hunting the Rue Saint-Honoré
leaves me no breath
when women brawl for fashion
with warrants of gold
we become lions
every eye looks
taking hunter's aim
in piteous chase
the hares we hunt
are the new, the hot, the exclusive
not the lower marked
cry havoc
for animals heave fewer groans
only wars, revolt and poisons
attend more frightful chaos
one could come to hurt
but fault no villains
that is not our hunting language
we are confederates in chase
seeking the swaggers of success
.
.
A song for this:
Baby You're a Superstar by Mark Roberts, Paul Fletcher, Patrick Sturrock, Emily Taylor & Dan Whitfield
Leaf dies in air
Trees going bare
Death stalks the woods
Of those athletically good
Sweating summer heat
In games where they compete
Never do they cheat
Being honest and true
Acting cool
Laughing fools
Champions determined
Life lessons learning
Decision final and confirmed
Hardware issue no longer a concern
Northern success exposed
Confederates propose
Move inside
Red lights will guide
Scores made
Making the grade
Finally, a trade
Check signed, saying paid
Shutting mouth
Going south
Community warm
Staying in University dorm
Will make this undergraduate program a winner
Before the all-inclusive meal plan dinner
Then off to the library and study
Learn how to make, investment money
Earning a degree, that is what is funny
Since making field goals really wasn’t a realistic thing
Along with not being able to sing
But books in print
Will hint
Proper direction
After securing academic protection
They pretend that they all follow Jesus
from their necks, hang gold crosses from chains
But their bastardized form of religion
is a poison that runs through their veins
Their own version is hateful and angry
fearing all that they don’t understand
So they seek to remain in a bubble
isolated from all that they’ve banned
Each accusal is simply a cover
for the crimes that they daily commit
Every time that they wish to blame others
it turns out it’s a true MAGA fit
All their lies are a constant diversion
from the fear that they feel deep inside
Be it gender, religion or color
they choose bigoted hate as their guide
There’s a fight that’s been brewing for decades
it’s a coup to be framed as a steal
Because MAGA are reborn Confederates
and they never will change how they feel
Covid
commiserate, conjugate
circumambulate around the
circumference of the
continent
covertly circulate
in the crevices of
confederates
cramped, crawling,
crooning in the
cavern of
Copulates
we concurred
that the crisis
was going to confabulate
Covid closure
clamped and comorbid
into crass and crumpled
consternates
constipate crush
collapse and confiscate
curious conjugates
carelessly canned
into cisterns of
congenial but classless
contaminate.
i cannot continue
to calculate
the cost of our
confusion.
As white as the driven snow.
Coming back from a lot.
Chosen to be around.
Bubbly baking soda, region of snow.
Playgirl bunny, lil playboy star.
Than again too much confetti.
Black lives matter to the confederates.
Bedazzled diamond cut.
Coma snow white and the lover in you.
Gangsta's paradise Chicago Chicago.
Eat your wheaties.
Good and plenty with rice cakes.
Sparked them didn't you?
Full of wisdom and enigma.
Checkerboard chess pieces.
Quick, quick, quickly switch up chuck.
In a strategic state of mind.
Written By: D. Collins 6/4/24
Please wake up and open your eyes.
To a man my age abortion doesn't apply.
Confederates outlawed it because they lost the war.
The sons they lost somehow had to be restored.
Young People, are you listening? It's directed at you.
You're right back in it, so it ain't nothing new.
They will chomp at the bit until nothing is left.
Through the "YouTube" phase the whole lot of you slept.
You won't know it until you have lost your vote.
Which is on the agenda of the Supreme Court.
Young People, pay attention, it is in the mix.
Get out and handle your business on November 5th.
It was called “Spy Rock” in my day
Said you could see for miles around
The encampments of Confederates
From this large rock on higher ground
When the men in grey invaded our land
Brawling, looting, burning, and pillaging,
Everything got completely out of hand.
One-hundred fifty and eight years ago,
Much blood was shed in this community
To maintain the union and our liberty.
I wonder how much we have surrendered
In the past decade to give up being free.
written November 8, 2021
The hood is foregone.
Into the past, of fired crucifixes upon front lawns.
The day has begun, a new dawn.
Bare faced, in the sun's illumination.
Guised within the roles that make a nation.
Spread throughout vital occupations.
Where darkened communities suffer from the
bleached cohorts occupation.
From tainted patrols roaming free on the range
with no scrutiny.
To deliver captives to like minded counselors
and judiciary.
As aesculapian institutions dispense succor to
the most monetary.
In conjunction with polity, where signed documentation
continues urban poverty.
Strengthened by miseducation from chameleon educators,
educated with an educational degree.
Conjoined in unity of conspiracy, waltzing through the
capital of democracy.
The confederates state their supremacy optically.
It is time for the rolling back of sleeves, to fight
the good fight with bravery.
Steadfast, and observe closely.
For the greatest trick the devil ever pulled, as evil stands
before you and me.
C A U S A T I O N vs. D E T E R M I N I S M
Choices form towards our preordained trajectory
Decision built bricks stack factors progressively
Circumstancial pegs compile in accord to faculty
Dogmas of downtrodden clogged with profanity
Circles run rings around predictions, an equator
Divides same from same in symmetrical centre
Cogs who push their neighbours never blame us
Duration in environ expidited by wheel's impetus
Certainty occurs, journey obscured from turning
Decorum's shield prohibits peripheral discerning
Contingent coddles confederates, cave sedation
Dictated picture is droll pattern of premeditation
Character patter converses with class conducive
Dialogue delays, latitudinal liberal splay spruking
Concious diverges in a dual carriageway purview
Deliberation channels hairpin 's curve impromptu
14th February
Fortitude Breaks
Causation Chains
Shakespeare said, “make
pieces of the beast and his
confederates”
My parents voted
today - filling out and then
casting their ballots.
It was a pleasing
privilege - even as an
anxious observer.
Their two small darts at
the heart of the snarling beast.
Saints let them strike true.
Where is my brother?
Did he decide to fight for Missouri
Or did he go to the side of the traitors?
It is a glorious day but a sad one
Sure there is victory but at what cost?
I can barely stand. My shoes are in shreds.
It is cold and muddy, and I want to sleep.
Others are pretending they care about this victory.
I don’t. I just want to know when I come over the next hill
Am I in danger of shooting my own brother? My cousin?
My best friend? No idea which side they are on,
Or even if they still live.
Another soldier catches my eye. He rolls his.
We both laugh
Even though there is nothing
To laugh about.
This war is killing us all
Charley
In Carolina a young man’s journey began.
Today in Mississippi was it’s end.
Dressed in the best he had,
they returned an old man to the ground;
in the shade of a white oak,
Ginseng berries all around.
His was a tale of pain and woe.
His brother lost at Perryville, the greatest blow.
In ’65 alone forty miles to LaGrange,
his loyalty to the Union to arrange.
Years rolled on, wives to wed,
wives to die ,
Seventeen children came and went.
The last, my grandpa, an unexpected event.
At the end, his mind gone, to the woods he would take,
Seeking confederates long dead.
While his withering body gives way to the deepest ache.
His wish for the sweet rest that lay ahead.
His lonely trek soon to be over,
His mind, his soul, seeking closure.
Now generations have heard the story
Of a long dead wight, who still in the
darkness of the night,
calls out brother, my brother,
to see you again gladly I cross over.
I am a drummer boy for the Union Army.
I am only 12 years old and I have left my home far away.
Feelings rushing through me: scared of dying, afraid of what will come at morning's light.
Nevertheless, my job is keeping the roll going.
I have to make them Confederates feel the fear.
My hands are always going.
Rat-a-tat, Rat-a-tat-tat
Over and over again.
Seven months have gone by since I last saw my Mother's worried face about her youngest son off to war.
I have not seen my Father's face, which was once so proud and strong, since I was 5 years old.
My Father died then.
I became a man then and now I am ever so much more a man then I was back when.
Today, I am stronger, bigger and smarter.
I have learned how to cook my own meals, to mend my own clothes, to tend too my own needs.
I know that any day I could die.
Just from one single bullet from a Confederates gun.
A person who is just trying to do what is right and lawful.
Dirty Black Love
Written By: D. Collins 2/19/15
Dirty black love is all that Obama gets.
A regression to oppression from all his hypocrites.
Just know dirty black love will never get to me.
Because, I'm a child of God, no matter what they may see.
I am the man my God intended me to be.
Showing love to those who have hate for me.
What we do in return cannot be discussed.
Just know that dirty black love really bothers us.
What I see on Fox 5, makes me take a second breath.
Knowing how many show signs of being Confederates.
Dirty black love is how it has always been.
But, that doesn't mean we have to bow down to them.
Split-rail fences, stark and grey
Rim the Bull Run battlefield
Where Confederates that day
Forced the Union line to yield.
Cannon still command the hill
By the chiseled monument
Where some of those who came to kill
Sleep…dank earth their tent.
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