Police will work for the government, not the community.
They will stalk the homeless, be merciless mercenaries, entrepreneur, agents provocateur.
Women will be bought and sold. Even some of the married ones.
Fissures will line the roads from sinkholes and earthquakes. Walking, driving anywhere will be a hazard.
There will be businesses and homeless street business.
Info and dirty deeds, sold.
Cannibal diners will be the nouveau, patrons will be the next course.
Cyborgs, cybernetics and children will learn to be street savvy.
The Hunger Games will be real.
Running Man will be real.
Prostitution will be done in the open.
Haters of Christians will be narks, in charge.
Satanic priests will be their dignitaries and lords.
Everything you do will be tracked.
Groups will be punished
Non Government sanctioned Militias will be outlawed.
They will no longer hide that Google is a government agent.
Bibles will be considered hate speech propaganda.
Poetry will be filtered through the Government, like the News is.
Underdog Alleluia
By Mark D. Stucky
Why do we love underdogs?
Why root for ragtag Rockies
and scruffy low-rated teams
coming from behind to win?
Why adore unlikely triumphs
against impossible odds?
Our culture can still remember
underdog-filled Bible stories,
from David and Goliath’s battle
to the meek inheriting the earth.
And America was once an underdog,
rebelling against earth’s mightiest empire.
Although Britain wielded superpower might,
and colonists fielded motley militias,
somehow, against improbable odds,
America survived and thrived.
In the centuries since,
the story transformed.
America became Goliath.
What will be our story now?
(First published in The Purpled Nail, 2 June 2023.)
(Photo by Kara Carelle on Unsplash.com.)
Cannons firing from the left and right
Taking place during America’s fight
A fight for independence
From England’s transcendence
Colonists paid increased taxes to England’s royalty
Causing wide spread disloyalty
The Continental Army and militias took up arms
Consisting of men who worked on farms
The fight was against the British crown
Outnumbered the colonists never backed down
Minutemen took to the street
While the British hoped for an easy defeat
Paul Revere took to the midnight ride.
Upwards of 40 men joined him in stride.
Never did he yell “The British are coming!”
Thinking otherwise may be unbecoming.
Revere never made it to Concord
He was detained by a British horde.
In the end, it was a stunning defeat
One that England did not want to repeat
General Cornwallis surrendered his sword
George Washington returned it to the lord
The Treaty of Paris solidified peace
Allowing the bloodshed to cease.
Fireworks coming from the left and right
Celebrating America’s victorious fight.
Remembering events from the past
Knowing our independence will last.
We are free thanks to them
Putting an end to the mayhem.
The unmistakable sound smacks of
church bells in purgatory -- our family
has burnt the last candles in the damp basement
crawling with mice.
Neighbors offer their flashlight, under the thunderous explosions above
rocking the building.
Toddlers cry and dogs bark, older women reminisce WWII's horrors
which they survived, and will survive again.
It's morning again, militias bring hot bread and
milk for the new-born hurried from hospital that fell to Russian missile,
intercepted. Last night here,
death was intercepted again, prolonging the Russian misery.
The air-raid sirens are now music to ear, their scratching noise filling the air
with epic serenity.
The sirens haven't robbed me of my
human potential.
Bang another explosion
I flinch back downstairs again
My heartbeats in my toes
It’s only a half past 7.
Those who confuse Shubert with Mendelsohn,
Most likely can’t tell Mozart from Hayden.
They wander through the world without their culture on,
And cat-call Aphrodite while fishing for Poseidon.
Conspiracy theories have them nervous as ferrets.
Academic credentials are considered demerits.
They huddle in militias where their rumors bare fangs.
In a world where truth and justice are fighting for air,
A diploma’s only value is the wall on which it hangs.
You mock the survivalists
and
militias
for
hoarding
food
and
weapons
you call them crazy
for
canning life
for digging
in
but
for
decades
governments
around
the
globe
have
been
burrowing
deep
beneath
mountains,
hoarding both necessities of life and the greed of luxuries
so, when the blood hits the nuclear fan
the elites and their kin can thrive
from
the
safety
of
their
mole
holes
as
civilization
unravels
fighting
over
their leftovers
King George was fast running out of money
Tried to squeeze more out of the colony
Thirteen states said no
Told George where to go
Saying "thank you, but we'll run our own country"...
Paul Revere warned the British are coming
The yanks said "that's ok we ain't moving"
Many heroic acts abound
The militias stood their ground
And soon had the Brit Redcoats a-running...
Written 3rd July 2021
Happy Independence Day.
Wanton acts of terror cease
Love and kindness both increase
No need for militias or police
Usher in an Age of Peace
You say that this is just a dream
Life flows not gently down a stream
Can't we make our planet gleam
Usher in an Age of Peace
War and fighting everywhere
Quiet places all-too-rare
Bold our vision, we must dare
To usher in an Age of Peace
It's up to us; let's not delay
Peace on Earth: Why not today
The City burns,
a dappled bower is stifling with heat,
a swathe of crispy green grass is singed and spoilt,
a posse of dainty tender flowers is marred and tangled,
all now darkened with war's fires,
the grounds are blackened with fumes and fear.
But none of these to lives compare,
the dead lives of the young killed,
or the older ones murdered,
in sudden bursts and blasts.
Some hearts in error have wickedly brought to lads and lasses,
ladies and men,
the cruel strike of the grim-reaper's blow.
They sunk battered and crushed into death,
these fledglings of a happy future,
and they who were going before them on the road of time.
Agog and amok people pell-mell run rabied with a confusing madness,
eager to survive bullets fired and bombs dropped.
Those who have fled the city make for safety by the peace keepers sides,
if the rebels or militias do not outrun.
If in frenzied flight they pause to look back,
they don't merely see a burning city,
but horrors and pains that sting more than flames.
The armed militias
Plant gunpowder in gardens
And harvest the souls on the streets
Crushing dreams
Robbing smiles
Spreading pains
Everywhere
Here
Dove of peace
Looking for peace
Here
The olive branch
An arrow
Dripping with bloods
Here
All flowers
Smelling of crying
Here
The truth becomes a kind of stupidity...
Too beholden to water of life.
It hurts deliberately when you were thirsty.
You break the bread in reflective mood.
Who will climb the cross today ?
The sheen was wearing off the smug faces
Civil war was starting again.
The declinist god was weeping soundlessly.
Someone shot the flamingoes in flight.
Militias have started the bloodletting.
Painfully I was collecting the sounds.
A new world begins on broken plasma.
Electrons have shifted their orbits.
A dog sniffs a freshly dug mound of earth.
Instead of a body a wreath was found.
SATISH VERMA
Skeleton militias wander in scorn
Honest souls trapped in unjust divergence
Gaia demands her levy of bloodlust
As the digital bleats disdained alarm
Age after age, arcane symbols unite
To craft war hatred into sacrifice
Jumping deities spit on our belief
Hoping we hurl ourselves into the pit
So they haunt from sorrow's dimension
Hindsight's alert falls upon rocky ground
Textbooks revise the true call of history
To stamp out questions before they take form
Snarling horses trample the barriers
Each generation gets shoved to the front
That two-headed eagle spies the melee
Clutching arrow and sprig within talons
Perversions of peace drift in like dank fog
Manufactured in factories next to tanks
The wealth families count ill-gotten profits
While building fences around bold ideals
The Darwin cult hides their fatal sigil
Behind progressive scientific thought
Masons stack bricks in kabalistic rank
Temples of greed stab into the heavens
My spirit's pupa appears to be dead
Denizens of the tomb clutch at my soul
Jealous hoarding of knowledge collapses
With one mighty crack, the light shall expose
The squelching heat has of no effect
on the air-conditioned Minute Men
as they survey the desert land.
Keeping ever vigilant
against the alien brown skins
that endlessly cross their borders.
These pressed khaki pant militias
devoutly scour the arid passageways
equipped with bottled water,
binoculars, and cell phones.
Guarding the roads
to the ancient canyons of the Navajo
and the Peabody Mining Company.
Or through the Mexican Missions
that predate California.
Territory good Anglo American's
recently inherited
from the parents of rape and murder.
God bless America
and God save the Minute Men.
Dean Walker
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