Snow White has put on her grey sludge dress,
turning from princess to drudge overnight,
She is a pidgin that takes its ill-fed feathers
to brighter patches of sky
seeking less frozen crumbs.
Roads have curbs of dark pack-ice,
we drive our carriages,
pink-eyed and just whiskers away
from a shivering daydream.
Horsepower pulls us through
to an evening that mimics the gray
face of the day.
Let it rain, let it splash this chill air
to dry, Spanish hills.
Ohio for now, has put its fairy tales away,
in sports bars we drink
until mugs slide between drowsy lips
as easy as slippers of glass.
Categories:
ill fed, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Away in the garden
No plants are ill fed
The soil is perfect
In all the raised beds
The fencing surrounds
All of the plants
But something burrowed
Who invited the ants
There’s chewing and clipping
At night while I rest
Just wait til’ I get
My hands on that pest
I fired the shotgun
To nab me a bun
Don’t mess with my garden
Run rabbit run
Categories:
ill fed, animal, garden, silly,
Form: Rhyme
The Lady has a tear in her eye
It douses the flame of her torch
Whose sparks perish on her lifeless gown
Its greenery scarred, now a desolate brown
As the specter of nativism stalks her land
As strangers are branded 'undesirable,' and banned --
Recall what made America so great (again)
Was the raw energy of newcomers way back when
our floodgates opened wide to receive the tide
of ill-clothed, ill-fed dreamers, possessed of pride
to come here, and scratch and claw their way to our table,
to prove their worth, to show that they were able
to compete and make it in this Promised Land --
from which their spiritual descendants are now to be banned
Categories:
ill fed, america, cry, freedom, immigration,
Form: Rhyme
Shh! Here comes the Civilian general
My black-master to a black-master
On whom my boney back bent
On a twenty four hour daily chore.
Planting happiness on Masters vegetation mind
Reaping sorrows in my vegetable mind
Commands he always bark not shout
Where be this boy, this orphan, this ill-fed scoundrel?
Me and my orphaned enslaved soul, he referred to us
You wallow in the fat brewies of my bounties
Centuries of your worked pennies cant buy
And licked up crumbs off my silvered table
Yet will not rise to see my works glister
Though pennies and cents be wasted as wages?
Me think and my battered orphaned soul
Deep down my battered breast aloud
Else Master is of Femme-fatales offspring
When his tobacco temper cunningly flares
In a venomous rage of hurricane
Threatening my dual starving slumbering soul
Whom fear shadowed in my weak ribs
Master always come snorting, swearing
Under clenched, stenched breath
At one weary, boney, pitiable carcass
Peacefully snoring his sorrows away
Only Master wouldn't take that labor break
Else, my crumbs be forfeited by half
Rest comes to clothe my dual naked soul
Only under white scorching sun
The only shelter Master ceded to me.
Categories:
ill fed, bullying, sorrow,
Form: Free verse
Something inside of me fails,
It says I am undernourished and ill fed,
Something inside of me churns,
It fumes and frets for escape,
Something inside of me feels dirty,
It yearns for clean honesty,
Something inside of me condemns,
It cautions and warns acts,
Something inside of me weeps,
It mourns the end of goodness,
I feel dead as yet live,
As this very thing inside of me,
Wants to stay alive "dead".
Categories:
ill fed, philosophy, me, me,
Form: Free verse