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Justin Presson Poem
Allow altruistic artistry among ailing american adversaries.
Bartering begins before begging beasts break brothers.
Capture calamity controlling catastrophe calming castration.
Dedicate decisions directed down dreary deaf disillusionment.
Eradicate equality earning efficient energetic epiphany.
Follow fallen foreigners forgetting faithful flight from fluid folly.
Gasping greatness growing grapes given golden goodness.
Halt hollow hearts hearing helpless happiness.
Imagine impurity imitating indestructible ice inflicting impotent illness.
Justify jolly jerusalem jingling janitors joining january’s jewelry.
Kill kindergarten kings kicking kindly kindred kilts.
Lament likeable links lingering lowly light like lavender letters.
Mount monetary moments melting motherly marshal monuments.
Negate nightly notions noticing nurtured naughty nakedness.
Open oblivious obligation of odd operative oceans.
Propagate proposed premonitions producing proud pirate papas.
Quiet quilted questions quickly quoting quaint qualm quandary.
Remember righteous royalty returning rotten remnant rage.
Skip silent sulking surrounding super salty sounds squeezing sanity.
Teach talented tearful tyrants total trivial topics training treason.
Utter utopian universality upon united unitarian usurpers.
Violate vermin validity valuing victorious vomiting virgin volunteers.
Wash wandering women wondering whether western whiteness welcomes war.
X-ray xeric xenophobic xylem-made xebec.
Yearn yellow yearlings yelling yonder yuletide yachtsmen.
Zebra.
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2007
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Justin Presson Poem
In the night
Silence shows us
Who we really are
A P C C S F F F F L I B B
F A O O O L O R A O N L I
R R R N U A O A I S D A T
A A R V L W L G T T I S T
I L U I L E I I H F P E
D I P C E D S L L F H R
Z T T S H E E E E
E E S S R M
D D S E O
N U
T S
F O R G I V E N . . . . . . . . .
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2009
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Justin Presson Poem
Home is this gutter
Out of the windy cold
Hidden under rags
An afghan of trials
and tribulations
And memories of failed
tests
Family is foreign
An unfamiliar song
Pounded out on an out
Of tune piano
Littered with broken strings
Language is guttural
As is survival
With neighbors coughing
Around to keep me from sleeping
And the squeaking of shopping carts
This modern day Hooverville
Is forced upon me
By futile unfounded expense
For war abroad
Rather than at home
Where freezing starvation is as
Much an enemy as liquor and
Crack
This is a battlefield where guns do not
Sound
Nor sirens
Salvation’s chorus
Marked with red crosses
Defeat and despair
Do not flounder as we do
They thrive
And feed
When we do not
All I ask for is a little Change.
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2007
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Justin Presson Poem
Chapter books give glimpses of
Happy days and better times.
Answers are not provided, only
Negligent promises of far-flung majesty and
Grand illusion to poison the heart and
Eat away at the soul.
Yesterday is portrayed as an
Opulent image of fanciful falsehoods and
Unruly heroes conquering the status quo and
Rescuing the individuality we hold so dear.
Maybe someday we all will look past this lofty
Illustration and see the harsh truth that
Needs to be understood before
Destruction breeds complacency and devours the fighter within us all.
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2008
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Justin Presson Poem
Inch worm inch by inch
Butterfly hue upon hue
Locust dying soon
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2009
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Justin Presson Poem
acceptance of failure
is a talent acquired over time
the young man i was
could never comprehend
the freedom failure
bestows
the feeling of humanity
in every tear shed
over an impossible path
i have discovered for the first
time that i am as small
as a gnat on the back of a
gnat
under the microscope of a
gnat
which was created by a
gnat
and will be born again
as a butter-
fly
this knowledge shows the patience
that experience
manifests within the young adult
psyche
the older me
will read this wise inscription
and giggle
at the innocence
of its shallow meditation
the gray me will
rewrite the moral
and manipulate the meaning
to reflect the chaos
that each beat of the young
newly-born butterfly’s wings
has imparted on the future
that has now transformed the reader
into a luna moth
and carried by the wind just
before a ravenous storm
the moth i will be
will finally
be stripped bare
to expose the frailness
of the man who dwelled within
and as each tear falls from the heavens
all that i once knew
and all that I have learned will
dissolve
to be consumed
by
a
gnat.
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2007
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Justin Presson Poem
That's not my elephant!
It's spaghetti on a spoon!
Ella held back tears.
2nd graders can be so cruel,
just like the bill of rights!
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2010
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Justin Presson Poem
In an empty car lot,
Airbag,
CRASH!
We miss the hounding
We miss the hail damage sales
We miss the drag-it-in trades
Empty lots
Airbag,
Crash!!!
When we gettin’ the bail out
Closing overseas
Closing 35%
Dusty, empty lots
Airbag,
CRASH!!!
Dropping lesser brands
Higher fuel standards
When we getting’ the bail out
Empty, empty lots
Airbag,
CRASH!!!
Commissioned to feed families
Commissioned to fail
Commissioned to beg
Commissioned to relocate
Commissioned to set up tents
Next to other tents
Can’t afford an
Airbag,
CRASH!!!
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2009
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Justin Presson Poem
What is it about dread that controls us? The mixture of fear and loathing that
consumes the contents of an empty bottle, longing for concentration and proof.
Do we confuse the child within with the promise of loving past? To be trapped in
the closet crying insinuates passion that is manifested through burden of truth.
Fallen is the plight of earthbound angels with clipped wings of faith. Paralysis
inhibits the quest of sequestered fanaticism and belief. Eaten by earthly gilded
belief. Why does the clock taunt the merciful memories of divine imagery? Why
must that price be paid to know isolation? From birth the struggle defines and
outlines the matrix of conflicting souls. The constant crash and collision of
innocence tainted by truth. This feeling is certain and intoxicating. No truth could
be truer. No faith could be more devout. The absolution of death disembowels
the continuance of self-repair. Does the collar impair judgment or empower
concentration? Can the songs of holy impunity comfort like the caress of a
mother? Will the tears drown unselfish giving?
The answer is simple.
The journey is hard.
The gift is reverence.
Light, when will I learn the lesson?
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2007
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Justin Presson Poem
been up watching
their tube
most of
the night
singing
badly
gaming
constantly
bleeding
on
pavement
Where are the breasts?
No death
No sex
No drugs
No rules
but rules
PG-13
Life
Digital
Coma
come back
to
reality
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2010
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