Rage: poem

Beat,

The pounding of the drums, wait, can you hear the dying of the light? Madness increased to deafening heights, the world screams, Jesus! Jesus! Oh mother fucker, Jesus!

Man jumps in front of racing train to catch a buzz.

Fly oh brilliance into the blazing sun.

There in College sat oh mindless class, to whisper in sunset chats; fuck this watered down act.

We sat there in rays of hope, waiting for anything, hopelessly in love, lust for life, making out with our trusts.

Screaming into the darkness, silence by the rage burning inside the collected madness.

We were not right.

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Let it be: A poem

There’s no time like the present,

Hold on to it tight,

Don’t let go, don’t let it drift away, don’t let it drown, don’t let it mix up, into bitter memories.

Solider onward to avoid the nightmare,

Sympathy of broken dreams,Don’t let it wander,

Memories,

Shaded write,

Let it free,Let it be,Free to be,

Wonderful,

In the night,

Solider on,

Let it be,There in wonder

Solider on,

A memory of things that was.

Distance from that point of entry: A special something

Date line: I ferget!

Random motions in a typical dream, an ocean of violence in bloom,
The world seems magical, almost comical,
A realization that the minute you are a born, you’re a minute closer to death,
As a child, it scares you, to think of such things, to die,
Then someone,
Your heart
Your soul,
Dies,
The worse moment than your own death,
You continue on,
Why?
You will ask yourself,
It happens,
People around you,
Don’t understand,
How can you say such things,
It is great to be alive,
But is it?
Without a heart,
Without a soul?

You will find someone,
Maybe a few someone,
But that moment,
Will be the end of your world.

You will not see the beauty anymore,
The fear won’t be there either,
You will be ready for that moment of passing,
But Jesus for some reason,
Will keep you alive,
Mostly to fuck with you,
Jesus is good at that,
God is even better,
“See my power, my will, to keep you going,
Why? Cause I can!!
Haha!”

Don’t believe me,
Lose your heart,
Lose your soul,
Lose that reason you stay alive for,
Then you will discover,
The true meaning,
The true place that is Hell.

Broken promises by Great Father – a mindless wandering through my mind – FICTION – THE NEXT PROMISED LAND

Does the Earth hear the crying of our young, the old, our broken warriors marching through heated plains, to destination unknown?

Hope?

The word died many moons ago.

We stood at the hill, our eyes looking towards the sun, we did not see the promised lands, the milk or the honey, just a waste nobody wanted in the Upper Crust, till the gold and silver was found, then new promises to be broken….

We were promised good lands, to raise our lives but we received salted plains where nothing would grow. We grew hungry, our youth grew bitter, rage, we danced for the hope but Great Father took our dances as threats, sent in the soldiers, to murder us, to silence us, this was the way, we did not need to be told.

The moon and the sky tried to keep us safe, but even with the great medicine man, we were not enough, we danced and they came, afraid, raids, burning our homes to that salted earth.

Did their God only love the white man?

We were forced to speak their tongue, beaten if we did not obey. We were forced to love their God even though he seem not to care about us because we were not the right color.

Great father said we shall give you lands then proceeded to take them away as soon as value was found.

The white man came and took it all away.

We were not humans to them, dogs, to be beaten, sent on our way till something else was found, “Go to the next promised land!” Great Father said, “Do not dare dance as we know it is the Devil’s dance!”

We danced for our ancestors, they cried for us, prayed for us, but it did not matter, the living were trapped, marching to the next promised land.

There in the distance stood the bear, the coyote and the crow, each trying to save us, but they could not, their power ran out long ago.

The great bison was a memory, only a story, a legend to our children, who would be taken away from us, to be raised as the white father saw fit.

Our future was blight.

The fire dimmed.

Dreams did not come.

Where did the promised lands go?

A death of a smile one day: A POEM

Not to touch the sky,
To feel that misery,
Deep in the Earth,
A life,
Lies,
Oh brother,
Can you see the falling of the trees,
Into the ground,
Not to see the sun?

There,
Up on the Dark Hill,
Stands a house,
Misery of pained life,
Burning in the sun,
Run,
Oh fellow of that house,
Run,
Do not fear the reaper,
Do not know the fear,
Run,
Silently,
Run to nothing,
Feel the sun,
The sounds of the dying,
Breathless murders,
In happy fields,
Lies of golden tongues,
Killing spree,
Jesus Fucking Nuns,
Beasts,
Crawling towards the edge,
Happy pills,
To keep the fears out of our brains,
Mine,
Mine,
Dance,
Fly,
Off burning cliffs,
Into crashing waves,
Oh the life,
Draining,
Into rage,
Rage,
Rage against the dying light
The machinery of life,
Oh fuck…

Ode to Midnight: A Poem

We stood in the darkness, our eyes adjusting,
Rage, hate, bitterness,
Washed away in distant memories,
Oh madness, oh madness,
Blight on the heights,
Of raging waves,
Smashed against the beaches,
Life,
Nobody gets out of here alive,
Whispers in the midnight,
Lovers plotting revenge on hated life,
Oh mother,
Oh father,
Oh sister,
Oh brother,
Call out to that madness,
Alive!!
Alive to see the breaking of the day,
Misery,
Sigh,
Are tossed aside,
In bitter storms,
To fight with tooth,
And to fight with nail,
To see that breaking of that day!

The Jester

I was homeless once, a jester on the street, the men would walk pass me, they wouldn’t stare at me, was there anyone out there, looking towards me, a tired soul, trying to figure out life, as I slept under a tree, no party on either side would address me.

I voted, only reason I was a number was when it came time for them to care. Either Republican or Democrat, sent me emails asking me for donations when I was working as a union member at $8.50 an hour, I told them, both sides, fuck you, I got not enough to afford an apartment, neither side cared, both sides begged for money.

What could I say, what could I do?

Tears on my shoes, I was a worthless life, not even begging life a congressman or a presidential candidate!

To slip into that last morning dawn’s early light

We laid there, our souls facing the rising sun,
To feel those rays, into our bodies,
Into our minds,
To feel its grace,
The dying inside of us,
Wanted out,
But could not be free,
As the meat survived.

We wept in memories,
Of those who had gone before,
Way too soon,
Wept the mourners at Jerry’s wake,
He died of cancer at 23.
Who really wants to live forever,
In some never ending horror fever dream?
Lost loves,
To God’s embrace they say,
Screw God, give them back to me!

A DIRE NEED FOR ACID RAIN: A POEM

I don’t want to feel the shame,
To feel the same,
Don’t want to be in pain,
Ashamed,
Inside myself,
Feeling rage,
Against the stage,
Trying to stop the wars,
Inside myself,
A memory,
Of whispers,
A sigh,
In that rain,
Against the broken showers,
In a tower,
A nightmare,
Of dancing metal frames.

I held your face,
In my hands,
A dream of breathing shallow,
It was my decision,
Oh how I kill myself for it,
To pull that plug,
My dear love,
To live with that decision,
I fell to pieces,
That unholy day.

MOCKINGBIRDS LIE: An Introduction to a Main Character.

Here in the tall willows, away from the eyes, the mockingbirds dare lie, they whisper in tunes, a hi, a hi.

Cindy laid in the tall grass, holding her doll, wishing it was real or this whole life was a dream.

Her brother had been killed in a war, Vietnam, her mother had cried there in the kitchen.

Cindy tried not to cry as she ran out of the kitchen, the tears were beginning to fly.

It wasn’t fair.

He was only 19.

He had told her he would come home alive.

He promised.

He lied.

There he laid, in that box, a shell, a corpse.

Cindy didn’t want to go to his funeral.

But she did.

Mother needed her support.

She had told Cindy that as Cindy sat in the back seat of the car, heading to the funeral home.

A flag covered the casket as it sat there, waiting to be lowered into the grave.

Mother never spoke of it again.

Cindy would hear her late at night, crying, for many years.

“I’ll be okay!” she told Cindy as she prepared to leave for her college.

Cindy got a call from her town’s sheriff, her mother decided to join Cindy’s brother by overdosing on sleeping pills and alcohol.

Another head stone to wait.

Cindy didn’t cry.

She shook friends’ hands at the wake.

“She was a good woman, she was strong…”

Cindy hated it, standing there, pretending her mother was strong.

Cindy was the last of the tribe, didn’t want to be, her father died before she was three.

She shut down, closed up, lied, said she was okay, Mother was with God and Cindy’s brother, but she wasn’t fine.

Mother lied.

Everyone dies.

She sat in the lonely quiet home, sitting on the floor, playing with that same doll, wishing she was real.

Was this life?

Just to lie, “I’m okay, don’t worry about me!”?

Cindy went to bed, to dream of a better time.