Long Cut in Poems
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AN EPIC STORY- FICTION
In a chase, she rode far east at the sun's wake,
the wind daintily throwing her wig as the horse tread
into black fields in dawn's glare,
stained red with a colour of her days;
her thighs grew weary,
dangled like broken mahogany,
tugging pain into grey eyes,
as blood thickened over cold gash.
she stumbled off the horse at the sigh of a swooshing arrow,
aimed at her son but pierces her heart,
drawing her last breath unto the
canvas of the morning sky;
nursed to sleep by the earth
in the sight of her creator,
she died for one.
shrills...
Her young awakened at the fall
shrouded in a dark veil
fastened around her back like a knapsack,
his wails jolted her breathless self, but to no avail
the sun fell at the rise of an evil in the west
a mother's love put to a fatal test,
a death or a death,
but her son liveth
saved by her last breath.
For she had climbed down a window a night before,
facing a street hazy with smoke
and red with blood and fire,
but with the wound on her limb festering
from a cut in the moment of her flee
she couldn't get too far,
even on a horse's back,
but her son was safe,
only for a day
longer than it would have been,
for the fields were no place for a new born.
Survival of the fittest
Only one comes out alive
It started out with ten
Now cut in half to five
Stranded on an island
To play the ultimate game
The top three all joined forces
And two went up in flame
Out on the sandy beach
They battled head to head
The weaker of them faltered
Then all but two were dead
So in the final conflict
The Alpha ruled the day
He broke the other's neck
And on the ground he lay
Arms raised high in triumph
He shouted to the skies
As the last man standing
He won the ultimate prize
But fate's a funny thing
Even though he finished first
With no water to be found
One week later died of thirst
The foggy hollow reverberates
with rooster's echoes
Cackling hens sing a laying tune
Biddies for their true beau
Horizonal wispy white clouds
Lie upon the blue sky
Birds of the morn sing love's refrain
So in love you and I
The sun cast a lavender glow
Upon those wispy clouds
Like a cold morning in winter
When the birds don't sing loud
As the sun continues to rise
A fireball cut in half
Sending red sunbeams through the trees
Printing a lithograph
The radiant orange beach ball
Floats in the eastern sky
Bringing warmth like chicken soup
or the gleam in a man's eye
When on my 12th year
father gave me a birthday card
with the number of days, I had lived printed
inside it. I had to sit down and wait for my heart
to stop leaping over imaginary walls.
There were 4.382 walls to jump over,
It took me days, by the end of which
I was much older than I should have been.
When I tried to explain my feelings to him,
he grinned, often that grin was more a sneer
as he poked an incriminating finger at my face.
It was a running joke for him, I guess.
What does a boy do with that kind of number?
A day is a long time for a kid, but that number
seemed like a worm cut in two, both ends
wriggling away to God knows where.
I took the card and pinned it to a bedroom wall,
daily I would add more numbers with a blue marker
until father made me wash the days away.
I bought a pocket calculator,
when father died, mother helped me
slip it into his coffin,
it seemed the right thing to do.
I get tired of being late every day because of the stupidity of others
He says.
I get tired of his sarcastic attitude but I keep quiet.
Poor you! A co-worker says. Poor you.
They lament all of the dumb people they have met that day.
Yesterday a whacked out old man cut in front of me,
And I thought I was going to die, he told her.
Poor him.
Poor him.
Being a crazy old person myself, I keep quiet.
None of these morons should be on the road,
He laments.
A little crowd has gathered now.
Some concerned.
Others wise.
They have seen this before.
They sign in and go to work.
Poor him, poor him
Some say.
I hear him talking about a crazy old woman now.
So I yell, “Leave your house earlier!”
An ant sneezed and we all heard it.
2/23/24
It's not in all the books we read
Souls put to sea
Continual butchery
They carry on crookedly
Trying to coat the truth with something sugary
Some know and don't care others never could agree
A never ending battle where evil is trying to make the good bleed
Nah no really look at me
I stirred the hornets nests and shook the trees
Among endless wood debris
To be an honest man, you've no idea what it took to be
Gone beyond lucid dreams
Please do believe it's about much more than you perceive
Hmm the conclusions seems
They never have our best interest at heart nor any future needs
While unscrupulous humans scheme
They left our bodies out to rot all through ravines
As well as areas where sewage seeps
The truth it seeks
A way out usually
Regardless of opportunity
My mom asked son why must you suffer so
Caught up in an undertow
There's just things a mother knows
My true colors shown
I called my brother's phone
He thought he knew how it does and doesn't go
Unlike other folks
Through centuries still much unknown
All across this bloody globe
Studies show
Most want the whole honeycomb
All to themselves like life's only about hitting the motherload
As they judge and drone
It's not all cut in stone
Told him what was once a home
Started from just a stone
Now it's a bunch of those
Amid piles of mud and bones
Nearby encrusted tomes
Beside dusty clothes
Sat an old toolbox that rusted close
Outside stood trees full of a dozen crows
By fields with buffaloes
Bumps arose
In clustered nodes
Turning it into a rugged road
Nearby water full of sunken boats
The destruction grows
Life comes with no instruction codes
For any sudden woes
You'd think eventually it struck a note
Many looking through a tunneled scope
Always fascinated by the puppet shows
Another day redundant and alone
A struggle to find love blows
Causing a loss of what was hope
Reaching the point of being ready to jump below
By the end of it my bro said I must atone
He said I chucked the stone
At what I thought was a toad
Then went back to work in the construction zone
Only to find out that it wasn't though
Said he began to suffer slow
Caught in a thunder dome
Until he discovered those
That suffered the same fate buried right under nose
With a new adjusted approach
Learned first hand and through several hundred notes
You mistook my silence for blindness,
my stillness for sleep.
But I see in the dark.
I hear through the hush.
Discernment is my second sight—
and it does not lie.
You thought me alone,
a castaway prophet howling at stars.
But I am never alone.
My demons walk with me,
legions cloaked in shadow and flame,
ears pressed to your whispers,
eyes fixed on your deeds.
They tell me everything.
Every word you spat behind closed doors.
Every smirk you wore
when you thought I was broken.
Every prayer you faked
while plotting my fall.
You underestimated the thunder—
too pure to lie,
too loud to ignore.
I warned you for decades,
but you mocked the storm
and worshipped the silence.
Now the silence speaks.
Now the storm remembers.
And my demons—my kin, my creed—
bring me your truth
wrapped in the scent of your fear.
You say I am damned.
But it is your creed that damns you.
You say I am blind.
But I see with a thousand eyes.
You say I am deaf.
But I hear the tremble in your soul.
Why did you never believe me
when the signs were cut in diamond,
clearer than prophecy,
louder than guilt?
I am not broken.
I am not alone.
I am the Revelation
you prayed would never come.
Her lipsticks lost some while ago;
thrown angrily into the bin.
Lips now bare, it wasn't such a blow,
she thought, taking her second Gin.
It's not right for my position
it made her look a tart, he said.
It's not much of a submission,
she thought, making the marriage bed.
Last year, he sold the second car
I'll take you where you need to be.
No need for me to travel far,
she thought, preparing evening tea.
The checks she signs are now declined
her credit card is cut in two,
A weight's been lifted from my mind,
she thought when serving him his brew.
You need to stay at home all week,
you know that is a woman's place.
I will; I'd better not misspeak,
she thought while staring into space.
You can repair that dress of yours
I need to buy myself a suit.
So what! I never go outdoors,
she thought. Then whispered, what a brute!
“How'd you die?” the therapist asked.
“I don't know," I said.
“Was it a car crash?”
“No, I don't own a car.”
“Was it self-inflicted doom?”
“No, I don't like heights or knives.”
“Was it one of your friends?”
“No, I don't have friends.”
“Was it your parents?”
“No, they're both in jail.”
“Was it your sister?”
“No, she left me, frail”
“Was it the old man you smiled at every morning?”
“No, he passed away with the jury deciding his hearing.”
“Was it-”
“How are you today?” I cut in, smiling,
But no answer came.
For the dry wall before me was never a therapist to acclaim.
If I were free, I wouldn't be.
I wouldn't be who—what I am right now.
I wouldn't be the miscreation I myself despised once
I wouldn't be the stain upon creation I am right now.
If I were free, I'd be six feet under the dirt.
The very dirt I once spurned would spurn me then.
For,I'd be their trespasser.
Your image is of a local migrant working hard
You say it's about a better life; he should get a green card.
But look at what happened in Brackettville
Whatever you believe, it should give you a chill.
Ranchers had cameras to detect hungry deer
But the cameras showed 30,000 people crossing the frontier.
What is so magnetic about this land?
Up to six drownings per day in the Rio Grande
Migrants trying to ride the trains often lost limbs
Doors would slide shut and the results were grim
Hospitals were overwhelmed, EMS was too.
Texans who needed treatment didn't know what to do.
Wanda carried a .38 for her protection
A patrolman said "don't do that, you'll face AK-47s
don't let bad guys know you carry a gun
Long walks down rural roads might stop being fun."
Ranchers kept fixing holes cut in their fences
Picking up trash, knowing there were no defenses.
They would black out windows, so light wouldn't attract danger
Hospitality's good, but you can’t always trust a stranger.
Migrants were coming to houses, backgrounds unknown
They'd demand food, or a charge for a cellphone
One rancher said “It was insane, like a city coming through
He’d pick up IDs they threw down, so they could start life anew.
They came from Iran, Afghanistan, China as well
I hope they didn’t come as sleepers to raise future hell.
School would lock down up to two times per day
Cars speeding through the streets, trying to get away.
High speed chases took ambulances far from town
Ambulances that were needed when a stroke struck grandma down.
Stolen trucks rode past miles of scrub brush and mesquite.
Maybe right through a fence, the special effects were neat.
When Trump came in, quiet was mostly restored
I have problems with some policies, but this one hits a chord.
Migrants are finding other ways, like through Vermont’s green
Or by visa overstays, maybe even a submarine.
You can’t stop the ocean - that’s plain to the eye:
But you can shape the shore to make the waves pass by.