Long Drone on Poems
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INSTEAD OF WAR
HISTORY IS A MYSTERY TO HUMANITY,
SOME KNOWN WITH AN EVIDENCE,
SOME UNKWOWN WITHOUT A TRACE,
PEOPLE EAGER TO KNOW WHY LIFE IS WHAT IT IS NOW?
IN OUR STRUGGLE TO LIVE,
WE GOT TO UNDERSTAND WHAT SENCE IT MAKES TO LIVE WITHOUT WAR,
THE HIGHEST STUPIDITY OF MAN KIND, IS THE ACT OF HATE,
LIKE A BIRD FLY,
WE FLY WAR,
LIKE A LION FEED ON FRESH MEAT
AM EMPIRE SUCK DRY THE FURTURE OF THE INNOCENT,
LIKE A VAMPIRE,
WE WAR FROM DISTANCE PLACES,
INSTEAD OF WAR
LETS TOGETHER PULL OFF THE MARKS OF ISOLATION
THEN THE RUMOURS OF WAR WILL EXIST NO MORE
LIKE A GLASS FALL,
BREAK THE BOND OF HATE,
THEN YOU SEE UNITY WILL ALWAYS KNOCK ON THE DOORS OF OUR TOWN,
LIKE A RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
INSTEAD OF WAR
LET LOVE FLOW FROM THE TOP TO THE BUTTOM,
LET LOVE FLOW FROM OLD TO YOUNG,
LET LOVE FLOW FROM GREAT TO SMALL,
INSTEAD OF WAR
ON EVERY CONERS OF THE WORLD,
LET UNITY REIGN LIKE THE AIR,
INSTEAD OF WAR
IN OUR 21ST CENTURY,
LET IT BE WRITTEN THAT WE LEARN TO TOLERATE ONE ANOTHER,
DESPITE OUR DEFERENT OPINION,
LET IT BE SAID IN DISTANCE TIME,
HOW BRAVE WE ARE TO UNDERSTAND THE IMPORTANCE OF PEACE,
INSTEAD OF WAR
WE NEED TO ANSWER THE CALL OF NATURE,
THE CALL OF LOVE,
LET MAKE USE OF THE TRUTH IN US,
THERE IS LOVE IN EVERYONE,
INSTAED OF WAR
LET THE MOUNTAIN HILLS OF ILLUSION BE DRONE DOWN,
WITH TOGETHERNESS IN UNITY,
LET THE TEMPLES OF SATAN BE BURN ABRAZE BY OUR STRUGLE TO LOVE ONE ANOTHER,
WE NEED NO MORE WARS IN THE WORLD,
LET THUNDER STRIKE DEAD THE PULPIT OF THE PROPHETS OF DOOM,
LET THE EARTH SHAKE AWAY THE TREASURE OF BABYLON UNTIL THEY BE BORN AGAIN,
LET THE SUN HEAT DOWN THE WEAPONS OF DISTRUCTION,
OF ALL SATANIC VAMPIRES,
INSTEAD OF WAR,
WHERE DREAMS ARE SHATTERED,
INNOCENT BABIES CRY FOR HELP,
BUT NONE TO HELP,
MOTHERS BLEED TO DEATH BY MEN ON KAKI JACKET,
SMOKES OF DRONE ON EVERY CONERS OF THE INNOCENT STREET,
CHANTS FOR HELP LEFT AND RIGHT,
UP AND DOWN FROM THE LIPS OF THE POOR,
BUT WHO IS TO HELP?
ALL FOR WAR,
INSTEAD OF WAR
LETS MOVE TO A BETTER WAY,
THE WAY OF LOVE,
THE WAY OF UNITY,
DESPITE WHATEVER IS,
THE WAY OF PEACE
I REST MY CASE.
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I'm vexed not because of
Personal issues but because of the
Morbid, abstract canvas of life
I'm subjected to witness, where
Groups of so-called righteous men
Drop indiscriminate bombs
On fellow humans ripping
Homes and families apart
Shedding the blood of the innocent
Then simply labeling it
Collateral damage -
Collateral damage of War
Shelling babies... collateral
Damage of war!
Then pluck out thine eyes
With two bold fingers
For I cannot bear witness
To the dislodging of families
Fleeing wildly wherever
The cold wind blows
Crossing rough seas
None with the ability of
Jesus to walk on water
Nor faith to part it like Moses
Water ...swilling with red blood
And saline stinging tears
Mothers wailing bearing
The agony in suffering
Petrified twisted faces pressed
To their wet bosoms
Fathers gnashing teeth,
Raging, panting, feeling
Like a poltroon
Powerless. Gray skies depicts
No rainbow, no promise.
Strike me down
I refuse to bear witness
Beseeching before I meet my demise,
Obliterate borders, these
Man made borders
Us with our Jingoistic attitude
Jingoistic ... flag waving
Entitlement ... displaying
Utmost xenophobia
The mantra mocking
Go home, go home, go
Home - face your fate
On your homeland soil
Drenched and soaked in blood.
I shiver terrifically in my skin
What if it was me ... you
In those weathered skin
Under the moon and stars
Branded a refugee, worthless
Vulnerable, famished, weak
Motivated by hope to
Overcome barriers and borders
And when pruned fleshed
Feet imprint the coarse sand
There's no child in hand
Swallowed up by the gluttonous sea
Let hell's bells drone on
When dastardly Superpowers drop
Nasty bombs on the innocent
Butchering, maiming ... moribund
Then labeling it collateral damage
Cajole me in the right frame of mind
For I will go stark raving mad.
© 2015 Denise Morgan
they say (whoever the **** “they”
are) that “honesty is the best policy” &
presumably, one assumes (though
we should never assume, so sayeth
the 7th grade math teachers of the world
---because “assuming makes an ass out
of you & me”) that when speaking in
such a manner, the talk is of personal
relationships---something we value,
something we feel we take part in on a
daily basis, something in which we feel
we have some sort of control over
&
hell, that big ol’ work of fiction proclaims
emphatically “thou shall not lie,”
presumably casting a negative light on any
lil’ fib or any embellishment which may seem
a bit too extravagant to hold any
truth at all---thus making the greatest
storytellers of all time, liars & for that fact,
depending on how down-to-the-nitty-gritty
you get, this makes each & every one of us
with out 100% recall when it comes to the
memory dept., liars as well,
pure & simple.
with that in mind, one not need to listen to
Billy Joel drone on, instead we all live as
hypocrites, saying one thing & doing another,
expecting the one we shown the most
compassion to, to return the favor,
while hoping that the more powerful entities
of the world will do the same---
but before the monstrous piles upon piles of
libel manufactured in the world over
can come to a hilt, that first little web is
spun.
it comes when one convinces themselves that
to reveal a certain truth to said loved one
would actually do more harm than “good” &
the convincing may take hours, it may take
days, but in the end, the outcome is the same---
a lie is made.
and every time a lie is made, it gets easier---
though the lies all get filed under the same
heading,
“things that would have done more harm than
‘good’,”
it is the ease of the lying which develops like a
cancer,
slowly metastasizing until it has spread
throughout the body,
laying the groundwork for the
eventual
certain
death
of said relationship.
Her:
"I speak...
these words that bridge the gap between our seats
closing in the distance which my fingers could not reach.
They cling onto your sleeves.
Now, a part of me will be
with you even as you leave."
Him:
"I write..
these messages that I may feel your presence
despite the undeniable distance.
'SENT,' the word plastered on my screen,
which carry the weight of the feeling
the moment the other end screams 'SEEN.'"
Her:
"I savor...
the taste of each delicacy that touches
my sensory buds with your every trial.
A feeling of foodgasm trickles down my chest
as I'm swallowing the my jealousy and denial."
Him:
"I burn..
all my desires and pour it onto the plate
just to satisfy your finicky palate.
With cuts and burns I hide with every trial,
just to see your gratifying smile."
Her:
"I smile...
at the world we have inside your car
as the rearview narrows to a point from a far.
But my lips draw into a line when I'm struck with reality.
The conversation drone on all about her and not about me."
Him:
"I clutch...
tight with the disappointment that I feel,
as my fingers grip the steering wheel.
The engine halt mirrors the sigh of my defeat
knowing it isn't you on my passenger seat."
A pillowcase backpack, camping under the kitchen table.
Lost in imagination, deaf to strife.
In every way full of wonder of life.
Holed up in a couch cushion bunker.
Barefoot and bare chested.
Taking aim to fire a one-eyed shot.
Make believe enemies threaten an onslaught.
Built a kingdom of cardboard
With a window cut by a kitchen knife.
A quarter inch of corrugated paper,
Captured imagination now vanished like water vapor.
The boy inside still resides though the memory needs prodding.
Make believe turned to believing in what he makes.
Construction in cardboard again he undertakes.
This time with less charm and laughter.
Replacing pure gold with iron pyrite.
Like replacing the sun with a porch light.
One is fueled by timeless truth
Penetrating the darkness of space.
A flash of this lightning epistle
Descending on earth like a heaven sent missile.
The other a cheap motel incandescent,
Off-white, almost yellow.
With tiny circling friends that drone on.
And only if someone left the light on.
Retreating back to a cardboard box.
Smells and feels familiar.
The box seems smaller or am I older?
Don’t care. I’m with a heaven sent soldier.
Now this box is as grand as the first.
With the same laughter and bright eyes peeking around the corner.
Making believe is reborn in the eyes of another.
When have you last seen the underside of a kitchen table?
Or crawled through a paper tunnel?
To peep with a grin when you reach the end.
When?
The year had started bravely,
With assurances anew
With life and hope anew
O, but the knave – he played me,
With assurances untrue!
To contemplate it slays me -
His promises untrue!
Yet years drone on like drumbeats,
The monotony of years
The bleak and sullen years
And a scarcity most bittersweet,
Most certainly appears
A paucity I loathe to meet -
The scarcity of years
And tho' the years betray me,
The thought of being dead
Fills my soul with dread
Solemn Death that frightens me,
That universal dread!
The thirst for immortality,
Is unquenchable – unfed!
And a methylated river flows,
How slavishly it creeps
From fountains of the deep
A river that the entombed know,
Those in dreamless sleep
A river that the martyrs know,
Those in trance-like sleep
Lo! The ghastly river, Death -
From Tartarus below
The ghastly torrent flows
That methylated river, Death -
Doth tortuously flow
It suffocates and stifles breath,
As martyrs surely know
I've no want to join them,
Those in trance-like sleep
Those in dreamless sleep
For living shines as diadems,
Compar'd to martyr's sleep
Yes! Living shines as diadems,
Compar'd to martyr's sleep
And tho' the years dismay me,
And the journey seems too far
The voyage seems too far
The thirst for immortality,
Outlives the garnet star
Yea, the want of immortality,
Outlasts the garnet star
Some people take to Facebook
In an effort to create
A safe and pleasant habitat
Unfriending those who wish debate.
But still rile against a college chum
Who's not lost their winter weight.
We drone on about the weather
Far too often before we die.
Talking incessantly about our children
To those unfortunate to catch our eye.
But fail to address substantive issues
And I have to question why?
No religion, politics or talk of sex
To free us from our doubt.
Avoiding issues that may offend
Seems the safer route.
But spotting the neighbor wearing spandex
Deserves a rapid shout.
No fossil fuel or global warming talk
To change us from our course.
And any attempt to grow our minds
Is met with dogged force.
It's far better to speak of gardening tips
Which we heartily endorse.
We close our eyes and dim our ears
To the thornier things in life.
And may indeed find sweet sanctuary
From unwanted social strife.
But rest assured we'll have wasted much
In a desire to escape our neighbor's knife.
We avoid such talk and play it safe...
Our true essence hidden from the fray.
But I have to tell... my greatest fear
That haunts and tasks me to this day.
Is when we stand before the gates of Heaven...
We'll have nothing much to say.
The End
*Check out my cartoon on Webtoons Dave McHattie.
These judging walls.
Ever always must I ignore their calls.
Their hushed whispers and silent screams,
Unendingly poisoning my tormented dreams.
Tossing, turning, then bolting upright...
But merely waking ends not the maddening plight.
Unceasingly the murmurs burn my ears;
Ruthlessly parading my failures and fears.
Ever always ringing down these halls
The accusations of these judging walls.
The endless watch of these judging walls
Keeps me guarded more than any and all.
Ever perceiving, always seeing
My shortcomings, faults, my flaws as a being.
On and on it perpetually wears
Until my steely constitution tears.
And then as my heart and my mind bleed
The whispers drone on, so conscious thought they might impede.
Condemnation rains as I curl up in a ball
Feeling so vulnerable before these judging walls.
Oh these merciless judging walls
Coaxing me ever closer to my pall.
Only to add insult to injury, do they speak.
In perpetuum reminders my future is bleak.
Loosing their tongues they generously give lashes
Each stroke, each word, digging deeper the gashes.
Once strong mind now frightfully frail
Once glowing countenance now painfully pale.
I doubt I can, but I'll attempt to stand tall
Under the relentless barrage of these judging walls.
Oh, those carefree days of youth
where did they go, where did they go?
He sits quietly in his recliner watching the TV drone on and on...
Handsome in his youth, now his body is gaunt and frail
his thinning gray hair is brushed carefully over his mottled scalp.
Those blue eyes, once bright and vital, now appear
faded and dim under heavy glasses.
A wind up clock faintly ticks by the minutes, and his eyelids
get heavy. He is tired, always tired...then he dreams.
Dreams of distant memories come back to him
he feels so alive, living in those glory days of long ago.
Now a young man, full of vigor, running along the beach
swimming in the ocean, muscled, tan and strong.
He then sees himself on his high school campus
proudly wearing his letter man jacket for his varsity
basketball team, joking around with his friends
going on dates, going to dances, going to parties.
A sudden noise blasting from the television jolts
him awake, bringing him out of his long ago reverie.
He glances down at his frail frame, and reality
comes screaming down upon him again.
Then a few small, salty tears trickle down
from my dad's weather worn face...
Oh, those carefree days of youth
where did they go, where did they go?
Written on 6/8/2016
Country western songs are for the lonely and the sad
They drone on and on, and some are truly pretty bad.
If you have heard one, you have pretty much heard them all.
Most are about the good guy losing the pretty girl after all.
Oh, give me a country western wail and shrill twang
Where the moon dogs howl and the moon doth clang
Give me a cowboy with a belt buckle that flips and flops
Bore me to death until my bored heart stops
Country western music blah blah blah
The drummer can drum it with a rah rah rah
You can sleep through it for it is silly, lah dee dah
Country music blah blah blah
Country western songs are for the ones who like to drown
In their own mire and muck, human dogs from a pound
Country western gives me no personal happiness or delight.
I would rather listen to the news stations throughout my night.
Oh give me a country western truck that I can take mudding.
A motor I can ruin and make my dad pay for, McFudding.
Give me a rodeo, some chaps, a lasso and some worn boots.
Throw in a bull, cow, or horse, and send me down some hay chutes.
Country western music blah blah blah
The drummer can drum it with a rah rah rah
You can sleep through it for it is silly, lah dee dah
Country music blah blah blah