the world can be a rabid dog, a goD frothing backwards while Mr. Clean reads
a sermon from the pulpit as a false prophet causing me to yell, "Shim-shum
shimmeny-shum, up from the shadows of the Shoalin slum! Fee-fi-foe-fum,
eye smell the blood of a fallen one!" My pen was a sword, 'twas inevitable eye
would end up skewered upon its venomous tip as violence begets violence yet
silence is just a distorted sort of violent indifference. Live by the s.word, die by
the s.word, so eye buried ghosts in the sands of Kyushu, revamped my stylo
into a drunken vomit spewing masochist churning blood and piss into another
batch of sum county mulberry moonshine. Instead of a wu-tang sword, eye have
me a la la la la la la la la la lush of a drunken quill spilling forth the woo to the foo
times twenty-two thousand and dirty-three. Blame it on the pen, but wot came first,
the chicken or the egg? Who is the bad influence on whom, weaving excuses on a
loom propped up by yet another empty bottle of the wicked county prune. Eye want
to write lines of eloquence filled with bullfrogs and butterflies, rainbows and baby's
breath, but this drunken pen has a mind of its own, slithering in-between the scene
of salesmen saying it from rusted metallic mountaintops, "I have found the way, 'tis
not YOUR way, so cut your hair son ok!" Hey hey hey! wot are you referring to?
Elohim, miholah, bespolah, holapsfofahcahmall? ?Fofahcahmall? Theysbe suddenly
sounding very small while this pen of mine is drinking itself into a stupour, brewing
up another stew of vomiticus grammaticus long.windy.gusts - eye didn't intend on
rhyming these lines, my drunken pen has once again taken over, pushing me to
letgoletgo and pray in hopes that it drinks itself straight in order for bullfrogs,
butterflies and everything nice like sugar, lollipops and rainbows to finally begin to
show from out of the freaky flow of this ultra triple-distilled drunken ink - slow right
down into something quaint and normal, wash this drunken mess down the sink
without having to fink with my dirty think, my dirty think - the first sign of the crime
is denial - drunken pen, drunken hand? Drunken hand, drunken pen? Oh good Lord,
here come the bends once again, yeah, here come the bends again, there's only one
thing left to do and it's to fold this paper into a neat package eye can mail off to the
People-In-The-Sky so they can offer me some insight into all of the reasons why
I was born in a world of poverty and soiled life of a third world country
The way I lived till I was five years of age was walls of boundary
These walls had towers of guards that had no heart or care
If a child would try to climb the wall they lose their life I swear
Father had drank and threatened my mother with a knife
My father lost his job and wife and that was the hardship of life
He stopped my mother from taking off with me in her arm
Hoping that my father would ignore and left me be with no harm
When my father went off to drink one night and came home with rage
My brothers stood by my crib and took a beating that set up the next stage
My father had woken up to three scared children half starved and in pain
His final words as he walk away from the orphanage gate live life do not go insane
I was still a baby in the orphanage; the caretakers did not really care about the babies
They stole items and materials those wicked men and maternal evil ladies
They starved all the babies because it cost a lot to keep them alive
As a child of that age I could feel the sins and greed that gave out bad vibes
I was ignorant about what I drank and ate, as I see white maggots move in my bottle
As I see them move I thought about how they were playing and some were hostel
They ate each other to keep each other alive in a manner that took me by surprise
In the back round I hear others throwing things with sounds of painful cries
I got very strong at a young age I was able to start pulling myself up over the cage
My feelings were to see my brothers with strong lungs that I cried out of rage
My two brothers came to see me and sneak food into my crib
The caretaker would find the food in my hands as they grabbed it and hit me on my ribs
As painful as it was I kept eating the food with blood in my mouth as it was instinct
I sometimes laid in my crib dazed and confused with smell of death so distinct
With all my might I kept myself strong and climb the small wall
I finally was old enough to get out of the building and I could hear my brothers call
With tears of joy with short legs that ran as fast as my heart
I ran to my brothers arms and held their hands to have a new start
I grew stronger everyday but more things came into my life in a manner of dismay
If my brothers stay by my side I could smile and everyday their would be okay
Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less
My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less
I cringed for originality
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less
Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less
So many things that I'm unsure about
I've lived a life uncut
Could not erupt
Till I was cured of doubt
A sentry watching a century pass
I've learned a lot
It's been a long way
from the halls of elementary class
I've been a loner
And I've been a stoner
I've studied Plato's Republic
Read both epics from Homer & loved it
I've never been shot
Hopefully I never am
My only goal's to improve
You can't find yourself
a better man
When it's all said & done
I'ma give you 100 percent
Raising the bar
Cuz like you I'm just a regular person
I keep it real
You can judge me
Or call it rude
But life wears down to dust
100 years of solitude
Will change your outlook
Make you question yourself
Look for the truth
Don't rest till you've exhausted the proof
That's the path for me
Whether you think I'm right or wrong
Or consider my poetry blasphemy
Would you deny my existence
Like the loch ness?
Would you damn me for my past
Cuz my record isn't spotless?
Had my fair share of grief
That prepared me for despair
Followed by shock & disbelief
Children being blown to bits
Watched a nation
choose guns over kids
Almost no hesitation
Point was made
The matter put to rest & laid
Sent teachers back to school
to explain it to the 1st grade?
Racial issues in America are getting the best of us
You want a free country
But not for the rest of us
That kind of frame of mind
I gotta say's average
Our own government barely recognizes gay marriage
So how do I teach kids
Not to be prejudice?
When all they gotta do's log onto Facebook
is written on the wall of your friend's page
They say its their opinion
That's good enough to defend hate?
Try paying attention to the tension
I'm done praying
Men shun & it goes unmentioned
I'm just saying
Leaders with all of your veteran swag
How about you try restoring faith back in the American flag?
I'ma definitely do my part
To bring change
Speaking only what's in my heart
Don't make this a black vs white thing
Make it a wack vs right thing
That's how I'll honor Trayvon Martin
The Crusades Began a Holy War
Which Continues to this Day.
We Kill, and Kill, and Now it Seems,
This shall Always be the Way.
One Side Scores, the Others Die,
Then the Cycle is Repeated.
It never Stops, It’s never Done;
The Battles Grow More Heated!
The Way to Peace, it Seems so Clear,
Is not Through Senseless Slaughter.
I Appeal to All, “Please Quit the Fight!”
Save our Sons and Daughters!
To Find Our Way out of the Dark,
We Need only Seek the Light.
A Solution Lies within our Grasp:
Forget who’s Wrong or Right!
This God or that, it Makes no Matter.
This Truth I have Acquired:
Be they Different, or the Same,
The Gods would Preach Cease Fire!
The chook defense
Now I’m no vegetarian
Though I’d like that this could be
At seventy I’ll never change
So I’m just stuck with me
And I really love’s me chook
In every kind of way
But now I’m in the mood I’m in
I just have this to say…..
If we’re going to eat these chooks
Don’t we owe them some respect
We treat them like commodities
But what I might reflect
Is, if we treat these creatures thus
That God placed on this earth
Then we neglect our very souls
And too our own self worth.
Those birds are treated so damn mean
How can one understand
This cruelty, are we then humane?
It don’t look too damn grand
And where’s the goodness in a food
That’s never seen the sun
So when we treat these birds like this
What damage have we done?
That chicken flue was scary, once
But who knows much at all
About the karma that can come
From things, unnatural.
It’s time for changes in this world
When dosh is not the ‘all’
And then humane might be a word
That’s truly wonderful
10 July 2013 @ 1301hrs.
I see Beyond The Boundaries
Winter arrived before her time
Usurping part of autumn’s decline
Came in with a vengeance bent on crime
Harsh not smooth like a fine wine
Her sting bore a resemblance to life
Her temper reaped violence and strife
Baring her weapons took untold lives
Only the strongest were able to survive
Black Friday wielded the same attitudes
Rage and violence struck without gratitude
What has happened to plain simple courtesy?
Evil struck early to deter the Spirit of Mercy
I lift my hands to you Oh Lord Send your Spirit
Saturate this earth with your power so evil fears it
Lift the haughty spirit that looms over the land
Sooth the tempest with the kindness of your hand
Paula Swanson’s Contest
I See Beyond…
Out of the darkness
I step into light
Everything in my life turned Bright
The promise of light
Came in and took control
Now I am on a roll
The violence of the past
Is no longer there
No more pain do I bear
The dreams of the future
Are there and ready
Moving slow and steady
Out of the darkness
Comes the light
I am filled with delight
The promise of light
Fills me with joy
Like a child getting a christmas toy
The violence of the past
Died a death...painful and slow
I am ready come on let's go
The dreams of the future
I can finally live and be free
Out of the darkness
I step into light
Everything in my life turned BRIGHT!
cold caused fatigues
the colors of a life
silenced behind the continuous intrigues
each step a mile
distance a dream
the color-blinded wet eyes
no longer hiding a huge courageous smile
all valiant steps
capture free miles
each stage a victory
beyond that wooden and iron spiderwebs
closed that hateful gate with a resolute slap
ahead a new colorful life to unwrap
© Ellie Daphne
The paddock’s filled with bulls
All waiting there to die
They don’t have too much future
For the farmer, he’s the guy
Who has the power of life, and death
He decides what lives and dies
As he fattens each beast carefully
That’s where his money lies.
I see these creatures roaming round
And it makes me feel quite sad
To know that for my appetite
These beasts be treated bad
The taste of steak is mighty good
But what a price we pay
I eat my share of it, that’s true
Perhaps I’ll stop one day!
One paddock filled with bulls
It opens my eyes wide
To realize these wondrous beasts
Throughout the years have died
So I might feast with bulging belly
It really is not fair
Living on this little farm
It fills my heart with care.
To whit to be caught between two brothers
and become the sport of many others
She kept her heart from loving true
but not from the damage passing through
Oh twice spent the beauties coin
did deliberate vengence to purloin
thought knowingly did enter door
in spite she cast them to the floor
Though twas for couple it's own collusion
the device and trap it's own illusion
the crimes waylaid doth carry to the grave
to curse ones soul as fearful and not brave
Twas the story carried in her mind
her face to others she wished were blind
and with ones sight to look upon her heart
to know in violence was her start
She thought those sins would ever last
or to shake the paths of her past
in her fears her heart down cast
she did not know to forgiveness ask
Unable to differentiate between love and need
or if womans desire was only greed
If man looks upon her with his smile
is he looking for love or just another trial
She asks those questions to this day
must there be violence to graveyard pay
for many men have forced their way
in their behavior did have no say
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
mr. hope & change is saddened again,
as just a few weeks ago the nation mourned
the deaths of those blown away in a movie
now a skinhead takes out 6 in a Wisconsin
Sikh temple &
yet the refrain is the same---
not only will he not address the real issues at
he sends his little babbling bird, mr. carney,
out to do the dirty work,
telling us that it’s the gangs that kids are
joining, which lead to these violent
and when they start to piss out their mouths,
these talking heads whose strings are
pulled by the gun lobby in the US,
they start to dabble in the most inhuman
for we all know the statistics,
we all know that in the UK, the homicide rate
due to firearms
is ridiculously low in comparison to this land
who sleep with a goddamned six-shooter
beneath their mattresses &
yet because this empire is based on violence,
the violence it spreads all over the globe,
the violence that it beats down on its citizens
is it any wonder that once in a blue moon,
somebody ends up killing a bunch of people
with a gun they got on the internet while
simultaneously playing a video game?
so “how many deaths will it take till’ we know?”
maybe if somebody goes on a rampage
every couple of weeks?
hmmm….ya think then that charlie heston & the
boys will stop jacking off &
rethink their policies?
maybe if there is a rampage every week,
mr. hope & change will get off his ass &
actually do something, regardless of how far
off november is?
don’t hold your ****ing breath.
Then I heard her footstep getting closer.
READER BEWARE DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE FOLLOWS
This time she picked me up by my throat and pined me up the wall,
screaming at me, finger in my face while smashing my head on the wall.
Bashing my head in the air screaming "PUT YOUR BLOODY HANDS DOWN!",
again I was air borne, but this time I went flying into the lounge.
Curled up in a ball with my hands covering my head, I was crying hysterically,
she screamed again "GET UP RIGHT NOW, I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET!!!"
she pulled one of my arms and grabbed me by my ear, and up again I was.
screaming at me, PUT YOUR HAND DOWN, AND LOOK ME IN THE EYES!!!.
As I lowered my hands she started whacking my head screaming, "STOP CRYING"
over and over again.
Trying to summon the strength to hold it all in,
almost impossible, like trying to swallow soccer balls in my throat.
I managed to control it to like that hiccup kind,
Shaking and trebling hoping that I wouldn’t cry,
bearing in mind that I was still a child,
my emotions I still, couldn't keep under control.
So much pain, My butt stung, my hair felt like it had been ripped out,
all dizzy and daze, my head throbbed, and there was a burn in my eyes.
but I finally did lowered my hands and I look her straight in the eyes,
WHACK I few again.
This time my face was on fire my ear rung so bad,
a high pitch screech inside my head, I rolled over and over in pain.
This time when she said get out of my face,
I moved so fast I slide in the carpet and hit my face on the door frame.
Up stairs I ran, dived on top of my bed,
covered my face with my pillow, so my whimpers couldn't be heard.
trying not to cry, begging in my mind for it stop,
then I heard that sound….(Pacing) ….. my body shook.
I knew it wouldn't be long, before she worked herself up,
Pacing back and forth talking to herself,
justifying the reason’s I need more.
I just wait for the stomping to get closer to my door.
True to form it happened.
The poem I have just told is a true story, cause it did happen to me,
this was only one time, I'd had hundreds more before I hit my teens.
Back in my day family violence was never talked about,
It was happening everywhere, just about every house.
Family violence is wrong and it needs to be stopped,
but this will never happen, if you voice doesn’t shout out.
Don't be like me, riddled with fear and shame,
someone out there cares, just tell them about your pain.
M.Mahauariki © 2012
A man acquainted with sorrows and grief
be it then was bruised for our relief
the ones ruling over them kept them in pain
but struck was he so we might Life regain
All like sheep have wandered astray
but he announced to the crowds Gods new day
no violence could be found in his actions done
he spoke of peace in the kingdom to come
He fed the hungry and gave to the poor
tender of heart and kind to his core
oppressed was he and sore afflicted
falsely accused by traditionalists indicted
A quiet man who spoke of verity
taught of loving kindness and mercies charity
the man he was did the broken draw
in every point did he fulfill Gods Law
The works of his hands righteous and clean
his judgment was pure and never mean
a candle whose light has dispelled the dark
his praise for his Father did all his works mark
Jehovah pronounced this the Son he approved
to him was beloved and the World reproved
no harm could be found in his heart or hand
those who follow him will the same stance stand
He sought not mens praise or their vainglory
yet acquired Gods love but by man treated poorly
unlike the kings who Lord over their kin
washed the feet of disciples those lower than him
Did demonstrate he how to walk Truths Way
by example showed traits his disciples display
with accurate judgment in all that he did
to become like him to his disciples he bid
We are not worthy of God to approve
if we do not from our lives violence remove
those who hate and practice manslaughter
cannot become his Son or his daughter
To become like him the Truth you must drink
it must cleanse from you what the world think
upon his teaching consume as your bread
without his life in you , you are still dead..
sources Ps 18 , Is 53 and the gospels
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C Michael Miller