Saturday, August 19, 2017

They love me; they love me not


Good people don’t tear
Pedals from flowers for fun
This deep need to read
Our fortunes off the pain of others
Always puzzles me
This potency of poems
To evoke rage
When ordinary words don’t,
The power we breathe
Into what we create
Life out of nothing
We like gods
Shaping existence
Never before seen
As thunderous as a hurricane
Or as gentle as a leaf
We torturing all to squeeze
Life out of the lifeless
To make real out of unreal.
Good people do not do bad things
Without becoming bad,
Though sometimes bad people
Do good
In this insane existence
We must tread between
Conception and cremation
Each step filled with dread
We might cease to be the former
And fall into the latter,
This faulty concept of misconception,
Believing we are good
When we do bad,
Like Christian crusaders
Evoking Christ
In a crusade to seize trade
With the wealthy Far East,
We misconceive,
Get lost,
Misstep
Along this trail to nowhere
Turning back
To retrace our steps
Without the bread crumbs
To lead us to where
We once were,
To that place where
We first erred,
This our desperate attempt
To become good again
When the best we can ever manage
Is to do good despite being bad.


Friday, August 18, 2017

I breathe water





I breathe water and drown
Because I cannot stop myself
From breathing,
Even down this deep
Where only the blind fish swim,
Eyesight is not a virtue
Nor is standing
Since there is no solid ground,
We float in this sordid limbo
Arms stretched wide
Living not with hope of salvation,
Just survival,
One polluted breath at a time,
Wary of the abyss
And those things we cannot see,
Touching each sticky thing
Expecting to be stung,
I breathe water because

It is better than not breathing at all.

Killing off elections (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)




For once in their long history
Democrats have come up with a good idea
For saving tax payers money;
If you don’t like someone in office
To hell with an election,
Just kill them,
Burials or better cremations
Save a lot of cash
Wasted on campaigns,
And save candidates from the needless
Task of representing all the people
All of the time,
The only problem with all this
Is who do we kill first?

Save the statues for the pigeons (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)



Where is PETA when we need it most?
Why aren’t they protesting the removal?
Of Rebel statues from our parks?
Where are the pigeons going to roost?
Or better shit, when they don’t have
Jefferson Davis’s face to shit on?
Do the pigeons not have a right to shit?
On General Lee?
Or do they have to hold in it,
Waiting to find a statue of Lincoln
Or Grant or Sherman to shit on?

Turning ghettos into Gettysburg (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)



They shot another kid
In the hood today
While good people
With lynch ropes
Lynched another statue
In the park
Getting even with that
Dirty Johnny Reb
For what he did
So long ago
Because they are
Too hapless or hopeless
To halt the mass murders
They allow to go on
Day in and day out
Under their noses today
Good people with good hearts
Turning every ghetto
Into Gettysburg,
Only it’s really hard to tell
Just whose side they are on
As kids’ bodies piled up
And the statutes fall
Leaving them to take full
Credit for both.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Proud and Gray (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)



They take down our statues
Because they don’t like
The president we voted for,
Needing to punish us for being bad,
These know-it-alls Lincoln called
The Know-Nothings,
Whose grand schemes we spoiled
When we voted against them,
They pretending they are offended
By statues that have stood
For more than a hundred and fifty years,
Their feelings hurt suddenly
After all that time,
Spoiled brats kicking down
Other kids’ sand castles
Because they are too lazy,
Or stupid or selfish to build their own
Hating us because we still revere
Long dead heroes who could
Still hold up their heads
Even in defeat,
These brats throwing ropes
Over their necks
Because they can’t bear the idea
Of losing just one election
When we still stand defiant
After having lost everything
Proud and gray.


Wednesday, August 16, 2017

The real racists (from Confessions of a Racist, a satire)



Don’t talk too loudly,
You must be a racist
The only people brave enough
To speak their minds
These days are racists,
Because they don’t care
What people call them,
The deluded do not
Know they are deluded
But always think
They are right
And so keep still
Or you might be called
A racist
Even when you’re not,
Preachers and politicians
Who ought to know better
Keep silent
Too fearful they might
Get scarred with a scarlet letter,
Not so obvious as the Nazi numbers
Yet indelible,
Once a racist always a racist
Or so the saying goes
With us or against us
There is no in-between,
No room for mild voices
Lost in the rail of radical rhetoric
In this civil war
That was not our civil war
But we get dragged down anyway
Like old soldiers’ statues
Because we refuse to stay silent
And speak out against racism
Nobody sees  as racism,
So those who would call it what it is
Stay silent, intimidated
By radicals that have no shame
Mirroring the Nazis they blame
Attacking anyone who would
Call them what they really are.