Long Hundred thousand Poems
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One gram, yes one gram, that’s all it took,
The mass of a one dollar bill.
It’s enough to make you healthy, too,
When you swallow a little green pill.
One gram, just a small little mass,
Less than a paper clip.
It’s one third that of a coin,
Or a hundred dollar black poker chip.
One gram can also hold so much,
A hundred gigabytes in a USB port.
And it’s the weight of a small metal nib,
Used in a human rights court.
One gram, yes one gram, that’s all it took
When dropped on a Japanese hill.
One gram of plutonium for a hundred thousand lives,
To murder, to slaughter, to kill.
I’m starving, no breakfast, dinner or lunches
Suffocate the next coward, sinner that punches
Constantly roaming in depression, a product of this stress
Spectators cleaning my aggression
Features adults being less than blessed
Tired of these credit unions telling me NO!
Edit my application
Now these monopolies’s selling me cash on the go
Fantasies of my flesh snorting infinity lines of coke
Enemies smiling yet they fancy me
Quickly aborting times of being broke
IRS and tax collectors stealing from me
Blood stains the projectors
Visions of me killing any type of sympathy
Riding passenger side, death cab for cutie
Providing scents of lavender
Spent your last breath gasping for beauty
Another step, to summon holy hell my passing duty
Posting my soul, yes a selfish mentality
But those who live to die
May never perish in this phony reality
No mental institution for me
I recline in this chair until I fry
Officers miss my cold stares
Catch chills as I die
Head tilted back
Hundred-thousand volts through each of my limbs
Bloody murder, becoming my newest hymn
I award to them
One more breath
And I’d beg for a kind, slow death
Now you know if I had one more breath
I’d beg for a kind, slow death
if you wanna find me, look up i won’t be hiding,
in the sky’s where i'll be hundred thousand miles and climbing
i'll be gettin lifted like the clouds vapor rising
flying through the time zones while i'm riding bolts of lightning
i’m gone...
and i hope i never come back again
all this world can offer is disaster when will it ever end here’s a testament
to the best of them who were heaven-sent
who's friends and family outlasted them no laughter then it’s paper thin
it’s shattered glass...
it’s a look into the hollow depths of your tattered past
when you heard the blast we were cast in the heart of the aftermath
just trash in the path of disaster now we must face our master’s wrath
brain matter sprayed now police dispatchers have
to pick up the phone...
who are you why are you so cool when my friend’s dead all alone
with his head blown off 45 round hollow tip lead to the dome
in the blink of an eye time passed us by
when friends and family died where was i gettin high flyin through time zones
if you wanna find me, look up i won’t be hiding,
in the sky’s where i be 100,000 miles and climbing
i be gettin lifted like the clouds vapor rising
riding bolts of lightning in my nikes time zone flying
So like our two footed selves moving toward extinction.
Ranging far and wide, loving, killing, birthing
With a familial loyalty to be admired,
paired for life and wise in the ways of nature.
Ranging far and wide, loving, killing, birthing.
The moons rise pulls song from their throats
paired for life and wise in the ways of nature
the mountains ring with your calls…….
The moons rise pulls song from their throats.
Fear of the unknown labeled in fairy tales,
the mountains ring with your calls.
Your sharp fangs peek from behind a knowing smile
Fear of the unknown labeled in fairy tales
your deep dark liquid eyes penetrate.
Your sharp pointed fangs peek from behind a knowing smile.
Soon man will be the only wolf prowling the land.
Your deep dark liquid eyes penetrate.
Two million once roamed, two hundred thousand survive.
Soon man will be the only wolf prowling the land.
Weep, weep, oh weep for the wild wolf, howl the moon.
Two million once roamed, two hundred thousand survive
with a familial loyalty to be admired.
Weep, weep, oh weep for the wild wolf, howl the moon.
So like our two footed selves moving toward extinction.
*dedicated to my spirit gaurdian long may they roam
You are told there is no pandemic.
You are told it’s all a hoax.
You are told it’s a deep state conspiracy.
Three thousand deaths here,
three thousand deaths there,
pretty soon you’re talking about real people.
And then you learn it will end in two weeks.
And then you learn testing is available for anyone.
And then you learn there’s enough ventilators and masks.
Five thousand deaths here,
five thousand deaths there,
pretty soon you’re talking about real people.
But you are assured it will be over by Memorial Day.
But you are assured that hydroxychloroquine is the magic elixir.
But you are assured the states can all reopen.
Ten thousand deaths here,
ten thousand deaths there,
pretty soon you’re talking about real people.
Surely you believe it will be over by summer.
Surely you believe drinking Lysol is the cure.
Surely you believe there will be no second wave.
Fifty thousand deaths here,
fifty thousand deaths there,
pretty soon you’re talking about real people.
Now you know all the health rules go too far.
Now you know about the government plot.
Now you cheer on the Neo-Nazi protestors.
One hundred thousand deaths here,
one hundred thousand deaths there,
pretty soon you’re talking about real people.
Intertwined in survival,
no one is an island, John Donne observed.
Do not ask for whom the death tolls.
It tolls for you.
Published: Dissident Voice, July 26,2020
Before the blast in April's darkened sky. . .
before the electrifying surge of insurgency -
when trucks and tanks were used to block the roads, and
when men and even boys were sought to aid in one malicious purpose. . .
before the rampant slaughter -
the raining of machetes down on flesh and bones
and the cornucopia of corpses left like butchered carcasses
on highways, nearby houses and in churches. . .
before the plundering, the rapes and mutilations
and the exodus of thousands to death-infested camps,
there were whisperings -
insidious and portentous to the ears of the wisely suspicious -
and a voice on the airwaves spewing hate.
Before it all,
there was a brewing of resentment
of a people with a history of poverty and
of transitory freedom and capricious politics.
And through it all, with such grave consternation,
governments debated. . . waited. . . . . . . and waited,
playing with semantics
while thousands dead became the hundred thousand,
and three long months - unrivaled for its number of atrocities -
came to its completion.
Seemingly, peace has been restored
and punishment stingily doled out.
Time moves on . . .
except for half a million
for whom compassion by the world
was spared.
Four hundred thousand waking hours passed
A blink of an eye, it seemed so fast
Between when he was born to the month he would die
His mind replayed it as his sons gathered by.
He said "I raised you well, but there’s no rule
To prevent all mistakes, to foolproof a fool.
Jim, there was no advice I could share
You kept hitting walls where there was nothing but air.
And Greg, reality gave you a sharp blow
You fell for good looks, a person you didn’t know
Blind assumptions took you off reason's track
You filled blanks with wishes instead of with facts.
You both were naive, that was your curse
Didn't realize personality is so diverse
The rainforest may have species of very kind.
But vastly outnumbered by permutations of the mind.
Greg and Jim were dismayed, they sat on the couch
They had always seen dad as a lovable grouch
But all this negativity seemed surreal
At death's door, didn't he care how he made them feel?
Dad added, "I look back, no way to make amends
My life was a train wreck with doom to my friends
I criticize you, but I didn’t know me.
I failed life's tests, who I wanted to be.
Jim and Greg met each other’s eyes, unsure what to say,
The weight of his words would not soon drift away.
Then he grasped their hands, and gave them a smile
A boost better than words, if for only a while.
i’m going to paint a silly picture
as big and bold as big and bold can be
release the most flamboyant colors feeling free
and o what awesome dreams they’ll conjure
i’ll grab my biggest paintbrush
the one that shapes the biggest strokes
for folks i’ll paint a hundred thousand rainbows
and children’s laughter will overthrow their hush
i’ll pick the brightest hues of cheerful blue
to paint the sky its merriest joyful shade
all birds will want to fly and happily parade
while belting out their songs in praise for you
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~THE MIND'S CANVAS~ 2023
AP: 2nd place 2020, 3rd place 2025, 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
He worked alone in cold, intensely black
peat water. Had to feel his way. Laid down
one hundred thousand concrete blocks, around
a million bricks, and carried on his back
uncounted thousands of the concrete bags
which shored the Minster up. Six endless years
he toiled in tedium. If bored to tears,
he never said so. And if he hit snags,
he overcame them on his own. Such men –
not loud, not proud, not looking for reward –
are just the type we really should applaud.
Perhaps there were more William Walkers then:
clear-eyed, unfussy, knowing what to do,
and quietly disposed to see it through.
The smell of French bread baking, seeps through the kitchen roof and the women wearing aprons of assorted colors and fine knitted hat kneading stiff dough in big pudding pans.
They kept moving for oven to oven taking out baked trays and replacing them with new ones. They had a hundred thousand orders to fill and it kept them on their feet all day.
They kept changing shift but they could not complete the orders on time, they worked all night drinking coffee to keep them steady and sweet doughnut to keep up their energy.
The sweltering heat in the kitchen wets her face and soaked her body but she continues to knead the dough for the evening show .
More than a hundred women in the kitchen bustling with activities and each of them has a different assignment that coincide with mine. They had to deliver four thousand breads before three.
Five thousand people are sitting on top of the mountain, waiting for manner to fall from heaven; they have been there for five days, listening to the Greek oracle and the story of zeus and his life on mounts Olympus.
He controls the skies and carries the signal of thunderbolt, the eagle. the bull and the oak, he gets his energy from the east and carries a scepter with a decree.
He was called by numerous names but Plato knows that he is always the same epithets is one of Zeus surname.
I walked quietly into the multitude to hear what the lecture was all about and someone spotted me in the crowd and starts to shout, “I ‘m hungry” she cried, “did you bring me here to die,?” “Zeus has five children”, she said so give me some food before I drop dead.
See them standing in the breadline holding long French bread from the divine, the multitude on the mountain has not been fed and you have to deliver five thousand French bread before Zeus emerge from the sky.
The smell of French bread has opened my appetite and the women in the kitchen has bread galore to fill up all the bread store; place your order before you go through the door.