Long Furnaces Poems
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Sad, the poor excuses we have for
leadership in our great nation. Sad,
the dissipation, corruption, occupation
by self-serving, soulless, power-hungry
madmen and woman, who have sold their
minds and hearts to the Spirit of Evil –
all for fame and fortune; regardless of
human cost –
Those voices behind the Puppet-throne...
faceless culprits, safe and secure in their
fortresses, with high walls, and armed
guards; sipping the best wine while watching
from elite towers –
Cowards the gang of them!
Murdering innocence at will. They perish
to reach our border – and those that do, believing
false promises never meant to be kept: Like cattle
shipped to become cheap, abused labor, once
their votes have been counted. Struggling
countries around the world, sold US propaganda, that
of freedom and equality for all – only to be abandoned, left for
slaughter, to keep railed the Money-train of
endless wars.
In the upcoming years, when God sees fit,
as do us all, these savages will leave the earth -- their
journeys having left our world with pain and suffering
far outweighing any possible good accidentally accomplished.
The Devil will need vastly more real-estate, with a huge
supply of coal for the added furnaces, if to properly
accommodate so large and extremely putrid a falling –
Oh to have that contract! The fools cry, they jockey yet
for controlling positions, still not comprehending the vent-less
surface of their smothering new reality -- the C's the P's the O's
the B's the S's the A's, the entire sick, wretched, spineless,
heartless pack of them.
Furiously the flakes fell, thickly coating
all they touched, breaking branches
with their weight. Yet still relentlessly
the snow cascaded seemingly ever thicker.
Freezing temperatures with icy fingers that
turned all they touched into frozen statues.
Ponds with ice two feet thick encouraging
the skaters to swirl, twirl and circle freely.
Flurry huge flakes that formed deep drifts
some topping out at fifteen feet barriers.
Suffocating sheep and many others
with its cold relentless arms of purpose.
For now Winter reins in supremacy
killing of the weak sending some
into hibernation seeking relief
from the biting bitter cold.
Furnaces blaze and their flames dance
throwing out some warmth and comfort,
bringing a reminder that soon
Spring will once more walk our lands.
One day, life will leave my battered carcass.
One day, I will no longer belong to this rotten world.
Today, my suicidal urges mock Death with laughter.
I waste the breath of life that my universal force gave me freely.
I came from the darkness, and I shall end in the furnaces of my own destruction.
Doing good is a duty, to soothe the wrath of the Creator.
I will end in the flames of my own hell.
Like all those innocent souls, I too have suffered.
I know every face of death.
I have worn every mask of misery.
I am but an ignorant man, aware of his ignorance,
Thirsty for knowledge like the builders of the pyramids.
I chose to laugh so my demons would remain silent.
Since I learned to walk, my tears have dried.
I stand for truth, justice, liberty, equality, and righteousness.
I believe fraternity is an absurd notion, drenched in hypocrisy.
I hate the racists who preached humanism and universalism
Only to sanctify racialism and supremacism.
I am a child of war, misery, anger and suffering.
I grew up with sadness, uncertainty and anxiety.
I took refuge in solitude to avoid human bestiality and its hypocrisy.
My distress illuminated the darkness of my weaknesses.
I am forged in the burning furnaces of struggle and survival.
In my veins flows the impure blood of slaves, riflemen and resistance fighters.
My gaze carries the weight of the pain of my color and the age-old injustices of my oppressed people throughout the Earth.
My persecuted skin is the cemetery of the scars of battles, trials and sacrifices of my ancestors dehumanized by supremacist slave traders and racialist colonialists.
I am the bitter fruit of a continent nourished by fratricidal conflicts, genocides, civil wars, coups d'état, dictatorial excesses, tribal hatred, treachery, corruption and neocolonial stratagems.
My memories are horrible nightmares, broken fragments of all the horrors my eyes have seen.
My mind is a battlefield where truth, justice, liberty, equality and fraternity are expressed without hindrance.
The gates of Hell opened wide.
Six million souls stepped inside.
Beaten. Shot. Starved to death.
The words of God still on their breath.
Screams of anguish. Cries of pain.
Abhorrent laughter of the insane.
Mothers beg. Their babies moan.
They smell charred flesh and smoldering bone.
Cords of bodies in a row.
Frozen corps in the snow.
Gas clouds creep across the floors.
Hinges creek on oven doors.
Idle boxcars sit on tracks.
Inside lie bodies in gruesome stacks.
The S.S. soldiers earn their pay.
They stoke the furnaces night and day.
To the insidious cruelity
Of a madman's hate.
Six million Jews met their fate.
Remember them! Remember well!
Those souls who entered
The gates of Hell.
Form:
My demons terrorize my ghosts.
With cannabis, I treat the aftermath of my chaotic choices.
Irrevocable truths engraved on the indelible scars of my impure soul.
I'm still trapped in the same nightmare since my divine spark drifted closer to the flames of hell.
I sing the symphonies of my miserable life into the microphones of the bearer of light.
I stopped whining before the universal force.
One day, I will bathe in Lucifer’s furnaces to taste the delights of eternal life.
I accumulate transgressions and blasphemies since I discovered the grim nature of humanity.
I celebrate my failures so my victories remain taciturn, like the melodies of silence.
I still cannot chase after the fleeting vanities that humans sanctify.
Still not a hypocrite, so truthful that solitude has become my ally.
Still allergic to injustice and forked tongues.
Still alive to never imprison my dignity in a dungeon of victimhood lamentations.
We came upon a clearing as we all started to choke
Our eyes hurting, painful, us soldier serving blokes
Pieces of black floated, sporadic burning embers passed
Hazed buildings we could see through the trees, chimneys a fast
A stench captured our senses, nothing like this war has before
As we progressed through this something, my heart skips to sore
Beyond the barbed wire fences, deadening cries filter all around
And then I see skeletal beings, it's they who make those sounds
Emaciated to thin, I've killed men before my eyes
Women, men, and children so young, it's like watching the walking die
Through the gates we go, human carcasses piled so high
The hardened in us tremble, and many of us start to cry
The strong that we meet, hold our hands and welcome us so
Leading us into some buildings, we entered, they wouldn't go
On entering we now understand, their unwillingness to follow we
It beggars belief, mans inhumanity to man, that allows this kin to grieve
Furnaces still roaring, burning bodies consumed by their heat
Do I image they were alive or dead to meet this ghastly greet
We enter another building, witnessing piles of shoes and suitcases
I've seen many a sight in this war, but never a sight such as this
The strength of me now exhausted, in wretch I'm sickened to disgust
It's plain and clear, so evident that I've witnessed murdering lust
To the air I wanting go, for their memory I'll never forget
And for the rumours that these places existed, for some will they regret
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
Resilience and fortitude; weathered the wilderness
where an unlearned cabin-patch man snatches
every book his hands can capture, then captures
our hearts, tall, even taller with his top hat —
a silk black band added after his beloved son
Willie dies. Lincoln, a man who united us
in the favor of freedom, freedom that frees the pandemic
of slavery, the dark history of whips and chains. And
furthermore we ask, “Why oh why…”
when headway is made do men continue to suffer
and hang from trees, crosses burned.
And all good men suffer with them, the agony of evil —
it was to be stamped out, and the white hoods snatched
off crazytown. If one truly believes in God, then he loves,
not hates, his fellowman and each wants the best for him —
of education, family, boundless freedom and desires
to hold hands — building a chain, not of rust, but of
trust. And we sing out, “God bless America.”
I visited the WWII museum in New Orleans. A flat map
showed the takeover of the world by forces of evil. Almost
the entire world of East and West lit up — it took my breath
away. What power quenched the burning furnaces, the
torture of peoples? When America stood up, under
the banner of “In God We Trust,” the hellfires, not
easily squelched, the brave, the spirit of the wilderness
gave all, they fought to set the captives free. Men, in general,
are not perfect but the fight for freedom is a worthy cause
and the sanity of a sound mind, a candlelight vigil of veracity
is one to be stoked. Do we continue
to fight each other, dividing, drawing lines, or pull
each other into big sloppy hugs and love’s kisses.
God bless this union called America; God’s mercy
invites us to sing with one voice; freedom’s choice.
It’s the fourth - fireworks; the fizzle of stars.
The colorful display of power of the people —
waving of the red, white and blue; freedom
rings, slowly, building to a crescendo
to include all the melting pot called the USA.
7/4/2020
At the cradle of my nightmares,
My future is a horror film,
I track my ghosts,
Like a junkie in withdrawal.
I am a true clandestine calamity,
A mass grave of silent suffering,
A candelabra of pain soothed by dirty money,
I hate the human race,
And I will never have a pet.
I am a loner addicted to silence.
I only write in the dark, to deathly sounds.
A mix of gloomy feelings,
I walk in the darkness of my imperfections,
My hands are no longer innocent,
Since I’ve handled weapons of war.
I am a child of the slums of the third world,
I know perfectly the orifices of misery.
Another damn sleepless night spent monologuing in the darkness of this cold room,
The devil covers his ears to the atrocities spilling from my confessions.
I’ve already used gunpowder
For a firework on the edge of legality.
I never agreed to sleep on an empty stomach,
I’ve risked my freedom since I was ten.
I’ve learned to walk among hungry beasts.
I’m already at war with my demons,
I know I’ll end up in the flames.
I know I have no right to trust a human being,
Being a slave to shine is impossible.
My enemies squat in my imperfect flesh.
I don’t smoke crack,
I don’t smoke cannabis,
I don’t snort cocaine,
I don’t drink alcohol,
I sometimes burn a few cigarettes.
I avoid psychotropics,
I’m not a poet,
Just a tormented mind,
Prisoner of infernal loops,
Where murder scenes repeat endlessly.
My tears stopped flowing down my cheeks
Since I saw my friend crushed by a logging truck.
I am an angry man with murderous impulses,
I commit suicide each time in this same nightmare that has repeated since my childhood.
I’m approaching fifty,
I’ve stopped meditating on the whims of the reaper,
I’ve stopped wandering in graveyards.
Let the universal force show mercy on my impure, tainted soul
By the poisons of lust,
I accumulate transgressions to have a throne in the furnaces of hell.
I don’t believe in paradise, but I know I’ll burn in the abyss’s celestial flames after my twilight.
A deep philosophical reflection in the ramblings of my delirium.
I hate the spotlights like those criminals on the run,
Too many regrets hidden in the closets,
A clean criminal record like the entrails of Christ’s mother.
I blaspheme to darken my divine fragment.
Deep in the woods, nearly three miles back,
far from New York with its tall glass and steel,
on a low ridge that has no proper name,
I stumble on something that feels surreal.
An old-growth forest grove, somehow survived
the thirst of furnaces and logging claims,
straight white pines that, in centuries past,
would’ve been masts for ships sailing the main.
Thick, furrowed bark runs up the branchless trunks
up to a one-hundred-fifty foot height,
maybe they’ll never beat a sequoia,
but in the east, they’re one hell of a site.
Now this hidden plot has dozens of trees
that must be six-feet in width at the base,
throwing so much shade the undergrowth dies,
and you can walk easily through the space.
Jail-bars of light that somehow make it down
do little against the shadowy cool,
fleet squirrels will scamper, disrupting the calm,
as they’re chittering away like young fools.
Trunks rising around me like buttresses,
smooth boulders scattered about are the pews,
the altar is the crest of the low ridge,
for a service know to a blessed few.
Birds high above are impromptu choirs,
communion wine is the babbling brook,
mosses are vestments, worn close to the earth,
pine needles are incense when by the wind shook.
I may like those churches of wood and stone,
but for all of their grace and beauty,
somehow they cannot hold their own against
a seemingly random mish-mash of trees.
How nature so red in tooth and in claw
can create something stately and sublime
out of the chaos that Darwin’s law brings,
has always baffled my poor, human mind.
But feeling so small against aged giants
makes me think these is much more yet unseen,
I do not think it can be an accident
that there exists such a place so serene.
Much as I’d like to show you all the path,
I fear doing so would only end wrong,
great trees last longer when they are unknown,
and I mean for this grand place to live on.