
Inktober #12: Whale (October 12th, 2018)
Whale
when i called her a whale
she took it as insult
but how could i have expected her to
understand the misunderstanding
associated with that aquatic mammal
when i called her a whale
i meant it as compliment
because her beauty was larger than life
her voice reverbing through
watersheds and collapsing in harmony
on the sea bed
when i called her a whale
i meant it with absolute endearment
for boundless by the limitations
of man, she had a whole ocean to
explore inside her mind, everytime
she picked up the pen.
when i called her a whale
she took it as an insult
but how could i have expected her
to understand that i misunderstood
the question when she asked me,
my back to her, what she most resembled
-while wearing her cocktail dress.
when i called her a whale
she took it as insult
but how could i have expected her to
understand the misunderstanding
associated with that aquatic mammal
when i called her a whale
i meant it as compliment
because her beauty was larger than life
her voice reverbing through
watersheds and collapsing in harmony
on the sea bed
when i called her a whale
i meant it with absolute endearment
for boundless by the limitations
of man, she had a whole ocean to
explore inside her mind, everytime
she picked up the pen.
when i called her a whale
she took it as an insult
but how could i have expected her
to understand that i misunderstood
the question when she asked me,
my back to her, what she most resembled
-while wearing her cocktail dress.
Inktober #11: Cruel (October 11th, 2018)
Cruel
Didn't notice children amongst men mowed down with hails of rat-a-tap-tats of fanfare
as American as apple pie,
Refocused, reloaded, packing mortars into mounts and exploding babes from mothers hands
as American as football sundays,
Detonating removal of sprites from mothers who breast fed but one day previous in aftermath
as American as rape culture,
Reissuing edicts as old as man knew how to keep a woman down in her place where she gave birth and nothing else
as American as misogyny
Simple little men worried about whats between their legs, laughing always en route to courthouse
as American as victim blaming
Seems a strange system to be party to when ones with guns are scared of caravans of starving men and women
as American as genoicide
Didn't notice children amongst men mowed down with hails of rat-a-tap-tats of fanfare
as American as apple pie,
Refocused, reloaded, packing mortars into mounts and exploding babes from mothers hands
as American as football sundays,
Detonating removal of sprites from mothers who breast fed but one day previous in aftermath
as American as rape culture,
Reissuing edicts as old as man knew how to keep a woman down in her place where she gave birth and nothing else
as American as misogyny
Simple little men worried about whats between their legs, laughing always en route to courthouse
as American as victim blaming
Seems a strange system to be party to when ones with guns are scared of caravans of starving men and women
as American as genoicide
Wednesday, October 10, 2018
Inktober #10: Flowing (October 10th)
Flowing
Faucet on full
blast, executing particles
left over from party
plans. Detachment
when wet, jet stream
pummels leftover
melted cheese platters
accumulated with mold
because binge drinking,
never good idea. Alcohol
down gullet slip sliding
toward stomach, splish
splash with acidic juices
layering layers of stomach.
Echo of drip drops heard
by neighboring capillaries,
veins, arteries that house
life force molecules a certain
tinge of rusty redness, plasma
cellular migrations to and fro
about heart to head. Gray matter
of brain slinking synapses
bungee cording to kiss
another trapeze artist as an
injunction for movement,
creativity, or lizard brains boasts
of posturing through rage,
love, or momentary lapses
as gurgles intercede as go-between
of alcoholic consternation.
Inebriation slimy, bunched
up, hogging blood stream
to interfere with circus factory
performing in brain so that
thoughts to shield face
from grime launched off in splashes
of faucet release don't
smack cheeks, eyes, ears,
hair and make a mess, though
regurgitation might erupt
from belches as though river
water rushing with a current
matching mighty Mississippi.
Faucet on full
blast, executing particles
left over from party
plans. Detachment
when wet, jet stream
pummels leftover
melted cheese platters
accumulated with mold
because binge drinking,
never good idea. Alcohol
down gullet slip sliding
toward stomach, splish
splash with acidic juices
layering layers of stomach.
Echo of drip drops heard
by neighboring capillaries,
veins, arteries that house
life force molecules a certain
tinge of rusty redness, plasma
cellular migrations to and fro
about heart to head. Gray matter
of brain slinking synapses
bungee cording to kiss
another trapeze artist as an
injunction for movement,
creativity, or lizard brains boasts
of posturing through rage,
love, or momentary lapses
as gurgles intercede as go-between
of alcoholic consternation.
Inebriation slimy, bunched
up, hogging blood stream
to interfere with circus factory
performing in brain so that
thoughts to shield face
from grime launched off in splashes
of faucet release don't
smack cheeks, eyes, ears,
hair and make a mess, though
regurgitation might erupt
from belches as though river
water rushing with a current
matching mighty Mississippi.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Inktober #9: Precious (October 9th)
Precious
Don't kiss goodbye memories gone by, because they will sneak back on you with a knuckle sandwhich, fit to find your teeth,
just as you've grown comfortable to the guise of lies that shimmy on up flagpoles, waving toward setting sun that smiles on everyone,
that is when rumination begins, as a sparkle of sunlight spreads openly on spectacles inching off your face gritting into beams,
it will floor you, land you on your back like a capsized ship on cement seas, seasonsed with pebbles varying in size,
sharpened in degrees, fables slide down deciding to deviate from their message because they belong to you, digging into your chest cavity,
bleeding will subside, once you decide to abandoned a way that was derelict, youth will spit as they pass rolling on skateboards,
but feasting would not be done, for goodbye was a memory you wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't survive if life is to thrive,
pray it not find you, hound you, haunt you until blood erupts in geyser pools to tickle dust immediately near in air up there,
collapsing on sentimentality, that is your face, and smothering you, drowning forgetfulness so that always knows how it choked,
for memories escape entrenchment yet seldom are bodies unbruised, ruined for lack of safety, lack of confrontation, so that haunting occurs,
more of a sneak attack, good or ill, depending on what you done, memories as precious gems that you wear in your crown, or choke on.
Don't kiss goodbye memories gone by, because they will sneak back on you with a knuckle sandwhich, fit to find your teeth,
just as you've grown comfortable to the guise of lies that shimmy on up flagpoles, waving toward setting sun that smiles on everyone,
that is when rumination begins, as a sparkle of sunlight spreads openly on spectacles inching off your face gritting into beams,
it will floor you, land you on your back like a capsized ship on cement seas, seasonsed with pebbles varying in size,
sharpened in degrees, fables slide down deciding to deviate from their message because they belong to you, digging into your chest cavity,
bleeding will subside, once you decide to abandoned a way that was derelict, youth will spit as they pass rolling on skateboards,
but feasting would not be done, for goodbye was a memory you wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't survive if life is to thrive,
pray it not find you, hound you, haunt you until blood erupts in geyser pools to tickle dust immediately near in air up there,
collapsing on sentimentality, that is your face, and smothering you, drowning forgetfulness so that always knows how it choked,
for memories escape entrenchment yet seldom are bodies unbruised, ruined for lack of safety, lack of confrontation, so that haunting occurs,
more of a sneak attack, good or ill, depending on what you done, memories as precious gems that you wear in your crown, or choke on.
Inktober #8: Star (October 8th)
Star
twinkle twinkle little star
parental supervision, shuttled by car
smoking men in dinner jackets
pushed you in limelight whined
and dined you proceeded to feed
on those bones and spit you out
all alone, surrounded by lights
but all alone amongst garish wolves
who howl in sunlight as your face
is shown in standard letterbox
in a million homes.
twinkle twinkle little star
parental supervision, shuttled by car
smoking men in dinner jackets
pushed you in limelight whined
and dined you proceeded to feed
on those bones and spit you out
all alone, surrounded by lights
but all alone amongst garish wolves
who howl in sunlight as your face
is shown in standard letterbox
in a million homes.
Monday, October 8, 2018
Inktober #7: Exhausted (October 7th)
Exhausted
Imagine how hard it was for the tree to grow
And think of how ugly we find its barren branches in cold
After a lifetime of patient tugging and stretching
out towards the sun,
we insult the tree just because it needed a moment to rest.
Its leaves may have been dead and fallen gracefully
To our earth, but think of how much it took for it to sprout
Break out of tiny seed and embed itself into the ground
digging and clawing
finding its way through a hardened earth
and we insult it for wanting to rest.
Imagine that tree trying its damnedest to be free
Lifting its hands up in praise and constantly being
A home for rodents and birds who drilled holes inside,
and how it was happy to oblige. How it
carried the weight of those leaves on those branches
and shook them off to rest
And we had the gaul to insult it
When it was the most beautiful God of all.
Imagine how hard it was for the tree to grow
And think of how ugly we find its barren branches in cold
After a lifetime of patient tugging and stretching
out towards the sun,
we insult the tree just because it needed a moment to rest.
Its leaves may have been dead and fallen gracefully
To our earth, but think of how much it took for it to sprout
Break out of tiny seed and embed itself into the ground
digging and clawing
finding its way through a hardened earth
and we insult it for wanting to rest.
Imagine that tree trying its damnedest to be free
Lifting its hands up in praise and constantly being
A home for rodents and birds who drilled holes inside,
and how it was happy to oblige. How it
carried the weight of those leaves on those branches
and shook them off to rest
And we had the gaul to insult it
When it was the most beautiful God of all.
Inktober #6: Drooling (October 6th)
Drooling
I am not a Pavlov dog
a sick em, bite em
tear it up kind of man
I am not a man prone
to violence or given
to shout out my demands
I am not a beast
set about to devour
my bounty stolen
from its own hands
I am not a monster set
upon by god to do
what i please
I am not a predator
taking what i like
when i like and proud
i always get away
I am not an excuser
claiming its my way
because of a sack
tucked between my legs
I am not drooling
over those who just
walk to find their way
home,
I am not a Pavlov dog
conditioned to make
excuses for the boys
who are all those things
I am not.
I am not a Pavlov dog
a sick em, bite em
tear it up kind of man
I am not a man prone
to violence or given
to shout out my demands
I am not a beast
set about to devour
my bounty stolen
from its own hands
I am not a monster set
upon by god to do
what i please
I am not a predator
taking what i like
when i like and proud
i always get away
I am not an excuser
claiming its my way
because of a sack
tucked between my legs
I am not drooling
over those who just
walk to find their way
home,
I am not a Pavlov dog
conditioned to make
excuses for the boys
who are all those things
I am not.
Inktober #5: Chicken (October 5th)
Chicken
A lone coyote wandered inside the hen house,
spying all the spry chicken legs
and perusing and deciding to sniff them out one by one
he searched high and low for just the right scent
and gave a lick upon the face of whatever one he liked
and snapped its neck inside his jaws
and left the other chickens mortified.
As he wandered across hills and across fields
he decided he didn't like that particular chicken no more
so he dropped it in the dirt and wandered back onto
hen house. With his sniffer on turbo and his eyes keen
to kill, he spied another one just minding its business
and snapped its neck too.
About half way back to home, the coyote dropped his kill,
passed his first on way back to hen house and didn't
give it a second thought. Inside the hen house the chickens cawed
and clucked and hoped for help but none came, and the farmer
snored away inside his house. Another snapped neck, another
dead hen and dropped in the grass all the same.
The lone coyote went back again, and found another chicken
and they cried out for help. The rooster stood to the side,
the farm hand came out to see what was the matter, and though
he spotted the dogged cousin wandering into the hen house
every time, and though he had a shotgun loaded and ready
to deliver that dogged soul to Jesus, the farm hand stood by
he supposed it was just natural that the predator get the prey,
never mind prevention, he thought, mine as well let every dog
have his day.
A lone coyote wandered inside the hen house,
spying all the spry chicken legs
and perusing and deciding to sniff them out one by one
he searched high and low for just the right scent
and gave a lick upon the face of whatever one he liked
and snapped its neck inside his jaws
and left the other chickens mortified.
As he wandered across hills and across fields
he decided he didn't like that particular chicken no more
so he dropped it in the dirt and wandered back onto
hen house. With his sniffer on turbo and his eyes keen
to kill, he spied another one just minding its business
and snapped its neck too.
About half way back to home, the coyote dropped his kill,
passed his first on way back to hen house and didn't
give it a second thought. Inside the hen house the chickens cawed
and clucked and hoped for help but none came, and the farmer
snored away inside his house. Another snapped neck, another
dead hen and dropped in the grass all the same.
The lone coyote went back again, and found another chicken
and they cried out for help. The rooster stood to the side,
the farm hand came out to see what was the matter, and though
he spotted the dogged cousin wandering into the hen house
every time, and though he had a shotgun loaded and ready
to deliver that dogged soul to Jesus, the farm hand stood by
he supposed it was just natural that the predator get the prey,
never mind prevention, he thought, mine as well let every dog
have his day.
Inktober #4: Spell (October 4th)
Spell
hidden pools of vomit green asked god for a reason
that sun abandoned reach of arm at canopy
god said, look, its not my place to force sun's response
but should grimy things such as yourself find
need of kiss from father time just ask trees to move
so fowl coasting in water was begged of my grime
to pardon branches way up high to be bothered
yet when birds flapped upwards a breeze mighty blew
them back to muck mutilated amongst foliage
vomit green pool hidden in forest begged god again
to which god replied, once asked me to intervene
with sun, now ask me to punish wind who only protects
canopy from birds, a small pool need not beg favors
from those above it, so treat your position as lesser
for bottom laying to feed maggots is where you should
remain. vomit green pool took great offense to man
in sky, lashing out with a fist to strangle wind into
a dance and wind begged of pool to stop but vomit
green would not adhere cycloned a twirl to tippy top
tearing away the winds, a delicate kiss on the cheek
of vomit green sent it back relaxed finally to bottom
of the pool and water fowl cursed out wind as they
bathed in pool of vomit green. with hiss of agitation
wind traveled to god listing senseless grievances done
upon him by wet hidden pools but god folded arms,
laughed and said, have you know pride in what you've done,
do you not need it spelled out for you, if you cannot
figure it out yourself, said he, then tempest you and pool
will be.
hidden pools of vomit green asked god for a reason
that sun abandoned reach of arm at canopy
god said, look, its not my place to force sun's response
but should grimy things such as yourself find
need of kiss from father time just ask trees to move
so fowl coasting in water was begged of my grime
to pardon branches way up high to be bothered
yet when birds flapped upwards a breeze mighty blew
them back to muck mutilated amongst foliage
vomit green pool hidden in forest begged god again
to which god replied, once asked me to intervene
with sun, now ask me to punish wind who only protects
canopy from birds, a small pool need not beg favors
from those above it, so treat your position as lesser
for bottom laying to feed maggots is where you should
remain. vomit green pool took great offense to man
in sky, lashing out with a fist to strangle wind into
a dance and wind begged of pool to stop but vomit
green would not adhere cycloned a twirl to tippy top
tearing away the winds, a delicate kiss on the cheek
of vomit green sent it back relaxed finally to bottom
of the pool and water fowl cursed out wind as they
bathed in pool of vomit green. with hiss of agitation
wind traveled to god listing senseless grievances done
upon him by wet hidden pools but god folded arms,
laughed and said, have you know pride in what you've done,
do you not need it spelled out for you, if you cannot
figure it out yourself, said he, then tempest you and pool
will be.
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
InkTober #3: Roasted (October 3rd)
My capacity for drawing, or painting is limited, my art form is written word, so I figured why let that stop me in participating in this creative endeavor. The follow series is following the prompts for each day of October that other artists are doing.
Roasted
See him king of fools
sitting in his inflamed chair.
As hands of fire reach up for heir
of the trash heap that is today.
In ridicule and jestered haste
the people point, cracking smiles
and in the hands of the king of fools
a red canister of petrol.
Combustion at any point,
he goes on laughing, for of course
he is a he. And his followers speak in tongues
and throw their money in the pit
and seven heads grin back at them
but their rose colored glasses
see seven halos resting above. So
king of fools shimmies can in fists
so that splashes awash the masses
and those in balls and chains who did not
participate are all splattered just the same.
Jokes on them and less on him for why should progress
matter, if the world ends tomorrow and there is
but a warm spot for us, to create
smores round the worlds
embers.
Roasted
See him king of fools
sitting in his inflamed chair.
As hands of fire reach up for heir
of the trash heap that is today.
In ridicule and jestered haste
the people point, cracking smiles
and in the hands of the king of fools
a red canister of petrol.
Combustion at any point,
he goes on laughing, for of course
he is a he. And his followers speak in tongues
and throw their money in the pit
and seven heads grin back at them
but their rose colored glasses
see seven halos resting above. So
king of fools shimmies can in fists
so that splashes awash the masses
and those in balls and chains who did not
participate are all splattered just the same.
Jokes on them and less on him for why should progress
matter, if the world ends tomorrow and there is
but a warm spot for us, to create
smores round the worlds
embers.
Inktober #2: Tranquil (October 2nd)
My capacity for drawing, or painting is limited, my art form is written word, so I figured why let that stop me in participating in this creative endeavor. The follow series is following the prompts for each day of October that other artists are doing.
Tranquil
Crowded room of background noise
Background noise in a crowded room
Room for no one to respond
Responses limited to the mind
Mindful of sinful resonance
Resonating amongst the sinful minded
Minding their own business
Businesses comprised of ownership
Ships that pass through nights
Nights of loss and regret
Regretful etchings on walls
Walls of brick of sweat and pain
Painful bricks of sweat beading on walls
Walls beaten with fists as red as sunset
Sunsetting to the bleeding of fists
Fist raised to sky in reaction shot
Shot for reaction but left to die by the side
Siding with the shooter as presidents shout
Shout till red in the face and sunset ashamed
Ashamed of comparisons to lustrous beauty
For beauty lusted for luster is lost to the fostered people
People lost in the guise of paintings
Painted out of spite but never in need of it
It needn't be a pause of reflection
Reflections seldom pause because of time
Time never pauses for the seldom reflected
Reflection that's overworked in a mind that ticks
Ticks and tocks like the clock
Clock tower housing bells
Bell tower housing clock
Clock tolling bells
Bells tolling for the man in the crowded room
Room crowded with background noise
Noise that hides his pause for a breath
Breaths that seem to exists out of context
Context hidden in the noise pollution
Pollution hiding the context of a breath
A breath, a moment, in background noise.
Tranquil
Crowded room of background noise
Background noise in a crowded room
Room for no one to respond
Responses limited to the mind
Mindful of sinful resonance
Resonating amongst the sinful minded
Minding their own business
Businesses comprised of ownership
Ships that pass through nights
Nights of loss and regret
Regretful etchings on walls
Walls of brick of sweat and pain
Painful bricks of sweat beading on walls
Walls beaten with fists as red as sunset
Sunsetting to the bleeding of fists
Fist raised to sky in reaction shot
Shot for reaction but left to die by the side
Siding with the shooter as presidents shout
Shout till red in the face and sunset ashamed
Ashamed of comparisons to lustrous beauty
For beauty lusted for luster is lost to the fostered people
People lost in the guise of paintings
Painted out of spite but never in need of it
It needn't be a pause of reflection
Reflections seldom pause because of time
Time never pauses for the seldom reflected
Reflection that's overworked in a mind that ticks
Ticks and tocks like the clock
Clock tower housing bells
Bell tower housing clock
Clock tolling bells
Bells tolling for the man in the crowded room
Room crowded with background noise
Noise that hides his pause for a breath
Breaths that seem to exists out of context
Context hidden in the noise pollution
Pollution hiding the context of a breath
A breath, a moment, in background noise.
InkTober #1: Poisonous (October 1st)
My capacity for drawing, or painting is limited, my art form is written word, so I figured why let that stop me in participating in this creative endeavor. The follow series is following the prompts for each day of October that other artists are doing.
Poisonous
venom,
constricting a piece of my dream scape
as an epiphany of damage
metaphorically draining
life out of memory.
venom,
cruises through rivers in my arms
extending out of fingertips
raging on keys
creating a clickity clack of spite
in written word.
venom,
a due diligence stifled for need
of revenge,
but failing to smother everything
because corroded blood
is still blood
pure residuals exist.
venom,
leaking out of pours as
sun pummels it out
leaking on earth, which absorbs
it then through photosynthesis
giving air to breathe.
venom,
another name for regret
in manifestations of monsters
but not truly, not really, not absolutely
for venom is a natural
reaction to
heartbreak.
Poisonous
venom,
constricting a piece of my dream scape
as an epiphany of damage
metaphorically draining
life out of memory.
venom,
cruises through rivers in my arms
extending out of fingertips
raging on keys
creating a clickity clack of spite
in written word.
venom,
a due diligence stifled for need
of revenge,
but failing to smother everything
because corroded blood
is still blood
pure residuals exist.
venom,
leaking out of pours as
sun pummels it out
leaking on earth, which absorbs
it then through photosynthesis
giving air to breathe.
venom,
another name for regret
in manifestations of monsters
but not truly, not really, not absolutely
for venom is a natural
reaction to
heartbreak.
Monday, October 1, 2018
Cataclysm
Collision orchestrated by a band of thieves who
wanted nothing more than to win the hand
of a headstrong maiden.
In the brunt of the wreckage they witnessed
a mutilated truth that related to obscure
truth.
It was, pure, it was, simple, but it was not
easily digested and so they choked violently
on their purposeful ignorance.
And as they died, these goons, took down a
nation of blatant racist grandfathers, as
tho foundation of their boys club shook
and crumbled.
The maiden too, sweet, and brutal, died in
this context, though she was innocent of
of their crimes, she did share their
foot spaces.
wanted nothing more than to win the hand
of a headstrong maiden.
In the brunt of the wreckage they witnessed
a mutilated truth that related to obscure
truth.
It was, pure, it was, simple, but it was not
easily digested and so they choked violently
on their purposeful ignorance.
And as they died, these goons, took down a
nation of blatant racist grandfathers, as
tho foundation of their boys club shook
and crumbled.
The maiden too, sweet, and brutal, died in
this context, though she was innocent of
of their crimes, she did share their
foot spaces.
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