The elder abuse of opening California up again without legal authorization
Auctioneering wisdoms residue
Trampling the vulnerable people whom are ignored with indifferent forces of silence and power of silencing the country whilst pursuing criminal neglect of office, for war profit.
Consumptives are littered in ridicule by the middle class work force vote.
cardboard mattress
concrete box spring
cocooned within the threads of shame
pillow stained
with dried tears of despair
air pockets
hover with a pungent force
that’s the way I remember her bed—
as I walk by.
How are you with long walks
At night through the park
Where shadows pepper the imagination
And thoughts flow on
With nothing to hold them back?
I love to take those walks in the dark
Both alone and with my friend,
Deep through our mind
To visit lost images,
Memories that live in the shadows,
Remnants of the past.
Do we remain in the shadows
Where my friend with knowledge dwells,
Or do we bring to light those images,
Reviving older times now asleep,
Permitting them a chance to escape?
We lead lives of unfulfillment.
All for nothing, our time is spent.
We just live, from day to day,
To support the government.
We are born, and then we die,
No one ever stays.
Our lives are full of emptiness
In, oh, so many ways.
We behave in regular patterns,
Everyone acts the same.
We exist in a world-wide crowd
Where no one has a name.
We thrive on repetition,
We fit into a groove,
And still we do not know
Just what we need to prove.
Then, too, we think alike,
Our thoughts are from a mold.
And if the cast were broken,
We'd be standing in the cold.
We all have religion,
One thing that we own,
And even with this difference
We can never stand alone.
We plead for independence
Something we'll never get,
For in all our commonness
It’s a man we've never met.
Our lives will always be like this,
Although we do protest.
But if we were to change,
We'd have nothing to leave the rest.
bruises don't
cover up lies,
just his Alibi,
falsest of his
burning tree
and the brave
of little hands
reaching out
to any angels
listening here,
stop my abuse,
here of dearest.
HOME IS NOT SAFE.
I wake to the desert, talking to the wind;
its voice is dry and muffled.
Sand cuts my skin as I walk;
nowhere feels like a place I belong to.
The seeming figs glow like a distant fire.
My feet are melting with every step I take.
I lose my balance when I stride;
I am surprised as the light darkens me.
Flames whirl at the edge of my sleep.
Dolores remains there, carrying fragments in her hair.
She murmurs, "Take care of my loved ones".
I turn around, but her stare does not leave me.
Water is only a mirage in my eyesight.
I watch their tiny faces drowning in silence.
I choke my breath as I consume the grime;
I confront myself, saying, "They cannot die".
They illustrate that the truth awaits at the edge.
My fist holds a gun, empty and cold.
Comfort lies in lying down and forgetting:
where living means losing myself in the unknown.
When, in darkness, there's but a single ray;
When, in cruelty, there's little kindness found;
Then in imagination could I stay;
A private realm, and in perfection crowned;
And I thought of dreams, in that certain way.
When, in darkness, there shines a brilliant ray;
When, in cruelty, there is a kindness found;
Not in imagination would I stay;
Let private thought with purpose then be crowned;
And I think of dreams, in that certain way.
Winter Withers
…… its way into the woods
and waits….and wonders….and watches
until…. No-one is looking.
Boorishly, an ally introduces itself,
an iced-sliced wind to quiver-shiver
the woods’ most tender saplings;
to shudder the aged evergreens
with sharpened, encrusted crystals
sandpapering the toughest, roughest bark.
Weather warning complete,
Winter then crunches forward,
cold shouldering its way through the night
to finally rest against a solitary cabin.
Inside that logged shelter, Man awakens
allowing his thoughts freedom
from the waiting room of his mind.
Man has learned how to listen,
but much more importantly,
this man has listened how to learn!
What he now sharply tells himself is…
Winter has arrived; survival demands action.
Man has lived for a year with Mother Nature
after his severance with city life;
he now feels a yearning for the three R’s:
reconnecting, refiguring and relocating.
Man can’t allow Winter’s weathered wings
to embrace him with glacial isolation
nor allow its benumbed playmate… Loneliness
to knock, again, on that fragile, front door.
Ian Souter
Amid the fire of twilight sun
I wish I knew my way
horizon’s char and moonlight’s shun
has ashed my hope I pray
for dark cloud constellation to free
a cosmic steed for me to flee gunshot streets
for primrose to steal my yellow jaundice
and burn the itch as its incense in roadside stars
for me to follow scent and sight
and find forsaken door
to open with my key contrite
a waif who’s lost no more
but gods of dirt and sky refuse
this pessimist with optimist dreams
side-of-road primrose mowed as needle holes
grow my nebulae-scars of blown-vein bruises
a morphine horse runs dirty track
while stars in alley air
just stare and offer not but black
expanse —my nowhere lair
As tattered night surrenders to the morning
amidst a bruised and beaten sky.
The hazy heavens weep their misty warning
of love’s intent to pass me by.
The rain, symbolic of my sorrow,
defeats today and steals tomorrow.
Unyielding dreams assault my weary mind
with visions of my deep regret.
I’d reached accord but never had I signed
my name to play, though boards were set.
I leave the game of love intact,
unstung by honor, which I lacked.
I'm stuck in muddy grooves of flaws unbroken,
made by the tracks of time’s machine.
I’m choking on the chunks of words unspoken
allowing silence to demean.
So, safe in armored isolation,
I thus defy my reclamation.
There was a lamp post, just one,
in the middle of a field at night—
no road leading to it,
no fence surrounding it,
just light standing there
like a question no one asked,
glowing for no one.
The ache in my chest opened wide
when I saw it—
a hollow, bottomless thing,
like longing without direction,
and I fell in.
I thought:
If that’s the light, then I must be lost
in the outer darkness,
and didn’t even try
to move toward it.
Sleep claimed me for nearly a week,
dragged under by a gravity
no one else could feel.
Until one day a song
on a distant radio broke through—
The Eggplant That Ate Chicago.
It was so ludicrous
I snort-laughed—once—
and the dark cracked slightly,
just enough for air.
Then I unwound my grave shroud
and breathed.
when you feel isolated
don’t burden someone with the unwavering thought of loneliness
don’t ruin a persons peace for your own comfort
when you get to know a person deeper
don’t make a game of it
when they get comfortable
you’re quick to leave
all you needed was someone to talk to
not stay with
don’t trick someone into forever
when you know you don’t have that long
At first, it was heaven — pure and bright.
Then came the cry,
A single tear that swelled into a river,
And from that flood, hell was unleashed.
Her world shattered,
Suffering took root deep within her soul.
She was never the same.
Locked away in her room,
Her mind a storm of questions —
Where did it all go wrong?
Was she the darkness itself?
Was it all just a cruel mistake?
Should she have spoken the truth?
Should she have let it go at the start?
Why did she stay?
Why did she believe?
Why did she think it would stay the same?
Was it all... for nothing?
What else could she have done?
After all, we all make mistakes.
But in the end —
How many will truly stay?
Who will remain, care, love,
Stand beside her through the storm?
Who will accept her — flaws and all —
Just as she accepted theirs?
Will there ever be a time
When she can be happy —
Happy with herself?
Free to speak her truth,
Without fearing loss,
Without fearing abandonment?
A familiar voice sharing the past,
Remembering a place that didn’t last.
Sifting through ashes of another life,
Searching for beauty amongst the strife.
Anguish surrounds me, a constant storm,
Cold and darkness, wanting to be warm.
Deprived of love, empty inside,
Shattered dreams, life denied.
Unresolved injustice, mistakes and fears,
Yet I mourn those lost years.
No peace in silence when I’m alone,
I reach to hold you, but you’re gone.
Pain causes me to isolate,
Chaos in my head to medicate.
Photos are fading, music grows old,
Lyrics and melodies pierce my soul.
All I have left are these photographs and memories.
Being proud of yourself isn’t enough,
When your loved ones don’t think so.
Thinking you’re tough and strong,
Yet you can’t handle the pain you know.
Every time life starts getting rough,
You bury yourself deep and low.
I try to do things right each time,
But feel handcuffed by winds that blow.
It’s freezing out here, and I’ve nowhere to go,
The cold wind steals the warmth I hold.
And once it’s over, I’m back again—
Good for nothing, with nothing to show.
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