The two sides will be: caucasians (white people) and everyone else.
It's necessary to organize to fight it or immediately to escape the country!
Foolish people are saying there have been times like this before in America but that's false.
If you know enough about German history and how the Nazis were able to accomplish what they did within the short period of time that they operated, you would recognize the same coalescence of "power forms' occurring here today!
So . . .
WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO PREPARE FOR THE IMPENDING CIVIL WAR
_____
NOTES:
_____
The two sides will be: caucasians (white people) and everyone else.
It's necessary to organize to fight it or immediately to escape the country!
Foolish people are saying there have been times like this before in America but that's false.
If you know enough about German history and how the Nazis were able to accomplish what they did within the short period of time that they operated, you would recognize the same coalescence of "power forms' occurring here today!
So . . .
WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO PREPARE FOR THE IMPENDING CIVIL WAR?
Oh, if I could see once more
a gumball machine in a grocery store.
Alas, these days, I never do see any,
although, they only cost a penny -
and, then I'd like to take a ride
on a little coin operated car outside.
Yesterday was two weeks
Two weeks since my son
was pronounced brain dead
How am I alive?
how have I worked this week?
how has the black hole of grief
inside me not taken over completely?
I have driven, I have operated the stove,
I have functioned adequately at work
but there are times that time seems to stop
and I go to a place in my mind where
the pain is so big and raw and all encompasing
it feels like I stop being..............
So has two weeks gone by?
How am I here?
How do I live on?
It was twelve years ago today when I found you dead.
I knew you had died because you were lying lifeless on that hospital bed.
I bought you a card and a toy easter bunny that were buried with you.
If somebody ever says that you meant nothing to me, it won't be true.
When I prayed for your survival, I decided to beg.
You died after the surgeon amputated your leg.
Even though removing your leg improved your chances of survival, you still died.
When the surgeon operated on you, he couldn't save you even though he tried.
Your life ended and you entered the Pearly Gates 12 years ago today.
Rest in Peace, Mom, I wish I could've stopped you from passing away.
[Dedicated to Agnes Greene-Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013]
Like the father, the son
He is a lovable rough, the father of a famous son who keeps us guessing what the hell he is up to next, a father who is a buccaneer, sails the deep sea, and fears not the tempests on his way, can a son ask for more.
The father never was a nine-to-five sort of bloke who operated at the edge of the law, like a pirate would, fingers in many lucrative pies, that is what daring men do those, who believe in themselves and live to tell the tale.
The son might lack the old man’s charm, still, he has otherwise emulated him but prefers to stay ashore, an influencer of magnitude selling his ideas to those on top of the political heap and like his father faces tempest with bravado.
As for me, a shy poet, thrown ashore with irregular works and lacking the go-get appetite for life, his father is the type I wish I were.
2024.12.24 Christmas Eve.
Dear Santa,
I admit, I have been naughty this year,
Still, here is my wish list.
A train set to keep my heart closer to my father.
A cleanable white board to Live Chat with my mother.
A battery operated sound box,
Which can record and say my word every time I want it.
Some metal boxes to keep my USB and SSD as storage.
A plush toy with a monkey face,
Who apparently has been my best mate.
Every day, I sit at the desk to surf on the internet,
May I have a surf board, to surf in the sea and get wet.
With my current family situation,
I really need some miracles and good imaginations,
A book full of tricks will be fantastic.
Better still, if I inherited some magic will be perfect.
Love from B66.
M4
Lightweight—
“You are so skinny, Trainee!
You’ll never be a soldier.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tightly,
each word heavier than steel.
Magazine-fed—
“You need to eat something, son.
He is gone, but you’re still here.”
My face is pale, drained of color.
Each memory chambers in.
Gas-operated—
“Soldier, what the hell is that?
Can’t you even shoot your gun?”
My fingers tremble, shaking,
pistons locked in helpless shame.
Shoulder-fired—
“Shoot back, god damn it! Shoot back!”
The weight of orders holds me down.
My finger pulls the trigger.
The recoil crushes into me.
Weapon—
I squeeze my eyes shut, tightly.
My face is pale, drained of color.
My fingers tremble, shaking .
My finger pulls the trigger.
The Tumor
Last night, I watched a podcast
the man with the highest measured IQ
and I was pleasantly surprised
He looked and acted like a sane bloke
his views were an echo in my mind
best of all, he was like me, working-class
but had read the classics
his laughter was infectious
two hours well spent
His idea of God was how I think of God
there is good and evil in the world by
those who do not believe in the law of
nature and think they can ignore what
is fundamentally true
I woke up early following the thoughts
of the man with a high IQ and enjoying
my solitude, when the workers began
their day; those who are employed in
offices start their day at nine. nicely
dressed and in warm rooms
I had to see a cancer specialist at ten
Yes, I have a tumor on my thigh, and it
needs to be operated on
I accepted this news with calmness
befitting my state of mind, it is not
the first time a tumor has appeared
and dealt with through surgery
I liked the specialist and my doctor
no sentimentality, only facts, that´s
the way I like to live
Windows open, but the doors closed;
Shut up are the cabinet doors;
Running water from the faucet flows, pours;
Down the counter top;
Painted white ceilings but yet there’re dingy yellow;
Family sitting at the dinner table yet they’re not together;
Clock on the wall battery operated tics-tock-tics-tocks;
Every second distance franticly;
~
Ever bodies looking the whole family looking for the mop;
6/3/2024
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Wednesday was your least favorite day and you died on a Wednesday.
After living for sixty-four years, you became sick and you passed away.
The eleventh anniversary of your death is on your least favorite day of the week.
I thought things were fine at first but then I learned that your situation was bleak.
When you went to the hospital, you had to go under the knife.
The surgeon tried his very best but he could not save your life.
He operated on your stomach and your leg had to be amputated.
But you still died and when I found you dead, I was devastated.
When I learned you were terminal, it was hard to understand it.
Rest in Peace, Mom, you were the greatest mother on the planet.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away 11 years ago today on March 6, 2013]
The vending machine, though filled to the brim
now stands with a sign, my joy growing dim
out of order it reads, my heart does break
my cravings increase, my tummy it aches
The machine that once brought me such delight
Now brings forth frustration and wicked spite
The products it holds are now out of reach
Leaving me feeling sad, empty, and weak
The coins I spent before seeing the sign
Money I wasted, my wallet does pine
Cruel vending machine, I think I may cry
From the hunger and thirst, surely I’ll die
But still, I have hope in my shattered heart
In the future when this machine will start
Dispensing the treats that I love to eat
Look— a working machine I’ve yet to meet!
*I wrote this poem on January 26, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 26 and the prompt was: Write about your feelings when there is an out-of-order sign on a vending machine.
O to be a poet!
What must I do?
Need special rhymes
I pursue…
perhaps elegant forms
transcending more common,
like Midas touch
words golden~ a poet’s Mammon!
O when will an artist get honored
due – afford even a stove without a hand
operated flue; companion after companion
in wraps, out the door, shouting,
a chilling~ I love you...but I’m Through!
Unable to fill her stomach enough
with elegant phrases, with grand sketches
on pages, while her less
enamored friends render their prosperous
soulmates lavish praises: hooked up with
lawyers and doctors, learned researchers,
doing battle with nature’s debilitating curses --
politicians…? O Well, no one’s perfect
while everyone agreeing, the dedicated
artist, is such a well-intentioned, thoughtful bloke
the irate landlord shaking his head, again bemoaning
I know...late with the rent, still broke….
Part - I
O bright star! Where have thou gone?
For thy beams are needed again,
To warm thy followers’ lives forlorn.
Few robbed breads thou baked, most sans gain.
Till thy rise, it was densely dark,
Large folks were made rotten by cliques,
Thou shown them seamless spark,
Instilling fire in once meek cheeks.
Ramparts of Varna thou steadfastly confronted,
Blisters on humanity thou laboriously removed,
Wounds of thy fearful society thee operated,
Thee enshrined golden verses healed and proved.
Dismantled demonic edifices resurrecting everywhere,
Buffoonery gets accolades nowadays. Won’t thee be there?
Thy place is the North Star that world has verified,
Bhau prays thee help thy breed get timely 'Modi'fied.
Gas chambers were operated by people..Legislation is
Framed and implemented by people in chechslovakia &
Albania, albanians were concentration camp
Guards and gas oven operators, today we see oversimplification of many fraught history's, and now there are wars to displace
People to achieve disorder in the west; and wider world.'
The proposed solution to this has all the potenntial of a Waking nightmare.' Is it possible to stop the sleepwalk.?
Related Poems