Do you realize they want to abolish not just ICE
but the US Senate AND the Presidency too
Reopen the borders and all the jails for good measure
Turn America into a coast-to-coast zoo
And don’t think we're immune
They’re coming to our towns soon
They're the DSA and they mean what they say
~ No longer a fad, they’re here to stay
The street life is miserable,
But somehow we romanticize.
Dreaming of making it out,
Reminiscing with the guys.
Some didn't make it,
Couldn't focus on the prize.
Others didn't see it
When it was right in front of their eyes.
Some chose death,
Others went to jails.
Ones that ain't make it out
Live in their own hell.
I finally saw the light,
The other side of life:
Great home, great kids,
And a great wife.
There's blood on my fresh roast coffee
blood on the sunny Sunday bell
blood on my tricycle wheels
across my blue-sky dreams
those devilish chem trails.
There's blood on John Lennon sheets
They're poisoning birds and honeybees.
They call us cattle, treat us like sheep.
Their arrogance blocks out our sun.
Sweaty jails swinging wide open for us.
Closed tight for the morally bankrupt.
They are mimicking Saturn's passion.
Munching away the faith of innocence.
Blood-blood-blood flowing everywhere.
It's all of them and always has been.
Demons drink without a care.
My blood pressure kisses the north side of high.
Patience hangs from the south side of down.
I used to traipse the woods to temper the grind.
Now I stay deep inside a cockroach house
a permanent bending of the mind.
Their egos are greasy and fatally stained.
Their arrogance-an incurable disease.
But what they don't understand is
that there's no escaping the crumbling castle
of the chronically damned.
God carved fate into the eternal face of time.
He will gild and elevate the little ones...
A resurrection of a blue-sky lullaby.
The molly-coddled generation, us.
You have it easy, you’re devoid of tales.
We’ve never stewed in Costa Rican jails
or taught Lee Marvin how to fight and cuss.
I can’t escape the feeling I’m a wus.
While Runyan had his Harvards and his Yales,
my yarns are all of Dylans, Crystal Gayles -
that’s concerts I was at. I’ve missed the bus.
Are ‘once-removed’ experiences fails?
Should everybody be a Josey Wales,
a Herman Melville, hoisting unsafe sails?
While Kennedys are cool, we need Dan Quayles.
Normality’s what finally prevails -
a life that never jumped the safety rails.
the city hums like a drunk insect,
half asleep, half insane—
and somewhere in a courthouse
a man in a clean shirt
is dreaming up another reason
to lock someone away.
they call it justice,
I call it inventory control.
bodies in orange are the new wheat fields—
they grow them, harvest them,
feed the system its daily bread.
you can’t sell peace,
you can’t profit off mercy,
so they build fear instead—
polish it, legislate it,
print it on letterhead
and call it safety.
meanwhile the cops prowl
like bored dogs looking for bones,
and the judges stack souls
like cordwood behind their eyes.
he has to invent new laws—
petty ones, quiet ones,
ones that sound like rules
for living clean—
but they’re just nets
to catch the poor,
the drunk,
the tired,
the ones who ran out of hope
before morning came.
and me?
I drink to that man,
the great inventor of misery,
because without him
the bars would rust,
the cells would echo with silence,
and the truth—
the raw, unprofitable truth—
might just walk free.
Jails
Slaves
Waves at freedom
She at the door, too forgetful
Bothersome Invention war is
This is a far as a sound
As nearest minds kindly borrow
Works flat
And out the door
Slaves in jails
Forward my ship
On top and on back
Waters a ways to work
Laddles become hospitals
Without spoons
Only the together people
Lift down the cloths
Aprons run in country
We ain't had enough
Jails yet
This is beautiful
Your from that porcelain city
I'm New York poetry too
white enclaves
gated jails
urban slums
where the sun is pale
two sides of a coin
can’t you see
in the land of the grave
and the home the rich flee
Rules are plumblines
Each one follows
Who breaks be judge.
Jails are for those
Who don't want laws
Who don't want yolk.
Peace for the good
War for monger
For disorder.
No love, no peace
What's there to live
What Earth this for.
prisoner rape
We read of the plight of the Hamsas hostages
they could have been freed, but for the brutal
Israel's regime they are still there
At the same time, and not written about are
thousand of Palestinians sitting in Israeli jails
tortured and raped by their captors
One wonders how it comes about when men
rape other men, do where is the lust factor
to produce an ********
Or is it that torture produces a lust factor
akin to sexual lust; if so, their violators must
be full of hatred
What is going on twigs of trees!
Stillness and tranquility of nature
Twitter of birds, sense of life
Silent Love
Away from industrial screens,
Malicious false.
Farm life
Rich language
Nature.
Human greed
Dragging man to deprivation
From his ancient pure inherent nature of life
To jails made of concrete, rush, and hardship.
Is that civilization and progress?
Cats go out then cry to come in.
A runt-end of shade wilts.
We feel the pull of a Lunar tide,
sense the off-center mewing,
of a dissonant aria.
Trembling dogs hide their body-bones.
The air is strained through fisheyes.
A clammy light gnaws,
while white-faced mice scurry
on twilit paws.
There will be an end of sorts,
a draining away. First, there must be,
this ailing after-glow,
an infiltration that wounds
the tender skin of reason.
A mad moon had broken lose,
from the cellular jails of fitful thoughts.
A dead Siren rampaged,
in a cold rage of silence.
The day may heal, a new dawn,
defeating all spectral trails,
all night-walking fears.
Until then we must watch
a pall-bearing dusk
depart on crumbling stilts,
observe from a dwindling distance,
a naked crone wanes,
turns in ever narrowing circles,
as she seeks for her life.
A WORLD WITH NO HATRED, ONLY LOVE AND PEACE
NO NEED FOR JAILS FOR THERE IS NO CRIME
DISEASES AND ILLNESSES THAT CAN ALL BE CURED
A WORLD LIKE THAT WOULD BE FINE
COMPASSION AND CONCERN FOR THOSE IN NEED
THE OFFERING OF GENUINE SUPPORT
TO FORGIVE AND BE NON-JUDGEMENTAL
THAT’S OFTEN WHAT’S REALLY SOUGHT
NO POVERTY OR PEOPLE WITH NO PLACE TO GO
NO HOMELESS NEEDING TO SLEEP ON THE STREET
A BED AND ROOF OVERHEAD FOR ALL
A PLACE SOMEWHERE SAFE TO SLEEP
THE MISUSE OF DRUGS OR ALCOHOL BY SOME
IT’S A MECHANISM FOR THEM TO COPE
INSTEAD OF PERSECUTION AND BELITTLEMENT
POSITIVE ENCOURAGEMENT DELIVERS WELCOMED HOPE
WE SHOULD BE ABLE TO LIVE OUR LIVES SAFE
WHERE EVERYONE WORKS AS A TEAM
DIGNITY AND SELF RESPECT
EACH NIGHT THAT’S WHAT I DREAM
Let me introduce myself,
My name is Addiction.
I make you an addict,
Without your permission.
I take you to heaven,
I bind you to hell.
You can't break away,
You're under my spell.
I wreak havoc on
Your Self-esteem.
You live in a nightmare,
I steal your dreams.
I take your happiness,
Turn it to despair.
I play tricks on you,
You're unaware.
I take your home,
Family and friends.
A repetitive cycle
That never ends.
I take moms and dads,
I take the children.
I collect souls of all kinds,
By the zillions.
Fentanyl, heroin,
Cocaine or meth?
Jails, institutions,
And Mr. Death.
I will take everything,
You hold close and near.
Do not play with me,
The outcome is severe.
In case I forgot to
Mention.
HIGH, my name is
ADDICTION!
Turbo1904 ?
If boxers worked at farms making bales
Then we would call them haymakers
If hammers are made to hit nails
Then they could be finger breakers
If boxers ate hay everyday for lunch
Then bale making would be hands free
If the haymakers really pack a punch
Then that’d be the last straw for me
If fingers were stronger than hammers
Then consider boxer’s hands armed
If they’re used for more than nail slammers
Then bales are made in jails, not farmed
April 12, 2023
Writing Challenge-T words poetry contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
We were told we were fighting for democracy
but there was no democracy,
just two evils one greater than the other;
only people handed bad choices.
It kicked off cold with a lot of hot patriotism.
Many knew we were being pushed into a no-win situation
while the military industrial complex grew fat
on endless war.
The bodies kept piling up, until news from the front
got commonplace and tedious, then one day
it all blew up and blew away.
Many did not survive but no one died,
not anyone we knew anyway.
The free world walked into its newly built jails
much larger than the old prisons,
more space; less people.
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