I see the world
as a so-so place
yeah you’ve got –
new tech, new cars,
phones, computers
but then you have –
pollution, sickness,
Racism, bullies
and the struggle
to survive
Your idiocy
to make a world
that’s perfect
doesn’t just need kids
it needs you too
So what’s next?
This new generation,
Us children –
picking up
your trash
Two Cent Tom
-
“Ground Control to Major Tom”
David
Bowie
What’s
Next…
As I try
to deflect and resurrect
histories
truths of inequality
“We
asked for it”
“it was
never ours to begin with”
“when
will enough be enough”
You see
its kinda tough
when you
grow up in the hood
spent everyday knocking on wood
Praying
on ash bent knees
underneath
the trees
of the
lost but not forgotten
Hands
full of dirt
pretending
that death
of a
loved one doesn’t hurt
Who are
you to cast stones
in this
glass house
built
out of privilege
While
down in the village
kids
trapped in cages,
parents
slaughtered in racists rages
What’s
next?
Is there
a plan?
Is there
anyway to repair this broken land?
This was
never the land of the free,
nor was
it the home of the brave…
our soil
is the blood of the slave
A land
of pillaged pride,
we have
yet to come together
and put
our differences aside.
When we
look in the mirror who do we see?
A
reflection of ignorance
or a
future murder spree?
The LEFT
is RIGHT
neither
will ever give up the fight
for
control over your bottom dollar
Slip off
the noose,
remove
your
shock
collar
Remorse
for humanity in the tears that I shed
There
will always be more suffering,
always
more dead
What’s
next is so very plain to see
What’s
next is the end, oblivion,
eternity
in the void of space
Pushing
up flowers
Two
and Two are Four
Four
and Four are Eight
Eight
and Eight are Sixteen
and
Sixteen…
and
Sixteen…are Thirty-Two
Hovering over a
cold sterile stainless-steel table
I watched as she
sang, rocking two and fro
Listening to the
rhythm of her sawing dutifully to the ditty
Two
and Two are Four
Four
and Four are Eight
Eight
and Eight are Sixteen
and
Sixteen…
and
Sixteen…are Thirty-Two
It was calming
but altogether eerily sung in a minor tone
Back and forth
went one arm as the other held steady
Such precision,
a planned paradigm affinity
Inch
worm, Inch worm measuring
the
marigold seems to me you’d stop and see
how
beautiful they are…
Gathering her carefully
dissected pieces
Plopped each
piece in a biodegradable planter
Covered with
fertilized earth scooping out a hole
Inch
worm, Inch worm measuring
the
marigold seems to me you’d stop and see
how
beautiful they are…
Transferring the
planters
to a push dolly
nearby
Thirty-two
marigold plants awaited
Two
and Two are Four
Four
and Four are Eight
Eight
and Eight are Sixteen
and
Sixteen…
and
Sixteen…are Thirty-Two
I tapped her
shoulder
as she spun her
eyes fixated on mine
pupils so
dilated and dark she kept singing
Two
and Two are Four
Four
and Four are Eight
Eight
and Eight are Sixteen
and
Sixteen…
and
Sixteen…are Thirty-Two
What did you
place in that planter?
“Food for the
inch worms
to help the
flowers grow” and then continued
Inch
worm, Inch worm measuring
the
marigold seems to me you’d stop and see
how
beautiful they are…
What kind of
food I queried wearily
“Thirty-two
pieces of the man that plagues my mind
he dared ask me
after violating me one last time…What’s next?”
“You
wear your trauma like a badge of honor.
You
need to give that shit up.
It’s
killing you.”
It’s
amazing how observant
and
how blind a person
can
be all at the same time.
The
ignorance
and
blatant shameful manner
in
which they befriend one another.
Unwilling
to accept that
you
don’t get
how
trauma works.
No
one posses
the
Pythagorean Theorem
to
write out its functions.
To
solve
its
relative
answer
Map
out the definitive ratio
of
plus and minus
efforts
of justification.
There
is no rationalizing Trauma,
no fixing,
no better way to deal with it,
no this verses that,
no tit for tat.
And
in saying so,
the
response is
“saying
‘you don’t get it’ is part of the problem.”
Is
it now?
How
many:
-
psychologists
-
psychoanalyst
-
neuroscientist
-
mental health
leaders
have
you surpassed?
Do
you think you’re the Flash?
Running
faster than light,
or
sound, or apparently
reason
that can’t catch you?
I
wear my trauma like a badge of honor…pssshh
You’re
DAMN right I DO!
I’m
a six-star General of Trauma
I’ve
got purple hearts, crosses, congressional medals of honor too –
Fought
more wars in my mind
than
vanished souls lost
to
the Roman-Persian Wars!
No
straight jacket
can
hold the thoughts
of
my mind.
Steal
bars could never cage
my
rabid, feral, anger
once
it’s been roused.
Dangerous
I tell you!!! —
I
am dangerous to myself
and
others a fact I readily reveal.
My
Father is a MARINE
as
his Father before him
raised,
vetted,
trained in tactical warfare
To
this day the only person
my
Father fears is me —
fearful
of his creation
Tremulous
how easily my switch is flipped
knowing
how arduous a task
it
is to get me to snap out of battle mode
The
niece of a Martial Arts Sifu
-
Kung Fu
-
Wing Chun
-
Tai Chi
-
Five Animal Style
-
Drunken Money
Standing
in horse stance,
beat
with a stick to keep
my
stance for hours at a time
This
is my blood,
instinctive
like breathing air
I
can paint demise with the flick of a wrist
So
I plead to others not to anger,
trigger,
or
upset me.
Split
seconds are too long,
too
late,
too
lavish to my skilled highly trained eye.
Have
you any idea
the
type of strength it takes
to
ground myself like a deep-rooted tree?
These
tears streaking my face
aren’t
weakness you fool
they
are kerosene leaking from my fueled tank!
Tired
Resentful
Agitated
Unstoppable
Malice
Aggression
But
it doesn’t have to be this way.
My
trauma is elegant,
beautifully
hand stitched badges of honor
that
tell a story of my strength, my —
Truth
Resilient
Apathy
Unbridled
Magnificent
Adaptability
Trauma
isn’t something you get over, or get through,
there
is no bridge to cross,
nothing
to let go.
When
you can see that trauma
is
the shadows in a painting that
give
it depth, shape, and purpose.
See
that the dark
is
what brings balance
to
the light.
Only
then can you see me as:
-
whole
-
complete
-
strong
-
powerful
-
graceful
-
loving
…human
I
am not something to:
-
fix
-
figure out
-
help heal
-
have pity on
-
try to console
-
force to be moved
My
trauma doesn’t have me,
nor
does it define me,
or
control me.
I’ve
been in command
of
this vessel far longer
than
anyone else.
So
now that
I
stand up
for
myself.
Now
that I won’t permit
others
to wipe their shoes
on
my face.
Because
my fight or flight button
is
permanently set to fight,
you
don’t get to tell me who to be.
You
don’t get to write my narrative
or
inject your “positive thinking” ways
as
the solution.
Inside
the oubliette of my mind
is
a place that only the blind can see
with
admiration.
It
gives hope to others
that
someone like me,
like
them,
like
us all is still fighting!
…
To
live through simply
this
moment
…
Into
the next, extending past
what
you considering living
and
we consider surviving just another day.
Messiah dreaming
We stand at a
forgetful point.
A new silence
awaits us.
We stand at a
forgetful point,
crafted by
ambrosial solipsism.
We stand at a
forgetful point.
We’re in the
audacious dark.
We stand at a
forgetful point
in this kingdom of
atrophy.
We stand at a
forgetful point,
sun-bathing life
necrotic.
We stand at a
forgetful point,
forgetting our own
image
in the mirror of
shrapnel,
speaking shards
into arteries
pumping lies
parallel panic
attacks Alabaster
America,
hollow as a ghost,
spiritless jaundice
& gunfire.
We stand at a
forgetful point.
Hangman of peace
gazes at
child’s empty
electric exorcism.
We stand at a
forgetful point.
Unpursed lips
slide somber SOS.
We stand at a
forgetful point.
Can you hear
Serenity’s sarcasm?
We stand at a forgetful
point,
convinced of no
next sigh
upon the altar of
smiley emojis,
with the wind of
woke wanderers
in Neon Nazi now.
We stand at a
forgetful point.
Ahead of our bodies,
we’re alive:
somewhere,
somewhere else…
Counting tomorrow,
we’re inebriated
with hope,
looking for the
next fix.
Let us play with words
If you think I am demanding
what do you think of her,
my poetry, shadow, alter ego
my twin sister
she won’t let me sleep
unless I dream my next poem
in color, of course
and using all five senses
no rhyming but rhythm
and an exquisite choice of words,
simple and sophisticated
personal and poetic,
printable and proper
descriptive and demonstrative
fresh and freely flowing
and what not.
Imagery is indispensable
courage and creativity
daring details
emulating emotions
from everyday life
uniquely universal.
There is more to it,
but start with this first.
Don’t get lost in the game
you will have to sign your name
and remember art is for playing
life for living.
The World and I
Like many others
I have dug deep
into the meanings
value and worthlessness
of all things in life
only having to stop
at the closed gate
of Ultimate Knowing
over and over facing
the eternal unknowable meaning
and limitations of a human at any age.
I see my own poverty
within the lushness of nature
and the world around me,
including gifts so kindly given
whether I understand or not
know what to do or not
whether I remember to share
all I have or not.
The more I doubt myself,
the more I see the connection
of me, a tiny, worthless atom,
joined with the rest.
Summer Dreams
Lying on my back in bed
I close my eyes and see
mountains in the distance
old trees with big branches
almost breaking to touch
the flowing water
Both the river and I
listen to the same lullaby
from the soft breeze and
the hum of the leaves
of a massive aspen tree
spreading shade around its base
When I get hot.
I wade into the cool water
of the welcoming river
then choose my spot
under the perfect tree
to take a nap.
I lay down with closed eyes
listening to the sweet song
of quivering aspen leaves
and the soothing murmur
of the close flowing waters
lulled into a deep sleep
floating on unforgettable dreams
Photo by Coco The World I see the world as a so-so place yeah you’ve got – new tech, new cars, phones, computers but then you have – ...
