My Poems

My poems are not for leisure
They are guns 
Aim at imperial anatomy
Notes slipped to a teller’s eyes
For easy withdrawal
Of ancestral deposits
My poems are not for leisure
They are flowers for graves
Of dead theories and foolish warriors
Who slave for vanity
Flowers cover well the rot
Of lovers’ insanity.
My poems are not for leisure
They are for children
Who have heard the piper’s call
After the elevation of the rats
Who put banks on crutches 
Of tarp funds, bailing out
On mortgages where homeless
Families wander 
In insensitive arguments of the street
My poems will never be silent
Against Godless lies
And crooks impenitent 
In Congress or Parliaments
Striking from the dark of consciences
Bleeding alone in teary trenches
Gasping the green gas
Of laws muting its militant lines
I give you my poem – not anesthesia
Just wine.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Tugaff Avatar
May 12, 2009 at 7:49 AM
Very nice my friend, very nice indeed. Ernilando
Wordslinger Avatar
May 11, 2009 at 3:17 PM
No thats what I'm talking about, Nice. Awesome
Devonshire Avatar
May 10, 2009 at 2:58 AM
This poem says much about the reasons writers vent their thoughts in verse, David. Like you, I see poetry as "Notes slipped to a teller's eye for easy withdrawal." An amazing write here, certainly "not anesthesia," truly anything but that! This is one for my favorites. Love, Carolyn
Chircop Avatar
May 8, 2009 at 1:03 PM
yes this is pure white wine,red deep wine---wonderful--charma
Jordan Avatar
May 8, 2009 at 6:45 AM
David this poem is is the truth of who we are - God Bless -mj
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