with madcap medusa-bells,
dressed in melodic-motley uniform.
A sea of foamy frills
frame the famed renaissance storyteller,
a creature feature
of phantasm for frightened children.
His ghost-white face
with comedic war paint.
acts the fool,
preaching to the pompadour.
Folly finds the frolicking ear
of the entertained king,
even at the news of sinking ships.
The king’s delighted,
as balls lollygag around his throne room,
and pins dance before his eyes.
spirals spry and smiling.
Claps his cacophonous hands.
The puppet court amplifies the sound.
The buffoon’s very wise,
buried behind his makeup.
control the crown.
Royally screws the court
with tasteless remarks
and they bow over in laughter.
In the backroom formulates his investment plan.
of drama and lies,
of liberties and surprise.
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2017
WEATHERING THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT
In this, the death prone winter of our discontent,
the world lay languishing from mitotic chaos
and malignant uncertainty---spreading a pandemic
cancer of destruction over the body of our moral humanity.
Infected rebirth cells of ancient crusade history
scatter world wide---blown like dry leaves
in chilling winds of cold war seasons.
Here, in the frozen season of time, Armageddon
stalks democracy in the chilled midnight hour;
while in the twilight of the eve of destruction,
world watchers waddle the time away: constructively
engaged in spotlight moments of warming scenes.
With a bloody but unbowed head, let not our world wallow wearily
in the mirage of winter’s defeat; nor allow her frigid blast
to shatter the bruised reed of hope or out the burning wick of love.
Let us stare adversity in the eye, rekindling the spirit of unity;
let us refashion the crumbled, rejected stones of our moral society;
we building a new and better world where we hold it to be self evident:
peace---perfect peace, is the dominant ethos of our recaptured humanity.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015
I live in a place striving for sobriety surrounded in alcohol looking for happiness trapped among our very own sadness. I hear my people’s laughs and I hear my people’s cries, but most of all I see their dreams because their dreams are my dreams because we remain not against each other today as enemies but hidden friends united through culture, language and blood. I laugh with my people and of course I cry with my people and I fight with my people but most of all I continue to dream with my people. I know who I am and where I am from to know where I been to still hope to where I am going to go. I feel darkness engulf not only myself but also almost my entire reservation’s race, no matter mixed or not because soon our culture and language will have no face without any more light to shine upon it. I know where I lived and still live to know if I will truly go where I truly want to go in life before I have my one walk with death. I know by a long shot that I am not the best but by a close hit on the reservation’s target I could be better.
I take a stand against self to stand against others to better a worsening crowd of many young lost indigenous souls waiting to be unknowingly found and waiting for something similar to what I’m about to write. I take a stand for self so that others know that we aren’t all lost and we can and will be found with the true hope of no one’s but your own. I take a stand because my brothers and sisters wont, I take a stand because now days most the people around me or within me can’t or don’t know how, I take a stand for the children who don’t have a father and mother as I once had, I take a stand for my unborn child almost here, I take a stand for courage because within me is filled with fear, I take a stand against because the alcohol and drugs within me now I just can’t stand, I take a stand for those around me who cannot stand, I take a stand for a culture dying on its knee’s trying to get back up, I take a stand for the forsaken yet to be forgiven self-stand.
I patiently wait, lying away in the darkness searching for light even though I can see the light I just don’t know how to get on thy path to the light. I am not alone, I know for a fact that I am not alone in my thoughts and feelings about life on earth here. I can see our pain, I can hear the hollers and screams, I can feel your anguish and I can smell our destruction. I walk through the reservation valley of darkness as if I am but a blind witness to our own destruction upon where many of us go unknown truly forever in depths of time, in the depths of death.
I know that I cannot give in or give up on a dream of a people’s dream where the buffalo in our young hearts and minds may roam around free and where the wolf warrior chief may rise above all odds and become thy greatest modern day warrior, the people seek him, the people crave him, the people need him, the people need someone to rise if not geographically the worldwide mentally.
Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012
neurotic narcotics reared reason in rows,
plucked pith-fully from truth,
agile enough in politick to anesthetise the waste,
languishing amongst the cling-filmed choral-forms
of symbiotic silicone…
the future lay dormant,
adjudicating the agricultural status
of domesticated foreign policy…
Copyright © William Ward | Year Posted 2006
Scattering time that does not get used
Clicking clicking away sounds of shoes
Ticking ticking with the rhythm
Pencil tapping tapping while thinking
Warm feeling of relief time non existing
The view that never reaches
Far far beyond the moment wasted
Looping Looping a sense that is gone
Eye eying eying the hands that move
Then the outcome of boredom appears
Humming the words of wasted time
Grouping grouping with slow rate
Irate irate nothing done to get done
Now passing passing no understanding why
Delayed work that need done is now done
Copyright © Reynaldo Mast | Year Posted 2015
This may cause horror or consternation
Or spark your deep imagination
It may be met with fascination –
I’d be honored to die by assassination
Ghandi, Kennedy, Martin Luther King
Lincoln and John Lennon, ‘tis of Thee I sing
I want my life to be the difference
That helps us rise beyond indifference
Make peace and joy our only preference
Be the turning point for future’s reference
I’d like to be a voice for sanity,
Offer some other choice than vanity,
Speak of truth and not insanity,
And thus bring love back to humanity
If it’s any indication of my utter indignation with the madness inter-nation,
I‘d like for my narration from creative imagination to live on in syndication
I’d spread the information that increases man’s elation
And love for all creation ,thus avoiding all damnation for eternity’s duration
Yes, I’d love to be the voice for sanity
And thus bring man back to humanity
So it is -- So be it -- So I say -- So Amen
Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2007
When You Really Discern…
‘Why The Drama?’ Pattern
When You Perceive…
Who Demands and Why?... Proceed…
… to Ply and Pry to Ascertain…
’ He Deserves This Portion-Acclaim’
and Drumming-Heart, Soulful-Desire…
and Defer-Strength to Dry-Pyre
and Humble-Pie, Donated-Data –
in Your Plea-Bargain-Brain- Por-Nada
Disperse the Diaspora
Prefer Real-Deal and Retain Prerogative-Honor
To, The Divine and Peerless…
Person of God – of Pure-Spirits
… Whose Personage Positively…
Remains Due-Homage and Dignity
Of The Direct-Pact - Empirical
Drawn and Done,
with His Precious DayStar-Son,
Who Deigned to Come
by The Father’s Decree…
Was Dispatched with Poise-Prudently
as Probe and Provision…
for Our Poverty and Pleurisy-Drain-Derision
He is The Pivot-Portrayal of Royal…
of Dazzling Famed-Piety and Propriety!
The Possessor and Presenter
and The Permission-for-us-to Speak and Palace-Enter
This Potentate Happy One...
Proof-Explained and Patent-Won
Delving Mysteries; Described Memories;
Drawing Forth Miracle-Draperies
and In Deference…
As A Pro-Dative – Proconsul-Presence…
He Maintains Preference
and Displays: That, The Dynamic-Will…
and Determined-Purpose Still,
Definitely, is Top-Priority…
One… and The Preeminent-Same… Pardon-Plea
He Is The Presiding – Deciding-Door-Key…
Precisely! - Praise-Accordingly!
For We Are Wind-Swept, Droves of Dust…
Dirt and Air-Gusts,
Now, Plundered-Seeds… Still-Planted…
Packed to Earth, Properly-Contained and Patted
if We Continue to Divide…
Disfigure, Pilfer and Hide
From SonShine, then in Dirty-Prairie…
We’ll be Permanent-Lain- and Perjury
If ‘We Choose’ to Develop…
Too Low-Down, to Peel-Hope
The Preview, We’ll Not Regain…(We Deserted!)
Its Our Duty and Delight…
to Reach Dawn-Heights
and Par-Policy: Dump Rotted Produce…
and Pitch-Pit-Grain- Pro-Ruse
Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009
Sullen Sylvia sadly
Departed deeply devestated by
Her husband's heartless
Departure for a deadly damsel
Copyright © Courtney Dyer | Year Posted 2009