Best Canisters Poems
Animals forced to do man's fatal, dirty work
Penalised by the superior species
Men without sanity, crazy, berserk
Dogs delivering bombs get blown to pieces,
Animal mascots, monkeys, pigs, cats
Bat bombs fall, canisters with parachutes
Explosive grenades stuffed inside dead rats
Mules carrying goods, war tank substitutes,
Animals feel pain, depression, dreaded fear
Extreme injuries, wound camp training day
No animal rights, cheap lousy career
Hounds carry notes with messages to relay,
Animals in war forgotten victims ~
Lest we forget we sacrificed millions
Exploding Airbags
There you have it, another car user death reported in an accident..
Somewhere in Houston , Detroit a 17 Year old is the latest statistic...
As in any day, while being on the road, we risk getting into an accident..
As luck would have it, most of us survive to live and tell, to relive the incident....
With the latest technological advances in vehicular safety incorporated in cars..
We all spare nary a second thought on the issue of exploding airbags in cars...
But this latest accident, what a scary piece of news for the unwary driver...
The car being driven, it could have been fitted with faulty air inflators...
There has been a massive recall on affected cars the world all over....
Is that nice family car you are driving one of these affected car models...
In this latest accident, this unlucky Richmond girl rear ended another car...
Nothing to it, it was just a minor accident, another mishap involving cars...
In the words of the investigating police officer, most people safely walk away..
But in this unfortunate case, the sudden jolt triggered the airbag inflators...
Safe to imagine, the exploding force blasted to smithereens metal canisters...
Imagine the split second moment of flying metal shards and shrapnels all over..
What an unimaginable deathtrap in the fine cosy interior of a nice family car...
If one is unlucky, one will not live to tell the tale of walking away unscathed..
So here it is, a little info on this unintentional death that endangers all drivers...
Each time we get into our nice family cars, are they safe enough, do you wonder?
http://www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2016/05/05/honda-two-more-takata-linked-airbag-deaths-in-malaysia/
http://finance.yahoo.com/news/honda-reports-10th-us-death-192952748.html
http://finance.yahoo.com/news/11-people-died-due-exploding-200801611.
http://www.safercar.gov/rs/takata/takatalist.html
http://www.safercar.gov/
Twas a dark knight,
whence there came a pawn the hushed crowded movie house
A phantom of horror sprung out of the rookery that wrought deadly havoc
Renting asunder innocent audience members
Anticipating Batman annihilate evil within Manichean eternal duel
Extant within imaginary world of Gotham portrayed on the silver screen
When out of the black curtained theater tear gas canisters got hurled pell mell
Accompanied by a fusillade of heavy machine gun fire
Sheering many lives
Many in the prime ascent sans parabola of adulthood
The youngest, a six-year-old girl transformed into an ashen colored corpse
Which death yet revealed to her young mother
Critically wounded, and clamoring for said daughter
While teetering on the brink of mortality
Oblivious to stricken offspring
While family, friends, relatives and anonymous prayers
And this heartfelt genuine communiqué
From me – a self styled nonestablishmentarian
Gung-ho to invoke a mandate that high powered fire-arms
Must be much less accessible
I.e. bulletproof laws need implementation pronto
So inhabitants of these United States do not fear for their lives
Nor feel akin to a potential prey sighted in the crosshairs
Wantonly gunned down from some grinning joker
Slaking glee from mass killing as to appease unquenchable thirst
To avenge some psychotic nemesis gloating to slay
With a vengeance and contrived vendetta
Promulgating pandemonium and grisly bloody aftermath
Yet despite such horrific heinous atrocity
Bravery and sacrifice witnessed and extolled
From heroic instinctual motive to offer themselves as human shield
So that carnage less devastating than toll on madman’s hit list
Now in solitary confinement and even if executed
Would be a Pyrrhic salve to those forever deprived of loved ones
Burning with an eternal sorrow no matter
Generosity of cyber sympathizers across World Wide Web
Plus the president of these United States
Reach out showering kindness analogous to Borealis raiment!
After an occasion of travel
I have reached this new found world.
My report however is not an encouraging one.
The life forms here are very primitive.
They house their spirits in a canister,
each spirit container holds one spirit but
for a select few, which holds a canister
within a canister with a young spirit within it.
They keep their god in a box.
It shines on their faces most of the evening,
flashing bright images at them.
It gives them direction on how to be,what to think,
where they can take their canisters,
and what to do when they get there.
They receive this information daily
from their god in a box.
They do not move with their star, to stay in the light
but when the shadow of their one moon falls
they lay their container prone until their star
breaks over the crest of this backward planet.
They keep their containers well groomed and
covered at all times with many different colors
of many different materials.
Their god in a box tells them or shows them
with what to cover their canisters.
They all live in fear of losing their canister.
They fear death; they do not understand
how free they will be without their containers,
and their god in a box.
ETHIOPIA
see talking slums
silenced tongues
freedom silenced
hope killed
a bling of ghettos
collapsed humanity
mothers weeping ,
under the compression of religion
trees dripping tears
Ethiopia your festering open wounds
you are my anger!
children burn in smoldering canisters of hunger
time opened new wounds of memories of old scars
chained on rocks of ignorance
you need a compass of decency
my poetry is a catalyst fermenting your injustices
into beverages of justice
you are my sadness!
your heartbeat bleached in political fermentation
rhythm galvanized in furnaces of cultural myth
laughter imbibed by the rude stomach of the gun
culture crushing under the weight of globalization
Five-and-Dime Store
by Odin Roark
Maybe I remember ‘cause…
Everyday was a holiday
At Woolworth’s Five-and-Dime store.
Colored things were floor-to-ceiling,
Holding fast the lingering scents of popcorn,
American grilled cheese sandwiches,
Salt Water Taffy and fudge squares,
Clashing with parakeet and hamster living.
They were in the back where the little kids’ zoo was.
Maybe ‘cause…
Life-size cardboard Hopalong Cassidy
And Gene Autry cutouts hung from fishing lines,
Wrapped round roof nails.
Five and Dime treasures dangling over
Kid literature my dad called them
Five cent comic books right next to
Licorice and malt-ball canisters.
And just up the aisle,
Grandma’s favorite counter
Where she’d always buy her special envelopes--
Light blue par avion with printed airplanes.
I’d lift my chin up to the edge,
Stare at those airplanes
And dream. Wow, how I dreamed.
Maybe I was collectin’ make believe
for when…
Oh, how Mom and Dad, Grandpa and Grandma
Loved to drive the Model A into town,
Saunter up to the Five and Dime counter,
Order a turkey dinner,
Or liver and onions,
And then stare so long…
So long they’d stare into
Their empty coffee cups,
While I slurped my root beer.
I could make a root beer last forever
You know?
Mama bought a lampshade once,
The crimped accordion-kind,
Along with those lacy see-through curtains.
“Par-cale” I think she called them.
Never did understand their purpose.
What good’s a curtain you can see through?
And home,
When they were hung,
They’d lift and float straight out
When the windows were open.
Our cows and chickens would chorus up
Join me to laugh and the dancing curtains.
See-through-lift-up curtains.
Made no sense.
Maybe…
Maybe that’s how they all
Wanted to be remembered
Mama, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa.
I don’t know.
Now I sit in my new Lexus
Gaze across the street
Where the twenty-story
Glass and steel office building.
Erected where the old Five and Dime
Held so many good times.
Maybe I drove here ‘cause…
I needed to finger some nickels and dimes
In the pant pocket of my Armani suit
Gaze and remember the sweet smells and jelly bean colors.
When gettin’ happy and stayin’ happy was so easy.
Back then.
Colorless Confessional
It was as if time had resisted capture
hid its most precious commodities
averted its eyes lest you see into its soul
withheld all but the extremes of color
Everything became a negative reflection
black on white, white on black
variations of both accounting for contrast
allowing the moment to be stolen
There would be future arguments
regarding what color the dress was,
why Mom always had on the same housecoat,
where was Dad when they took the pictures
Time’s reluctant moment would pierce the future
prick deeply the longings of our hearts,
elicit laughter – and tears – intermingling
remind us that we too had been young
The old camera, the canisters, the leather case
the eye that captured a moment of life
offering it to us - as a window
into our future.
John G. Lawless
3/1/2015
There are Jaipur vegetables
in my new home,
Craisins, clover honey,
and maybe twenty different teas.
Pastas, Clabber Girl,
Real Mayonnaise and Agave Nectar;
things with names like
Kashi and Bumble Bar,
with canisters of cocoa, coffee
and Whole Foods Shake
vanilla flavored,
Green Vibrance (what is that?)
and Whey Protein Powder
also flavored vanilla.
But there is no vanilla,
and I'm searching for love.
Something written a year ago that I recently stumbled back upon.
Poppies in Profusion on the proud chests of the Brave
Old and aging survivors, of a time when things were Grave
Stones on a hillside, edelweiss under Moon
Light on a bomber’s wing carrying canisters of doom.
White hot flames of children, screaming
Blue murder in the darkness, instead of dreaming.
Nightmares manifest in visions real, or of pretence
Starving, bloated young ones, strung up on a fence.
A fence, THE fence, a barrier between your land and mine
A hatred, a blaming, wrath crushing grapes into wine.
Perhaps your thoughts are different, the way that things are said
Somehow it makes no difference, for we both bleed blood…
And it is Red.
The blood which flows to the horse’s halters in the Valley
Of Death, with notches on a sickle for a tally.
What glory now?
It is drowned, in the red of the blood
Of the Poppies in Profusion: a war memorial in flood.
Breathe deep into the shale,
vent your anger out into the deep blue
Strangle that rage in the seaweeds,
let the calming tortoise walk of peace
move slowly across the ocean floor bed
There, gently rest your troubled head,
and pacify your fiery emerald irises
Eco-green rage
cannon pointed at the toxic canisters
being dumped in
Eco-green zeal,
environmentally protecting
the baby seals
The trees, the air ... the birds in the air,
for these nature gems you care very much
You despise profiteering man’s
poisonous industrial touch
The water, the soil ... the creatures foraging in the soil,
for these natural jewels you’re willing to die
Seeing the spilt oil on the beach sand,
dirtying the pristine clean land,
makes you wanna cry
You have an eco-green glint of rage
rampaging in your eyes
Gamma-ray transformation has you hulking,
as you watch the earth
sink deeper and deeper into a
cesspool of man-made lyes
And the madder you get,
the stronger you get
Breathe deep into the magma shell,
vent your eco-green rage into the sky blue
Let your volcanic anger transform you,
and let it change
the surrounding sick atmosphere too
May your eco-green rage
pollute the perpetrators’ pockets
with shredded green confetti
Falling like radioactive rain,
draining their bank accounts steady
As their down pouring financial pain
floods the world economy stage ...
Tears of joy cool your hot, eco-green rage
“Lynching”
Black man floating in space
Knotted rope about his face
Crosses burning
White sheets chanting
Black man squirming
Blue knee choking
Buildings burning
Dark nights looming
A noose from a tree
A boot and a knee
A black man dead
No one lead
Gutters vomiting
Jesus faltering
Canisters of tears
Scattering fears
Memories from the past
Recall the last
Nothing changed
Our nation estranged
Horrible brutality
Watching reality
A hang man’s stage
Millions enraged
Dusty roads
A hang man’s noose
Burning streets
A black man pleading
So much the same
It just insane
Equal justice
No longer trusted
Civil unrest
A nation stressed
Yet we care
When tempers flare
Doing it right
With all our might
We all must listen
As rattlesnakes hissen
It begins in the mind
You learn to be kind
We are all blood inside
Where love resides
It is not right
That I am white
And am not black
But my soul is cracked
I FEEL YOUR PAIN....
As George was slain
I watched it all
His terrible fall
Again and Again
Again and Again
A henchman calling
A nation bleeding
Again and Again
Again and Again
Crosses burning
Mindsets never learning
It was a lynching
Lon 6/1/2020
Oh when the cold lurks past our doors,
we gypsies love your heated seats.
Stars guide our weary hearts,
better yet, headlights show the streets.
We journey together,
one heartbeat echo’s for all.
My people voice together,
next stop, the nearest mall!
Charms of wisdom and luck,
sometimes ward off ghostly creatures.
Your airbags come standard,
among other safety features.
Labeled as thieves just for trying to find water,
canisters upon our backs in the burning sun.
Oh glory to the Caravan that comes with cup holders,
a Gypsies day can now be done.
like some sorority or fraternity house
left the sanctified righteous West Wing
with powder puffs sans canisters
of pepper spray, whereby
most docile, humble, and liberal took a page
from playbook of Pandora, and took an aimless swing
at the root cause of melee by hurling objet’s d’art
at the pompous trump ping
Septuagenarian, whose platoons of goons
rent asunder peoples against their king
the donnybrook heathen, whose remarks
against libertarian rubric that made America great
wantonly reviving prejudices declared dead
from yesteryear and his attempt to bring
back the glory days, when Whistler Blowers
getting water boarded and aching
deigning to implement dictatorship
of the Proletariat as a capital idée fix
weaving together, the salient strengths
viz founding fathers credo gave licks
to King George, and now in an ironic
twist and shout of fate through eclectic mix
basket of deplorables further shamed
by being routed by the New York Nicks
sewed jaws, heads of state, and dignitaries
with limping bodies spent like derricks
Oil used up and no place to go except
to keep Alice Cooper Company with toys in the attics.
His musings in paper and ink
have led him to the dungeons. Rusty
iron bars, smell of rats,
and cold wars surround him.
His people see through their leaders,
like water through the glass. Nothing
can stop them now- verses of freedom
have been burnt to ashes,
but not his words. They are deeply
engraved in every woman’s,
child’s and man’s heart.
They are at the prison gates,
breaking them. Bullets and teargas
canisters can’t stop them. They want
their leader- man of the people.
If he is freed, he will not only be a poet;
he will be a leader. A new journey
will begin in his life…..
Rats in the cellar, squirrels in the tree,
things aren't the same as they used to be.
When I left for school with my li'l lunch pail,
I didn't expect a penguin to swallow a whale.
Such an injustice, I've never seen,
a cantaloupe falsely imprisoned a bean.
It's unheeded screams, uncontrolled laughter,
when it's trolls that live happily ever after.
Doors off their hinges, pancakes are stacked,
biscuits are burning, windows are cracked.
Termites in the baseboards, rabbits that fly,
pigs that regularly take to the sky.
Voices that whisper, mad dogs that bite,
winds that go howling and look for a fight.
Wrapped in cellophane, mixed in a blender,
taped up in cardboard and returned to sender.
Rainbows and ravens, kaleidoscope dreams,
leafless branches, gallows lit by moonbeams.
Music boxes, pink ribbons and bows,
tags come on packages; tags come on toes.
Curtains lifted, sick, unsavory scenes,
gear wheels in gear wheels run strange machines.
Dissected, disowned and double-downsized,
unaided, unacknowledged and unrecognized.
Puzzles, conundrums that cannot be solved,
water plus turpentine make witches dissolve.
Pimentos are diced, harsh words are spoken,
nightmares are jumbled; eggshells are broken.
Lost in the doldrums, eyeballs protrude,
walking on blisters, a horse latitude.
Spineless jellyfish, lackeys and flunkies,
silver tongued vultures, branch swinging monkeys.
Experts and pundits, paid authorities,
Kool-Aid in canisters, down on your knees.
Bishops take pawns, the fat lady sings,
fires ablaze on black nights with kings.
Shattered stars, fragmented stones,
shining splinters, bleak, burning bones.
Songs without meaning, songs without words,
sung by unseen phantoms and silent birds.
Refrigerators with pictures nobody knows,
eyes staring back, no answers disclose.
Spiders and spinning bicycle wheels,
buffalos, bandits, and slippery seals.
Electric toothbrushes, electric chairs,
lethal injections, pushed down the stairs.
Pieces on the floor, a sad state of disarray,
the gift you've left me is insanity's bouquet.
You stole my cookies, pilfered my cat,
laughed at me roundly and turned me down flat.
Mice it in the attic go chitter chatter,
have I lost my wits or gone mad as a hatter?