words
seeking
distilling life
into lines
I'm here
I'm gone
I sure a/f
am
more
than moments
and memories
flesh
and blood
I made
flesh
and blood
made me
the dent
that dents
forever
your cat
your dog
the fly
molesting you
until
the big wheel
turns
it won't be
a house in the Keys
with
six toed cats
but
music
and poetry
lots of
poetry
Since Ron Reagan, the world’s been
tariffing us near to death
Our manufacturing base vanished,
off to Communist China, or down to greedy Mexico
Not that we raised a hand to stop those who left
or, God forbid, offended the countries who committed theft
And now that we have a President who is racing
24/7, non-stop, to rescue our country
All the ‘polite people’ are out protesting:
There ‘he’ goes, offending Mexico, China, India, S. Korea
the very countries guilty of economic molesting…
And they, the ‘polite people,’ tank the market out of fear
-- Trump didn’t make them sell-off, ya hear?!
And when he deports gang members from Venezuela
or radical Islamists on ‘student visas’
The shouting, the screaming, from academia’s useless idiots
only increases
So, here’s a prayer for President Trump
that he can overcome the opposition
and get America over the hump
back to where we belong --
leading the free world
~ at the top of the bump
Anointed by God to rule the land
Yet brags where he places his molesting hand
Let us love one another, all children of God
Yet puts proxies before a firing squad
The Lord he praised and the Bible he thumped
Yet adherents of the Word neither phased nor stumped
Turn to God when forgiveness you seek
Yet replies NO, never shall I be unmanly/meek
In the eyes of God, we are all alike
Yet the misbegotten can all take a hike
Obey my command and I’ll offer benevolence
As I give E pluribus unum a whole new relevance
God hath anointed His faithful avatar for you
Yet now go and do as I say, not as I do
I believe that at first
I had a thirst for word
As a child I’d create my own style
And make up words to popular songs
Especially when I wanted to sing along
But did not have the vocabulary at age two
By age six I was full of poetic bliss
But only pounding keys on my toy piano
Shouting made up songs as I’d go
Then on a whim of destiny
I became a victim of rape
But I had no word for it
I truly didn’t know what to say
I didn’t understand at age six
That it was a teen and I was just a kid
I saw blood and thought the cool aide
I drank had simply leaked from me
The pain and shame was like a bad dream
But I did not despair for music was there
Then at age seven ironically
A family member, my father began molesting me
This time after years I did speak
To my sixth grade teacher who intervened
But before I could find a way to tell
I used poetry and journalism to excel
My writing was not really the best
But it saved me non the less
So for me music and poetry
Are at the core of my salvation my peace
Years of fears tears and therapy
I am healed and better for it all
Thanks to God and a teacher
Who inspired me to talk.
Our nation is being privatized
By selfish politicians
Who are manipulating us
And their hate filled cries.
The question becomes a stark why
We ask the dark unwise
Driving us to laced dimes
Or writing rhymes.
Love is the answer I surmise,
Nobody else buys.
Emotions have no value in the marketplace
Unless you're of a certain race
That reminds them of their former master
Then they're more likely to share their wealth.
We need more than paper
To tear down these paper walls.
The order becomes too tall
When we apply an objective concept (currency)
To a subjective principle (value)
Our ideas of value get tangled,
Our empathy is mangled;
Our discourse becomes angled.
Discussions turn to wrangles
And our lives never left the jungle
But there's always a rumble.
Regimes always tumble,
Humanity continues to stumble
Earth's health starts to fumble.
Molesting the nation like a creepy uncle
Until we see our follies unfold
Then will we be so bold
To say we can do it on our own.
Sometimes I'm sweet sometimes I’m sour
I am of seed and purple flower power
I can be crazy while same time sane
Tis God who gave me eccentric brain
I don’t do horror too sensitive
Because tomorrow I’d rather live
Watching good things having good dreams
Instead of the flashbacks haunting me
Flashbacks of trauma from the past
Of pain and drama of a molesting dad
I am not bitter and I love him so
Dead now forgive him as I long ago
I’m a blackberry short and sweet
I chose to be merry I am unique
Like vitamin I carry love so deep
Like magical fairy I’m stigma free.
I remember when I was a young man,
My manager has a sense of some place to go. He was a er, a screw head, a person that would not take it anymore. A man that stood up against the scum, the s the dogs, the filth, the . After meeting a person with allegations of guinea pigs and a court date for molesting his sister.
I watched my managers head, explode, because in an email the probational officer never said “hello, Hi, or my name”, “its “so ing rude” as she “makes me want to ing leave, I dislike her and can't work with her”! “SO, SO, So MUCH I'm thinking of quitting, because of HER”.
Some days I get bad ideas in my head. Next, I’m talking to the receptionist, and I tell her about a date tomorrow.
I told her my reservations, regarding meeting someone “she has two children” and “It' was hard to get over one boy”. “Dave, you have not met her yet, don’t think about the end”. People are cold and distant.
I smile as both the movie and life is true.
There’s Fault In This Gender
Late, last night,
she was caught by a group.
Men wrongly said,
monsters in troop.
Molesting, harassing,
the helpless in fright.
The vulnerable is not right.
By default at fault,
must have been the cause,
the onset physical assault.
How badly thrashed !
To be raped one by one.
To bear the pleasure of the fun.
Pitiable she!
Must have been the cause,
attire must have been short.
Shouldn’t have been out of the house,
shouldn’t have worn such deep blouse.
The pebbles of judgement are thrown,
her pain, her wounds, all unknown
The mind set of men shouldn’t be changed,
it’s the gender, women to be blamed .
To wrap themselves up
with attitude, conduct ,not bad.
To be whistled walking alone,
while crossing the danger zone.
But men shouldn’t be taught,
to respect this gender a lot.
It’s a woman, an angel.
Born as mother,
as wife ,as sister
to get things untangle.
Born to be at fault,
Until life comes to hault.
When all looks safe, chafe is at the door
Breaching your peace like never before
Its gruesomeness infesting your mind
Its fulsomeness molesting you more
The sound of music was too loud
Though he shouted aloud
Nobody heard him
Everyone was absorbed in the music
Some wiggling and others break dancing
Screaming and shrieking with laughter
Not knowing what was happening in the nearby bush
Gasping for air as they slowly suffocated him
Him all tied up by a halter
"God where are you?", he kept crying
A son of the long gone parents
Trying to meet ends of life
Yet life playing a roller coaster with him
Hustling with him as if he is part of the gambling cards
With a few dollars in his pockets
They were trying to put out his eyeballs from his sockets
All he was doing was an act of kindness
He saw them lurking in the bush
Like a lion waiting for its prey
The poor girl walking towards them unknowingly
The scream that she gave,
Forced him to check on the girl
He couldn't withstand them molesting the innocent girl
If only they could turn down the music
And come to rescue him
My fill I drink
And simple instructions no longer sink
Nor straight succeed to think.
I sense mocking winks
But judge them innocent blinks,
My fifty - year - old face,
Mirroring a discarded doll's;
My ever staggering pace
Molesting sober walls.
A sudden exploding interest in love - making,
The woman I have touched hatefully quaking.
On some table, a dumped, careless meal,
To the steward, not a big deal,
More worried about my skipped trousers' button
Than the unfinished juicy mutton;
Plus a passerby I had ignobly got down
And before she could at her first frown.
A sure roaring scandal to an enemy madam
And sure living disgrace to intoxicated Adam
Who had had the option of a life calm
But still with a bottle on his palm
the sharing of
one's heart and soul
ain't no door mat
it is an instrument
a tuning fork -- at
times, a power tool
that destroys and builts
a sadness in a voice
may linger for a time
the same voice leaves
a trail of laughter, of
smiles in his or her
sharing
i a survivor of two men
molesting me at a young
age
i a healer of self from
the age of thirty who
stumble and keep going
so many others like me
with different faces, skin,
circumstances, but they
survivors and healers
strong and courageous
could've turned cold and
heart hardened but
tears flow, smiles emerge
like rainy days into sunny
skies that coax those
staying inside to come
and enjoy the warmth
and beauty of a brand
new day
the healing is shown
in the listening to
others, compassion for self,
and the refusal to
take out one's blues
on others who were
not present during
horrible acts, but
who are people who
crossed the path
with the intent to go
with the flow
after the rain the sun
does shine again
without and within
One thing leads to another and another and another
If it didn't, life would stand still till the final buzzer
No thrilling stuff
Just run round in the buff
Molesting young fillies by grabbing their rudders
The world is strange with it's customs and laws
They're meant to be bent when we eat at the trough
Within reason I mean
Not too extreme
Not overboard stuff like molesting young squaws
One thing leads to another and another and another
If it didn't, life would stand still till the final buzzer
No thrilling stuff
Just run round in the buff
Molesting young fillies by grabbing their rudders
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