Flagged Poems

Born Between Coordinates

I was born in the pause between two coordinates
drawn by cartographers with sterilized hands.
My soul was indexed in miles and postal codes
Filed under miscellaneous anomaly at checkpoints.

I crossed borders that did not exist,
except in the mouths of men with rifles.
My breath was weighed against paperwork,
my shadow flagged by predictive suspicion.

I was processed in buildings with no windows,
where hope was a form to be filled in triplicate.
My story was annexed, taped to a strangers' bias,
then shelved into the limbo of “pending.”

I failed the empathy test of the world
where spectacle outperforms survival.
My life was too procedural for pity,
and my death was redacted for efficiency.

Gods are online

The gods are online today,
Updating their laws like software patches,
Fixing glitches in heaven while we glitch on earth,
Typing commandments no one reads,
Uploading sermons no one feels.

They scroll through prayers like spam emails,
Ignore the bleeding body in the dirt,
Reward the loudest liars,
And punish the quiet truth.

In their group chats,
They laugh at those like me —
Broken ribs, broken voice, broken trust —
Another ticket closed,
Another sinner "served."

The village bows to their screens,
Worships the edits, fears the updates,
And I,
I am just a bug in their system,
Flagged for deletion because I dared defend myself.

My innocence is offline,
My pain is offline,
Only the image matters here:
The curated guilt,
The viral shame.

The gods are online —
But none of them are listening.

L E Z; badly said'

Low Emission zone disinformation..Is a factor on sinage
Thats the situation.' First a magistrate in Bedford flagged
Not fine, these signs that have ruined life for many.' Also
Wasted so much time.' Yesterday Noel Wilcox, Royally won'
At the so named courts in London judgement on veracity I
See it had to come.' So now if you've been hit no matter
Where you are from.' You can obtain a refund, maybe to
Spend on having fun? Like driving to London.' Just to see
The sights.? Oh and I do hope we are soon rid of all that
That extra metal signage.' Thats really an unsightly blight !

Residential between the kingdoms

Wandering  the two in between the kingdoms 
One side, quiet and bright, flagged the havens
The other, earthly world, noisy and light dim
Drifting up or down when the moody flow faint 

To brightness fly and blurring dim fall
Somewhere belonging may lack for souls
Quiescent and chaos changed as tides floated
Uneasy and wobbly similar to traveling boats

Up or down, with straw sticks grasping 
Steering wheel holding for the time clouds
Time goes likewise the seagulls chasing 
From starting point to the place anchor

Heart awaits longly for people nauseating
While mind gonna sparks  be star exciting

Santa Makes an Early Christmas

       There was Santa making his rounds
          ten nights early, dashing about town

       Neighbors chased him, in hot pursuit
          but Santa was finished dispersing his loot

       They flagged him down at a neighborhood bar
          protesting his behavior so bizarre

       What was he doing December 14, out and about?
          Holding up his hand, as he downed another shot

       Smiling Santa said, “Enough of ‘chimney-irritation,’
           This Christmas I’m in Florida on vacation.”

Tint Of Orange

Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as  futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight  tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling  cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised  endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally

Flagged

I couldn’t print my boarding pass-
See Agent’s what it said.
When I got it at the airport,
In the corner was, instead

Of the TSA Pre-check in print
Upon my husband’s form, 
A mysterious S-S-S-S,
Not certainly the norm.

Our first flight late, we barely did
Connect to JFK.
At boarding, though, we both got flagged -
Bad things pile up that way.

My spouse got cleared but as for me,
I needed one more search
And wondered what would happen
If they left me in the lurch.

It’s awful feeling challenged 
Like you’ve somehow done some wrong 
And you aren’t welcome in the place
You know that you belong.

I’m writing this while in the air 
But wonder, when I land, 
If I’ll go through this twice
For reasons I don’t understand.

These Silly And Shameful Faults

Being so awfully insecure
among confident people 
seems ridiculous and brittle; 
I'm very humble by nature,
it will not take me anywhere:
I'll end up gathering crumbs! 

I'm too stubborn, still refusing to pay
for these silly and shameful faults;
I would cry out loud to feel anger,
not sit at a corner counting doubts!
I should blame you instead, dear:
because I'm getting hit hard by reality!

I won't cry on your shoulder, just be forgiving
when I seek some empathy, it's too humiliating;
if a man cries is because is a liar when he swears:
he'd rather carry inside silly and shameful faults!

Admit that you've been constantly cheating,
sneaking out at night while I was sleeping;
you dropped a sleeping pill in my Martini,
snuck out and flagged down a yellow taxi! 

These silly and shameful faults
have given me sleepless nights;
don't kiss me to cover up the ugly truth:
it's a parody not as sweet as Baby Ruth!

Naked in Winter

Bleeding from the head
I pushed the chair 
In front of the door
Until I didn’t hear you no more
Banging and yelling
I wished you’d leave
Rubbing my tummy
Sick like morning
Standing on the balcony
Bruise on my thigh
Standing in my towel
When the door smashes
I panic
Falling down
I hit the snow
Something cracked
But I crawl
I limp
I run
Barefoot 
Freezing at the toes
Flagged a car 
It was blue
Then here you come
But I get in
We drive away
Seeing you from the rearview
I had to take a breath
I wanted to wave
To flip you off
Didn’t expect to see
My arm was broken
We drove and drove
I knew this was the end
12:32 a.m. 
and you never saw me again.

Pioneering

Rolling clouds over rolling hills.
Kentucky is winding it roads out in endless curves.
No hurry,
this journey drives me
through its curling landscape
as a self-reading picture book of racial memories.

Born in a far way place, I feel rooted now
to these unfolding boonies and hollers,
backwoods and backroad, places
that speak to my very bones.

A small town ahead, a clapperboard store
a gas station and a 7-11. Despite being modern
they have that tumbledown structure
that is native to these rural backwaters.
The shanty tilt of well-worn porches,
dusty front yards flagged with
the fading banners of old glory.

The sun will be going down soon,
I'm driving slow, meandering into a history
I recognize as my own.

The fields are threaded with deer
as evening paints the gleaming creeks gold.
I'm told
that perfection is a pocketsize piece of scenery
no one has discovered yet,
a place just right, one just now
appearing as my memorable soul.

Blurred Anaemic Edge

The urge to travel,
to spread your wings and fly away,
never rooted to one spot.
never spotted on  a route.
signpost now defunct,
map a feeble pointer,
direction only by one’s nose.
Intuition in ascendence,
as day and night blur anaemic edges.
Fleet of foot dream chaser,
never-ending sequence,
is chaotically just that.
Event foreman cast,
in a starry-eyed plot,
script writer of their own unique journey,
stagecoach vagrant from,
a who-knows-where platform,
speed bump skipper on a blind course,
taking the "lie" of the land.
In every sense a false scents,
trailblazer has a life of their own,
but tragically a life that both owns,
and disowns them in "equal" measure.
Time-lapse photographer flagged,
by ephemera but doesn't notice,
loop by loop square off,
under amber moonlight passage.
faraway green seeker,
bereft of halting site,
with no stop off in between,
momentum the only resting place

Fleckfieber 1940 Typhoid Outbreak 1940

Warsaw 1940 certain inhabitants designated
A health risk were ordered to strip naked
Had to shower to become clean this ploy
Caused public humiliation, and showed
Dominence there was also mass quarrantine
Also to your own house that was
Useless in its 'so called mission' 
And in fact caused a rise in infection
As the immune systems of people
Lowered due to length of confinement
this was a take on the tried and
Tested method (the public heakth emergancy)
Pioneered earlier that decade in Germany
In declaring a public health emergency i think
In 1933?, this enabled opening the way for martial law 
Which was the springboard hitler craved to get
Complete control of the German populace
Any person of Germanic nationality over the age
Of forty years in age, should be able to validate
These events as also george psoriasus and
klaus the louse would be emminently qualified
To so do.' At this moment in the UK a rise in
Typhoid cases is being flagged up by the health
Department..

Trump Train Wreck

yesterday
watched men try to ride 
in some graceful fashion
a flying, spinning, gyrating, horned beast
for eight seconds
probably should feel sorry  
for the exploited beasts
but none of them grimaced in pain
and limped away cradling 
an injured limb
however
there was this weird, 
hornless, white as snow "thing" 
lurched out, fell back on the chute,
reeled and tipped, almost falling,
then it bucked, finally
too late for any good
red flagged when he stumbled
out of the gate
that sorry freak of an animal
is half the rider's score
if he can't do his part
it's a re-ride (on something better)
correct for me 
to pity that poor creature, 
I know–but––really?
his name was Trump Train
I'm gonna go find an election prop
and bet all I can wager
his namesake 
doesn't survive the primaries
Trump Train 
yeah, right
more like
Trump Train Wreck

Where Are You Going

He flagged me down
for a lift.
Those were the days when it felt safe
to pick up a hitch hiker.
Soon my eyes were watering
from the stench of urine.
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“Where are you going?”
I was on my way to see the Bishop
sponsoring me for ordination.
Should I take him there?
I pondered.
I dropped him near the city centre.

As with a message from an angel,
“Where are you going?”
has stayed with me
as a disciple of Jesus.

Golf Widows

What is it, this royal and ancient game
  that gets in your blood and under your skin?
That invites in men’s hearts a peaceful aim
  till you shank one and your head starts to spin.
Not just a game for sadists and man-boys
  though it helps if misery becomes you -
new graphite, titanium and steel toys
  vex me slowly but what am I to do?
I am hooked, addicted to the flagged green,
  and no persuasion can my fix deny -
no finer joy (with pants on) has there been
  but take my wife before my clubs or die!
To all you widows who mourn us at play
hear this…it’s the fairway or the highway.


          Written: September 2004

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