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Below are poems written by poet Matthew Harris. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.

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Firearms magazine offer manifold big bang for their buck, 
many ear rational per son or daughter loves advocate, the late chuck 
heston (now a shooting star occasionally visiting Earth from celestial vault) 
   who fired undulation, imagination, and ballistic adulation 
   heard das squaw coon like Donald Duck
head over webbed feet for Minnie, yet both scared of ratcheting 
   mushrooming armaments to the teeth sinister race, 
   barrels along at alarming spike 
   triggering dramatic uptick of innocent lives caught in crosshairs, 
   or stray slug makes a bee line whizzing at the speed of greased lightening
   where luckless lie dead, when trigger happy urge itches 
   to overtake sanity madman/woman glorifying while squeezing lever, 
   whence bullet released, endangering unsuspecting lives
   and engendering outrageous spike in wanton killings - 
a one or more person shell act, releasing whizzing elliptic mach one ballet 
   boring into flesh with aplomb and pluck.
Die-hard gun owners indiscriminately brandish 
loaded pistol when jist a whippersnapper sparking unwarranted violence 
   undermining innocent victim or two, or three, or...
   concomitantly provoking furious backlash, 
   as government half heartedly aims to dull liver restrictions, 
   the right to pack heat
    (purportedly in accordance with second amendment), 
   where NRA members dish
out violent objections, while proliferation mounts allowing easy access 
    to revolutionary palm pilot size guns with concomitant firing power range 
    glamorized by violent movies in tandem with lobbyists 
    obstructing legislation requiring back round checks
   against unlimited stock pile, thus nodding assonance 
   permitting a glut of phallic shaped mechanisms designed to kill, 
   as acquiesce evinced via banshee cockamamie cashiered eggheads
   who dilute down restrictions, whereby a colt following
   hoofs from doe ting fauns fingering powerful weapons, 
   despite murderous spree, where senseless bloody coup fuels fusillade
   empowering citizens to possess off fish
U.S., self-important protection becoming comfortably numb
   as regular headlines detail some lone, maniacal    
human set on automatic pilot to kill methodically unloading with a swish
multitudinous cartridges encasements testament 
   attempt to even deadly score, or wish
to take revenge vendetta amidst madding crowds - 
   uttering oye vay iz mere - Yiddish.

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017


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