What Rally Cry

Standing alone,

choosing alone,

no dial tone,

seems the last moments

will bend forever

the opportunity

to glance ahead,

beyond the scrutiny

deeply laid inside the victim’s head.

 

and then …

 

There is the question of whose hurt

is more measurable,

the choice,

or the outcome,

the afterward,

or perhaps it is the originator,

who by virtue of the human condition,

isn’t given any allowance

to return the favor of knowledge.

 

We just know the outcome.

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Be A Racist, It’s Ok, It’s 2017

I walked into a nightmare today,

names were dropped, words were tossed,

I couldn’t get past an,

an, an, an,

omission of a hopeful anomaly,

that turned awful, horrific, debatably

ludicrous,

seemed we were all so frivolous,

funny, fanatics.

Seemed we were all lost in the comfort of our

WHITE PRIVILEGE!

White privilege regarded itself,

and no one else really mattered.

All the doors were closed,

we all looked at each other,

nobody cared, nobody cared,

nobody,

anyone within a couple of feet with

the ability to see and hear might have thought,

wait a second,

I thought it was the 21st century,

the 21st century – 2017.

Years beyond the days when civil rights

meant understanding there was a need to change,

a need to understand,

a time to respond to the changing mind,

and realize, realize,

real eyes would be watching now,

more cognizant, more genuine …

Have you noticed all the bi-racial advertising,

I mean there’s nothing wrong with it,

just advertising meeting a market,

nothing wrong with it,

the windows are all closed.

Nobody knows,

‘the trouble I’ve seen’,

the long and winding road …

Old man river,

and its four decades later,

we’re still safe though,

nobody heard the word said out loud,

except,

oh wait,

except, except, except,

accept responsibility,

we all heard it and we need all to

open the doors and try to squeeze through,

because we have suddenly narrowed

nearly a half century of effort.

But its ok,

the doors all remain closed.

Simple, right?

 

Love

Its recognition is all we have,

when we cry, when we want to die, when we sigh,

there is a place that is waiting,

when the wrath is over, while in the midst we remain frantic,

we always question just why,

where is it we were told to ready ourselves to take out,

take out nicely, obliterate, accentuate carnage,

express rage toward the existence of humanity.

 

We are talking about numbers,

four different descriptions,

10, then 20, now 60, finally 59

fucking Tomahawk Missiles …

I’m so enraged I cannot even spell the words.

I know when I was a kid,

I just saw the news I didn’t understand.

Tonight, what they call ‘a slap on the wrist’

is spilling the blood of our humanity,

 

We all are part of this.

We still could, we might try,

hold your loves, we all can feel our hearts tonight.

Love exists.

Last Night’s Anxiety

Real.

Made up will not suffice.

Perfection is a model for memory

when lost in the shadow of fear.

Unstoppable.

Passive.

Remarkable in patterned stealth

tendrils suffocation drawn.

Observation.

Callous.

in every waking moment a trapping,

a formidable locksmith might overlook.

Posture.

Presence.

Quite assured no response to time

could offer solution, satisfaction.

Perhaps.

Solution.

In time a drowsy eye could tear

enough to drown self-pity.

Cope.

These Keys

wolves

In the woods, the wilderness evokes

a sound of rustling, twigs snapping, a breeze through leaves

that whisper a reality we cannot pretend away.

Instead we listen, we joy in the simple nature

of the forest in its pristine state,

always waiting, forever growing,

letting our lives appreciate its pure self.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

When we leave the wood,

we return to today’s world in automation,

in electricity that which turns us on,

turns off when we need to disappear,

the engines whir in the hands of our own guidance

our responsibility,

we live by the sound of our activity,

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

I’m sitting down

I’m near tears without any reason why,

perhaps the music I’ve chosen,

possibly the state of mind I am in.

Been here before, felt it many times,

and on occasion chose a difficult path,

one that would eventually hurt my mind.

This is a key to understanding our human nature.

Why is it I can see through the forest,

I can understand how the world exists around me,

I know people adjust to one another,

while deep inside the wood, our nature is to imagine,

the wolves are waiting.

~

*picture found on tumblr

I Cry Sometimes

In the public eye what appears is shadows

Silent images along a wall

Faceless yet moving

The physicality is all that really tells

A story

A moment

A person looking directly cannot realize

The true extent of the shadow’s eyes

For their blank

Unseen crevices in a brick foundation

If for a glimpse

Inside the shadow’s soul

One might discover

A constant pain

A deep seeded memory

That twists around decades

Of child becoming man

That day when everyone laughed

With no one recognizing the truly hurt

Expressions

Reactions

The inner peace shattered

While along the wall the physical movements

Remain the same

Just simple gestures along a blank canvas