Long Liars Poems
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So I sit here and self reflect going through the lessons I was taught and forced to
spit out the right answers I disagreed with and now have the chance to say Hitler
was the victim
and in Vietnam there was no hero but a cleansing of getting rid of thousand of
serial killers desperate for the love of an abusive god they didn’t know how to
stand up against who wanted someone to blame
When we write the next history book of lies about today’s liars and propaganda
and confusion
And if I could sneak into the history pages
What lessons would I try to teach the students of a continent to say you don’t
have to have church in school for there to be a god
Look at me look at me
Figure out my riddle
If you’re that brave but write down the wrong answer or you’re in trouble
And then wait to find like-minded individuals
What lesson would I teach the world using all of the world’s actors?
Me as everybody’s fool
So the spiritually impoverished could study one chapter of history and walk away
with their hands full of gems and spiritual crowns and realize
they now have a test of psychology to figure out all the pieces of their world
to under stand the script we have written for them
and who amongst them are false and true prophets either playing along or who
knows what domino is going to catastrophically going to fall
What’s the perfect act for my actors with me to carry them into history?
If I could just sneak in
But how do I get in there?
How do I show them history doesn’t care if you’re skinny or fat?
Ugly or beautiful
Stupid or smart
Do I care what essays the might write about me in the future if I was to make it in
comparison to our politicians
Would there be a whole course in school called figuring out the world’s scripts
101
I could change the world if you let me
And in all honest as I protest some things here and there
You are another domino
and a piece of my claim to my fame
and maybe one day it will be someone else
but 27 years of serenading me and stealing my dreams
Id rather have lived my hell on earth for a reason of where vie cried for the world
and had the confusion as to why my names are songs to be for good
then to be jealous of a man who spent three days in my shoes and was crucified
for trying to live a lie
But ignorance is bliss
There was something spectacular
about a winter, long and hard,
on the Miles River.
Some days will never be the same.
Greying skies, heavy hung
with crystal burdens
of the wind, and air. Twenty above,
after sunset, zero.
And the snow was the problem
of every man of driving age
with responsibility. His children
were busy getting ready.
And getting ready! The flurry
of wool, and the long john-ed cotton.
A long and hearty walk ahead, river bound,
passing ponds along the way...
A pair of skates, tied together,
a knitted cap and a smile
crossed the frosted fields, the puddled
slush and slurry, hurried
to gather like the feathered geese
who gathered
on the ice inside a frozen cove,
a forgotten day one January.
And the town of Saint Michaels:
a sidewalk of salt and shovels
digging out the shops...
the smell of warmth, of oak,
drifting thick from brick and mortar,
soups and running noses tucked away
inside the bars and churches,
snowfall on stones in cemeteries
of the Methodist, St. Luke's,
and of the Catholic.
There's birds at the feeder
of a residential tucked nearby.
A sigh, a whisper of air
between the shops
from the docks, chilly regards
from river and bay.
And a waterman, on his way
to the mouth: leather skin, covered
and coated in khaki and denim,
with permanent painted on flannel.
The oysters busheled up are icing over
in a harbor of seafood trucks
and white liars, old men who carry business
no longer, young boys with no blood to offer.
Forsaken a tradition, over a dollar.
And so the middle aged...age. With bad knees,
busted knuckles, and a thermos of lukewarm
coffee, black and heavy.
Cigarette smoke and rubber boots,
bibs and denim jeans drying inside
beside a stove of wood, the cord
stacked long outside.
And babies buried deep in coats
and blankets, mothers careful
in the parking lots of
Grauls and Acme.
Stews for dinner, Oyster based
and beef, warm tomato
with Saltines for crumbling
and butter for spreading.
Just the way of things.
On Spencer Creek, someone took down
a Christmas tree: a tomato cage
on a dock. Distant echoes of a motor
lapped the shoreline.
Some men dreamed of spring time,
when the cold would stop biting
and the creeks would clear
away the winter with the rain.
Some days will never be the same.
When you find your early your already much to late all this time now you over compensate
A rush towards the front so we can crawl to the back always flinching from the timely attack
anticapation explodes towards the surface flooding out release its only purpose
Timely ruin erodes the youthful heart corroding the edges lets it fall apart
age and wisdom go hand in hand the curse of life has only one demand
youth and vigor go hand in hand but at that point we dont even understand
in the end we return to the land all these things we were crumbles away into black sand
A hard life takes a serious toll no one to help you madness takes control
lonely hearts lightens the soul to run the great race headlong towards the hole
some live life as a perfect dream while others mostly cry and sometimes scream
good deeds leave nothing to redeem we all lie in dirt or so it would seem
time and space go hand in hand we all must suffer there every command
pain and strife go hand in hand alone we fall and alone we must stand
in the end we pass to the land until we fade and crack turning into black sand
writing this down its quite hard to think today could be it id be gone in a blink
pondering the end leads to the brink no matter how high ones soar everything must sink
it seems to be a very grim notion no matter how hard you swim your consumed by the ocean
live like some mad commotion but time moves straight it knows no other motion
life and death go hand in hand no matter who you are you see others life’s are so grand
fools and liars walk hand in hand each of us all carry these life’s long brand
until the day we return to the land once particles of icy cold lifeless black sand
all of us are dieing only some know when cant control the future but we are were we’ve been
the endless void a thought Iam not akin ill go when I go and not until then
perception is something you have to be in to see our lives stretch and then grow thin
So many hits we take in the chin but the harder I’m hit the wider I grin
because one thing is certain on your journey you’ll be hit over and over again
shame and guilt go hand in hand for all our troubles the end cannot be planned
love and loss go hand in hand we hold so tight by the thinnest strand
until we sleep in the bosom of the land when all of this returns to black sand
And then lovers go away, lost in time, endless time
with ticking clocks
and gypsy girls stealing thumping hearts
in silhouette dreams.
Crying out to be hugged, and mocked, and
those stupid people with blank faces and empty hearts
looking desperately for God, sees something wrong with me.
Nothing is wrong,
I don't have a gun,
an extension rope in my closet,
the closet doors are closed,
and Pink Floyd plays softy, timelessly in the background,
as dreams of the girl, cant get them out of my head.
Tears burst out,
my throat wanting to be cut,
but they always kill me with words,
and finger points.
Mocking laughs of friendship that eat me alive
every time I see that girl with another guy, talking about him,
loving him, dreaming about him, holding him,
loving him, loving him, LOVING HIM!!
I tears me up inside, I just want to scream!
I want my life to be left alone,
but how can I, when a therapist looks at my brain,
for a five hundred dollar session for one day out of the month.
I can face the facts that I'm heavy,
that I have a face of Andre the Giant and the Elephant Man combined,
but what can I do, and how am I suppose to feel,
when they talk of suicide, and I wasn't even thinking of pointing a loaded gun to my head.
LOST! That is what I am.
A blind man in the dark,
a lost soul swimming in a fish bowl,
a coward looking for love in all the wrong places,
but I want to feel, I need to feel that love,
the passionate love I've never felt.
My fragile heart can't take tough love and hose me down afterwards
with the Word of GOD!
I love God, I have faith in him,
but don't point your finger and say that I don't know him.
And then when Lovers go away,
to their dream houses,
lost in neverendingland,
I lose my hope for humanity,
Humanity I hate you- (I do not strongly dislike you, I HATE YOU!)
You all want to kill each other,
than blame it on me, because I sit alone in my room and smile,
you say I'm emotionally unstably,
but no I'm not, I think it is you who fell into society's little lie
you gullible liars.
When Lovers go away,
don't come looking for me,
when the gypsy girl comes along and steals your thumping heart,
because I will be long gone,
murdered by your blood stained words
and "thoughtful" ideas of how I should of lived my own life.
Tisk...Tisk...Tisk... I hope you feel good about yourselves... goodnight...
.6.8.2014.
Walk these streets with me
Observe the cracked sidewalks
That poor people walk
And rich people balk
Look at the dilapidated strip malls
And broken down concert halls
Once resplendent and representative of the American Dream
Now a bitter reminder of an empire in decay
And it's not okay
But we're living in the ghost of glory
A former empire set on fire
We're in dire but led by liars
Serenaded by choirs of bugs and mice
It was the middle class who paid the price
Whose feelings might as well be chiseled with ice
Because we're melting in the pot
As our dreams begin to rot
With nary a thought from the billionaires
Who will be there but without a care
Walk these streets with me
Look at the hopeless eyes
Starving and fed up with lies
We sold the American Dream
For an American meme
The gears of capitalism keep turning
As the cities keep burning
We greased the gears with blood
And enough tears to cause a flood
Suffering so much we can't fight for our own life
As the media sows seeds of division and civil strife
And when you speak out
They'll break you down and make people doubt
But walk these streets with me
Look at the grafitti on the walls
It's heartfelt and more inspired than what the media calls
Cinema which is just there to distract
From the fact that we're on the wrong track
And even worse on the wrong train
Filled with those who COVID-19 has slain
But if I have your attention folks
Don't forget he who called it a liberal hoax
Look at the fires in California
Look at the water level rise
We're on a path to demise
Look at the hurricanes
Every summer bringing fresh pain
Look at the wealth increases of Bezos, Musk, and Gates
The grass is greener on the other side but this is our fate
Walk the streets with me
And look with me
The Panama Papers
The Pandora Papers
The convenient death of Epstein (he didn't kill himself, did he?)
All to protect the cowards in power
But like the energizer bunny we keep going
And going and going and going and going
Only the batteries are finally dying
And the leaders play games and are lying
Knowing we're running out of time
Just walk with me and look at the grime
Look at the America you don't see on TV
It's where you will see me
And millions just like me
And maybe you'll see this idea that we're free
Is just a fantasy
I recall similar signs and notices
of ironic appeal:
"We have a zero-tolerance policy against bullying"
ripped and torn,
and is that a dried yellow yolk stain?
"This is a NO GUNS neighborhood"
surrounded by a lot
vacant except for weeds
mulched in broken shards of glass.
ZERO CRIME AREA notices
as prolific as NO HUNTING signs
in SureWood Forest.
Me thinks
we protest
too much
to not raise questions
about the wisdom of declaring victory
and moving on,
rather than struggling through win/lose
toward win/win resilient climates of peace.
Perhaps the guns
and their bully keepers
can't read,
or don't choose to notice the toothless notice,
or don't have enough time
in their conflicted day
on their lose/lose way
to making liars
of our best win/win published intentions
Made by frustrated raw spot prey
on some other day
in some other room
they would not
could not
should not feel free to enter
listen
then speak transparently
of their/our own vulnerably exhausted sweet spots
Now worn into deeply entrenched
isolated anger
hate
fear
envy
mistrust
distrust
defensive fight and/or flee choices
Provoked by win/lose competitive environments
cultures
climates
experiences
not bully and gun and crime
and co-related raw spot free.
Universal compassion
is a worthy goal.
But declaring goals already achieved
does not help induce real world cooperative progress,
especially for those not in the room
to help write our negative injunctions.
Perhaps we would healthier
and more effectively begin
with our positive universal aspirations:
We invite Zero Intolerance
Learning to listen with active compassion.
This is a ProPeace place
Cooperatively held active safe space
for growing our ego/eco-managed win/win grace.
We multiculturally and inclusively love co-passion searches
rather than dispassioned hunts
and nihilistic degenerative desertions.
Healthy people
seldom step out in anger
while co-inviting ourselves to step into compassion
with coming peacefully home messages
rather than angry commands to go back
to alien lose/lose lands from which none of us
could ever hope to survive,
much less win/win thrive.
Signs against patriarchal colonizing offenses
do not give compassionate notice
we are for matriarchal creolizing offerings.
What would it be like to start all over again,
I mean isn’t that the reason, so many of us pen,
It just opens up every unknown possibility,
Some beautiful some dark, others downright ugly,
But alas the truth is, we’ll probably never know,
Unless I endeavor to reverse time’s flow,
Oh here we go again, he’s still living in the past,
Well actually I’m not, it’s more a forecast,
Picturing the future, not as hard as it seems,
We do it every night, yeah but only in dreams,
Still have to wake up, and face tomorrow,
Make ends meet, work, pay back what we borrow,
Now this is the bit where I go quite insane,
Stand back as I cast off these holding chains,
Oh Christ! he’s just done another line of cocaine,
No I’m clean and sober, or so I maintain,
Gonna get hypnotized by this shrink I know,
Put in a permanent stupor, my life I’ll forego,
Wander this planet, with my head in the clouds,
On every continent have a fabulous house,
Leave behind the rat race, start a new religion,
Where there’s no big brother, and no supervision,
Do all this by surrogate, from my own living room,
Embedded forever in this simulated womb,
Will make time go slowly, say one minute a year,
So a day is a Millennium, time will almost disappear,
When I make love will last, the whole century long,
The agony of ecstasy, oh my will is so strong,
Passion will be bliss, happiness put on tap,
No death, gonna rid my world of all this crap,
Write beautiful poetry, til the cows come home,
Muse about Italy, Venice, Naples and Rome,
Oh god I’m flying high, soaring unchained,
Not an ache in my body, slight twinge or pain,
A demigod of nature, gladiator fighting to be free,
come on join in, spend a moment here with me,
All the haters, you’ll be expelled to hell,
Liars and time wasters, yeah you as well,
I will not stop, gonna raise the dead,
Well only the good ones, under my bed?
Boy that was great, was it good for you too,
And for a moment, I was really there, it’s true,
No need to get drunk, wasted out of my mind,
Open up your imagination, it’s simply sublime.
85 billion neurons, in the average human brain,
Stars in the Milky Way, more or less the same,
Please listen when I tell you, never be restrained,
Reality of truth’s alive, not to find it is a shame.
By
David Kavanagh
Time is indifferent to our words
And Time does not heal wounds
Made by the careless lash of sound
In fury - or by corrupted Law.
Set heart deep in Purpose without direction
Stretching on without surcease
Bias for the ages thrown away.
Time does not reveal layers of honesty
Without a costly step to rest
Or try to grow without the sun...
And we can live a thousand hours
In a handful of breaths
To no avail in any mind committed.
Weren't they here for us..To protect and serve?
Time does not explain the immediate pain
That cuts so deep we do not bleed,
And cannot heal because of need....
Because of liars and deathless greed
Made by those selfish few
Lounging still in ease...
Time does not reshape the truth
Or shows us how to face a reality armed with teeth
Or tells us how to draw a line
Beyond whatever binds us to believe..
And give us "leave" to Occupy
What must be filled apace...a living, breathless race.
Time does not grant instant understanding;
Incomprehensible, the scope of deceit
Improbable, the Rule of Law prevailing
For none of us...for all of them
Across their newly minted Bridge of Moral Sins
Destruction created from financial quicksand and filth
Time does not respect the Norm
All twisted out of space - of form and resaoned madness
Due process tainted deep beyond repair..
Gaping wounds bound up in plastic trashbags
Where only wealth will hide despair,
Hide the rotting corpse that is Society
The differences to hold the mark - leaving children homeless
To catalog us all around forever
How to try beyond a single doubt
To "free" us - one and all - by stealing everything.
Weren't they here for us as promised - to protect and serve...?
Let Freedom ring; let all the young lions sing
In acapella rendition of whatever seems important
And echo every single broken pledge
Back at the ones who broke them.
Make them pay - make them explain away
Deception - abomination..
Occupy the Wall Streets in their Living Rooms..
Occupy
Their longest day
Watch them slither fast away from sunlight
Hiding under dark, wet rocks.
Occupy their rotted souls
And watch them die of blame..
We will protect and serve ourselves.
Occupy
And serve them up a meal of shame.
Occupy.
THE LAST STAND
Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota, and the Sue,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket,
Chocking for a breath of airs life's sustaining oxygen.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled frozen,
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pulses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping women kneel on sacred ground, shedding
A river of bloods tears, burning a permanent scare across,
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames immoral injustice.
Greed's insatiable hunger for land and riches fuels lusts desire,
Behold exterminations holocaust of the native inhabitants,
Nothing remains alive except ignorance blackened shadow.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink before,
She drowns herself or spits up everything undigested,
With sheer disdain and hatreds malice intent.
On a black and white chess board the winners takes it all,
Strategies grand masters playing with living pawns.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing in fairness.
A rogue tidal wave of humanity has wiped out a nation,
And it's culture within the blink of an eye.
Flights appendages are clipped on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages lineage and legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge
In Washington.
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds.
Ancient ancestors lit up the heaven's vast expanse,
By torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead unto their great spiritual
Plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe vanishing
Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final tribal battle war cry,
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy iron fist, all in the name of progress or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Show Riders Have A Horse,
And They Love to Do A Course.
When They Are Done,
They Wait Around to See If They Have Won.
Blue, Red, Green, or Yellow,
Show Riders Are So Mellow.
Later in The Barn Giving the Horse A Bath,
Show Riders Are There Having A Laugh.
You See Show Riders Are Good at This Historical Game,
Where No One Is Supposed to Complain.
Building Trust Is A Major Feat,
And Showing It Off Is Truly Sweet.
Show Riders Are A Special Troop,
With Emphasis on Being A Supportive Group.
So, In A World of Hate,
Let’s Get Something Straight.
When Exhibiting Horsemanship, It Isn’t the Check,
Instead It Is the Lesson in Respect.
So, Let Those with Egos In,
And Let Them Win.
For When They Go on A Power Play,
The Show Rider Will Say,
Do Not Forget to Visit the Show Office to Pay.
One Day They May Reflect,
And Say Heck,
Those Show Riders Know What They Are Doing,
And Will Forget About Using Words Like Suing.
For It Should Be Known About the Show Rider,
They Are Not Liars.
Show Riders Stand by The Truth Never Needing for Their Voice to Hit the Roof.
In All True Honesty the Show Rider Does Not Need to Know What to Do with The Bute.
Instead the Show Rider Should Always Have Time to Look Cute,
With the Main Goal to Relax Those in The Business Suit.
So, The Next Time the Show Rider Is in The Ring,
They Will Look Up at The Queen Sitting with The King.
Reminding Them They Are Participating in This Thing,
Where Horses Have Magical Wings.
Everyone Will Clap with Class,
Acknowledging the Beauty of The Vision from The Past,
When There Was No Need for Gas.
At the Proper Time Show Riders Will Meet the Royals,
Proving No One In the Industry Is Spoiled.
The Show Rider Will Hear the Remark About Princess Anne,
Not Being A Fan.
Instead She Was the One Creating Such a British Buzz,
When She Showed Her Olympic Equestrian Love.
So, Sit Back Letting Those Who Count Their Strides,
To Handle Those Who Lied and Took Bribes.
Since It Is the Show Rider’s World That Will Make Them Confess,
Giving the Show Rider the Opportunity to Nicely Say We Need to Take Care of This Mess.
With the World Getting Colder and Some of Us Getting Older,
It Is Time for The Show Rider to Be Bolder,
So, We Can Finally Close This “Nasty Angry Folder”