A woman waits for her prince
A man pillages for his goddess
A child cries for love
The elderly weep for more time.
The Ghost Dance
The spirit of hopeful salvation.
A shirt of impenetrable protection.
White man’s bullets, deep penetration,
killing hundreds with insatiable aggression.
Wounded Knee, becoming a place for destruction
of spirt, of body, of women and children, compunction
never to become a part of white man’s conscious compassion
as he steals, plunders, rapes, pillages, kills with self-satisfaction
Today, hundreds of years later, First Nations battle white man’s gratification
for the lands left the Land Owners, who were just care givers, never their possession.
B. J. “A” 2
November 2nd 2016
Some might say speech is silver, but silence golden
But my tongue as a poet is resigned to speech,
Speech which bears not triviality of common silence
No, it bears not the triviality of the banter of the common man
My pen bleeds speech which awakens tyrants imbued with cold hearts of stone
To the consciousness of the humanity they abhor, for we are born equal
My pen bleeds stanzas which lend themselves as supporting pillars
To the weary cause of the common man,
Urging them not to despair but to fight on, for fortune favours only the brave
My pen bleeds the emotions which lie inert in the depths of my heart,
Emotions borne out of my will for a better tomorrow
My speech is the blazing sword which pillages the fortifications of social stratification
I do not mean to blow our trumpets
But as poets our worths exceed silver and gold,
It is boundless.
It had not rained for months
the bush was dry as a tinder
clouds appeared in far distance
to once more fade and vanish
The sun beating hotly relentlessly down
everything resting in shade so sparse
the trees without their canopy of leaves
grass dry yellow and brown
A carelessly chucked piece of glass
sets the grass ablaze, soon all is burning,
flames moving on devouring all in their path
those too slow ending as blackened cinders
Flames that devoured and raged
devastating all as it pillages on
all in its way left as burnt embers
blackened landscape wherever you look
Can land so destroyed live again?
or will it turn into a dust bowl?
a breath of hope blows in from the east
a small smattering of rain gently falls
In its wake comes rebirth new shoots appear
soon the earth is responding with growth
a cleansing has occurred ripping out the dead
soon most signs of the fire will be covered over
All that is left are blackened gum trees
skeletons on the horizon a timely warning
that nature rules here and will take a hand
in keeping her world fresh vibrantly alive
I have a friend who is, to the best of my knowledge, a magpie.
All shiny, all sparkles of metal and glass are placed in my palm as a little gift, a bit of treasure.
So maybe then, she's a pirate. One Long John Silver with a golden tooth and a keen eyed parrot. And she pillages and purges to bring me little metal castles, radio faces, moonstones and roses and bright button badges.
Just like a Brownie. On a long brown sash wrapped around my chest. She brings me glittering adornments that glow with my achievements.
One day, I'll give her treasure for her nest.
Beautiful gypsy riding in a caravan
With a black mongrel and an old man
In the cold winter
Off to a world
That is new
And yet unknown
To a place that she will make her own
Across the dusty Arabian sands
With a glowing crystal ball in her hands
Armed with magical spells
And Voodoo like bells
Educated in the art of healing
With herbal roots
And exotic fruits
Robed in her long black tunic
And her big black boots
Her thick black hair
Raven black
Engulfs her pretty little face
Ravishing beauty
That turns heads in every little place
What will the future hold?
As they seek great fortune
Happiness and gold
Across the fields
They watch
Horse riding
Over the snow flakes
And across the hilly villages
Off to the city in the north
Where the Great robber pillages
Beautiful gypsy riding in her caravan
She arrives in a strange land
And meets a crowd of people
Shouting from a steeple
Go back! Go back!
But a preachers offer water
And asked the old man
Is this your daughter?
Beautiful gypsy riding in her caravan
Found a home to stay
She went down on her knees
To pray
She is too far from home any way
Giant long claw like tentacles
Slithering through the brush
Plowing past homes in a hush
Undenyably intentional
Inteligence bent inside he's fewer
Satiated coherent and sensible
Charisma that's so apprehensible
Invisible man ...an escaping lure
His wickedness blasts sex's bite
Under a dim light he digs a hole
A lost man inside his own soul
Hardly worth his appetite
Implicit determinations prevail
Driven by toxins and thoughts of whores
Living in sin his skeleton soars
His will and provocations set sail
Beware of this danger I beg you my child
Officer down..tonight one man's sin
Pillages for a victorious win
The Devil inside makes him beyond wild
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