Long Sandbags Poems
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>center>RED ALERT
“More floods in the north,” says the man on TV,
They’ve issued another red alert.
More sandbags to stack across more front doors,
Desperate to hold back nature’s power.
They’ve issued another red alert.
A few hours warning is all they can give.
Desperate to hold back nature’s power;
Remembering how it was last time.
A few hours warning was all they could give;
A chance to move what they can upstairs.
Remembering how it was last time;
Knowing just what lies ahead.
A chance to move what they can upstairs,
As they nervously wait for the ominous sound.
Knowing just what lies ahead,
When the waters surge through the narrow street.
As they nervously wait for the ominous sound,
They do what they can to limit the heartache,
When the waters surge through the narrow street.
They offer a prayer to whoever will hear.
They do what they can to limit the heartache.
More sandbags to stack across more front doors.
They offer a prayer to whoever will hear.
“More floods in the north,” says the man on TV.
My life's been a 'he's become a broken, bumpy ride.'
I am not sure how many trips I can abide.
While he comes, goes, leaves and slips from my side,
I daydream about a smooth, gentle tide.
It is from our depths we did always confide.
Now his ways seem as secrets the night hides.
I truly need for him to give me clues
about his friends, Moony Trends and Mangled Blues.
Both characters only recently showed
and both seem volatile enough to explode.
He reinforced the cellar door with sandbags
on the outside where yard air is so sour, I gag.
Now he wants to cement the cellar ceiling
and place a bed down there in case a malady
renders him contagious and in need of healing.
I never know what is happening or how the
words 'trust me' are but sad and maddening.
Why does he look to me for assurance
when he self-sources every disturbance?
He has developed such a worrisome act
with reasons that loom vague and inexact.
Seems his sanity is disappearing
and something catastrophic is nearing.
Walking, walking, walking!
Impossibly long stretches of walk,
Miles and miles of uncertain journey,
In blazing sun, in sweltering heat,
Tranquil villages with shady trees,
Home, the destination!
Thirsty, hungry, bleeding, exhausted!
With fatigued wives and starving barefoot children they trudge,
Little babies hanging like sandbags from their shoulders, they stumble,
Tears dry on children’s cheeks!
Men and women…they walk, walk, walk
Until their feet can not move an inch further,
Leaving the cities, where they toiled in exchange for a few rupees…
Day after day, months after months,
Hunched under shanties, with empty rumbling stomachs,
Cruelty is the only language they faced!
Trudge beside railroads, follow tracks,
No buses, no trains, no vehicles,
Only two weary feet to carry them to the destination,
Human bodies plodding with all their might!
It’s the darkest of moonless nights…
A few stars glinting in the somber sky to guide them to destiny!!!!
Universe seemed calm, and uncaring!
Come Rest, Come Sleep,
Come Death…blood-stained tracks,
Home eluded them for ever!
I move my house from the village
To the other side of the sea
For the rain come tumbling down on me
The river was about to break,
and the entire town is about to shake
I did not know what to-do
So, I use sandbags to build
a fortress around the gate
to keep my soul, awake.
The water is coming back to sea
To take everything that belongs to thee
Those of you with waterfront property
Are going to be very unhappy
The view is nice when you walk
On the shore at mid-night and feel
The salt water on your skin
And see the big waves
as they come roaring in.
Everything near the sea will go
the sea will extend to the land and
and create a fountain inland.
You must redesign
the landscape around the sea
and you must complete it before
the village disappears in the sea
nature will take what it wants
and everything will be washed away
before the break of dawn
and everything will be washed away from the lawn.
The village across the sea
has a population as vast as the sea
It is moving slowly with nature’s anxiety
It is moving with the rhythm of the sky
So, save it before the universe dies.
The Atlantis is gone and not a trace of it is
Found on the front lawn.
The village across the sea is gone
And everyone is now living abroad
Stones and sand are still there,
It is a testament that a whole
Village once resides there
The village across the sea
is waving the white flag to thee.
Natives interrupted
Guns pointed to their chests
Blown away like beautiful dandelions
Into that sweltering sun
Americans lollygag
In their newly claimed land
Under that grand old flag
Slaving away, picking cotton
Under the South’s heat of injustice
Scarred with inhumane treatment
Sweating tears and pain
Burdens heavier than sandbags
Yes, they’re slaving away
Under that southern flag
Stripped away from homes and work
And terrorized prior still
No voice spoke louder than the writing
Of no. 9066, President FDR
Away from homes they’re dragged
Into camps full of prejudice
Under Franklin’s flag
My old friend Alice
Just arrested
For obstruction of the traffic
Roads men proudly trample on
In handcuffs she was dragged
Into a sad, sad prison
Under Wilson’s flag
A poet in the midst of Caesar
On a shelf in Alexandria
King was shot and killed
Right of speech suppressed
Six feet under in a grave
Betrayed by the very country
He tried so hard to save
Yes, six feet under, toes tagged
Underneath that grand old flag
Spying on the enemies
Can’t afford to lose
Separated by a dumb old party
Worldwide on the news
There comes a couple lads
Down at watergate
Under Nixon’s flag
Furious and crazy
Past the point of no return
A noose is hanging for Mike Pence
Violence calls to burn
A mob gone mad
Pardoned from hurting their own police
Under Trump’s old flag
Marching home from the military
To a world full of hatred and unacceptance
Comes the obedient soldier
Disregarded as a crime
Yes, called hideous words like you-know-what
Barred from inclusion
Protected in the constitution
Under Trump’s old flag
Hurricane Epic Flooding
Alerts; emergency evacuation
is advised for people to leave their homes.
Some people stayed;
secured and board up windows,
sandbags against the doors.
Prayers were said;
“We will be OK, no reason to leave.”
were their replies.
Shadow of darkness slowly crawled over the neighborhoods.
The coarsen tempest struck
shattering the silent calm,
gales moaned and thrashed
with downpours of heavy rain,
slowly water raised filling every drainage ditch.
In shock, tears start to flow
as they watch the water rise up in their yard
creeping closer to their homes.
The downpour of rain doesn’t relent;
the cursed howling winds get stronger.
Weep holes on the brick siding lets water seep inside the home,
never thought to seal the holes as water trickles in.
The day turns into two, then three, then four,
still brown rancid water fills the streets
eddying around front doors and lapping at windows.
“Why didn't we heed the warnings? “
The water is up to our waist,
belongings float inside our homes!
The streets have turned into rivers
and the water have nowhere to go.
The whole city is underwater
and the scent of cold death is in the air.
9/9/2017
They speak in flames that do not burn,
A furnace of phrases, polished and loud.
“My government will leave no stone unturned
Until the perpetrators are arrested
And made to face the full wrath of the law.”
Sirens of promise wail through the air,
Yet the ashes remain exactly as found.
Words roar from official handles,
Broadcast in waves across waiting ears
Through every medium
Threats dressed in the uniforms of law.
“Full weight,” they say, with borrowed thunder,
But justice sleeps behind a bolted door.
Each dawn counts bodies like broken clocks,
Lives shattered between headlines and dust.
Homes reduced to nameless rubble,
While speeches rise:
“I have given marching orders to the security chiefs
To ensure these criminals are hunted down
And face the full wrath of the law”
Faithful in tone, yet barren in truth.
The killers walk with familiar shadows,
Their footprints unafraid of the light.
No cuffs clasp their wrists,
No courts summon their names into the night.
Words parade proudly across the screen;
Action limps, wounded and late.
Declarations pile like fragile sandbags,
Still blood seeps under the gate.
O cold fire! You glow without heat,
You threaten without a strike.
You roar for cameras and crowds,
Then whisper when justice must bite.
How long shall we be governed by echoes,
By vows that die at the microphone?
A nation cannot be warmed by slogans,
Nor secured by a voice alone.
Let silence fall on empty threats,
Or let deeds finally speak.
For fire that cannot save a life
Is colder than the weak.
I don’t want to hate…but when I hear hate spewing from other people’s mouths…when I see the way certain people are treated for being who they are…when I see Ukrainians on the run…
I don’t want to hate…is easier said…than done.
But that’s what hate is counting on in its never-ending attack…
Hate feeds upon itself…and grows larger every moment we hate back.
After reading the news this morning…which was not a good way to start…
I began my walk angry…with hate filling up my heart…
Until, that is, I heard the unmistakable singing of the morning dove…
she made me smile as she reminded me of all the things in life there are to love.
It’s something I struggle to do when hate attacks…
when I’m trying to weather her endless storms…
I try to think of love…in all her different sizes… shapes and forms.
Because love will also feed itself…and if nurtured will never end…
So I think about the love I have for my family…and my friends.
I think of how I love sunrises and sunsets…the way the clouds float on the breeze…
how I love the birds that fly, the mountains high…the flowers and the trees.
I think of how I love ice cream and chocolate…riding in a car…p
The smell in the air after a rain…rainbows…peanut butter in a jar.
I think of how I love my morning walks…sharing it with the possums and raccoons…
trying to find the big dipper…watching the phases of the moon.
When the waters of hate come flooding in from the ground or raining from the sky above
I do my best to stem the tide…by filling my sandbags with love.
The higher the flood waters of hate rise…the more sandbags of love I need…
my goal is to keep is to keep from drowning…until the waters of hate recede.
Braced to fight tough for triumph
Stockpiled testosterone
Fizzed bicarb in her bloodstream
Sucked bitterness alone
Flooded home, battle surmounted
Safeguard marshy roost
Maladvised maveric trudged pond
Stacking bags of no use
Swirling water swarmed by spiders
Fear erased from register
Starless, deserted street industrial
Duty lead dim endeavour
Depth defiantly rejected her efforts
Scream's echoing ignorant
Yelled "help" at selected emptiness
Six months pregnant Sigrid
Fortfied ego, throat sore, exhausted
Dry in her fortress upstairs
Concede agitated bruises encumber
Defences laid dull despairs
31st March
Dependence is not defeat
They are walking! Walking, walking, walking!
Long stretches of walk - hundreds of miles of impossible uncertainty,
in blazing sun, in sweltering, muggy, heat - running away from an Inferno.
Home, sweet home! Villages with shady trees!
Destination!
Thirst, hunger, bleeding.
They trudge, fatigued babies hanging on their shoulders like sandbags,
starving infants clutching hands, tears dry on their cheeks.
Men and women - walk, walk, walk!
Leave cities where cruelty is the only language,
Villages with shady trees -
Home, sweet home, far away.
Burning sun, sweating bodies, dry throat, growling tummies.
Slog beside railroads - follow tracks,
no trains, no buses, no trucks, no vehicles,
only two weary feet to carry them to their destination,
plodding with all their might until the body can not move a step further.
Lie on the tracks - it’s hard, it’s cold, it’s comforting!
Come rest, come sleep, come death -
Blood-stained tracks-
Destination never came.