Sterilized Poems

Born Between Coordinates

I was born in the pause between two coordinates
drawn by cartographers with sterilized hands.
My soul was indexed in miles and postal codes
Filed under miscellaneous anomaly at checkpoints.

I crossed borders that did not exist,
except in the mouths of men with rifles.
My breath was weighed against paperwork,
my shadow flagged by predictive suspicion.

I was processed in buildings with no windows,
where hope was a form to be filled in triplicate.
My story was annexed, taped to a strangers' bias,
then shelved into the limbo of “pending.”

I failed the empathy test of the world
where spectacle outperforms survival.
My life was too procedural for pity,
and my death was redacted for efficiency.

CRY FOR MINE

A yearning heart longs for love everytime
Malice it receives time without a dime
Shadowed with the belief of being solo
Trust in hope but always been the one to follow
When certain uncertainties just dont make a difference 
Holding on too tight to a loose end
Caged by a yelling heart wanting to be mended
But is pricked to the point where it can't bear no more
Wishing to be the heartfelt one and let go
Bringing out that zeal to prove its worth before the world 
Saying"You can make things right, Go on and throw those unprocessed lemons into these turning blades and make your tasty lemonade pampered with ice cubes"
It lets go of the past memories  bruising   
Hoping to creat a fresh start and new beginnings 
Patches up what's broken and lost
Breaking through thy blackened shadow at all cost
Forever remembering to cool up after the days of exhaustion 
Cause at the end all that was derived from those prickly thorns were sterilized into my account

Fever Ward

Not a room for the waiting
or the receiving of the waiting,
but a room for a liquid thinking
a turgidity
that trickles through plastic tubes.

Is this where doors remain jammed
forever between Hospital floors?

Unseen, a wall clock drops
heavy packages of time
into narrow chutes,
latex handprints are shaken
from sterilized surfaces.
The regularity
of beep and whir mechanically
sucks light in and out.

The yoke recalls it shell.
Desiccated fingers
squeeze a phantom pain-ball,
morphine as cold as ice
is delivered
to an unknown address.

A swish of a starched presence,
fingertips retrace
scorched fever-lines.
Eyes creep toward the voice.

Consciousness
scratches a self-portrait
upon a white neon sun,
a hesitant, primitive etching.

A nurse adjusts the electronic pulse
of a free-floating mind.
Space expands under her hands.

Art of God

She is outstanding
She is my mind's understanding
Blinded by her smiles, I need remanding
For her my heart, is so demanding
I feel like an aircraft, who's never landing

I think I loved her before I knew her
Grasses grew on the heart that was bare
She brightens up my day, she's such a flair
So I am devoted, I mean I belong to her

Her eyes sparkles like chandeliers
Face twinkles, like diamond jewels
Heart's so pure like sterilized bangles

If beauty was a crime, she would be the most wanted criminal
And if my love for her was to be measured, I swear it wouldn't be minimal
I love her with my all, wholly and there isn't no decimal
My heart is full and she is my heart's terminal 

Thank God for her
I am blessed with her
And I will fight for her
For that reason I call her....
The Art of God

The Grand Order Has Gone Mad

What holds us together
has been torn, the unity
of a people split apart. 
Both poles have lost
their grip and rupture
into division.
Categories now proliferate 
and place each soul
into a labeled box governed
by the ideologue.

Word by word, language 
has been commandeered by fear
and threatened with shame.
Good words are put on trial, 
stripped of meaning and sentenced 
to silence. They sleep in old books 
sought out by the apparatchiks 
for removal or to be replaced
by neutered covers.
Soon Macbeth will be lobotomized 
to reduce the risk of upset.

The grand order has gone mad. 
Long lines of citizenry queue 
for entry into asylums
now spreading
like shopping malls.
Others won't leave home
and ossify in the safety
of their shuttered rooms.
Meanwhile, to the chants 
of a sterilized song,
children skip towards
glittering castles hanging 
precariously in thin air,
proud parents happily
clapping them along.

No Coffin, No Grave By Fared Angira

He was buried without a coffin
without a grave
the scavengers performed the post-mortem
in the open mortuary
without sterilized knives
in front of the night club

6

stuttering rifles put up
the gun salute of the day
that was a state burial anyway
the car knelt
the red plate wept, wrapped itself in blood its
master’s
the diary revealed to the sea
the rain anchored there at last
isn’t our flag red, black and white?
so he wrapped himself well
who could signal yellow
when we had to leave politics to the experts
and brood on books
brood on hunger
and schoolgirls
grumble under the black pot
sleep under torn mosquito net
and let lice lick our intestines
the lord of the bar, money speaks madam
woman magnet, money speaks madam
we only cover the stinking darkness of the cave of our mouths
and ask our father who is in hell to judge him
the quick and the good.
well, his diary, submarine of the Third World
War
showed he wished
to be buried in a gold-laden coffin
like a VIP
under the jacaranda tree beside his palace
a shelter for his grave
and much beer for the funeral party
anyway one noisy pupil suggested we bring
tractors and plough the land.

Television's Explosion of White Trash

I was appalled, no I was horrified
flipping through
the channels and I do it quickly
I saw the Steve something show on.

I could not understand the speech
of the whites
they obviously suffered from
some type
of congenital birth defects
talking about who has been intimate with who's brother and sister
and any thing else that moved.

Then I saw the audience
the flood of white trash left me
devastated.

And as to whom would condone such
an obvious
Exploitation of such damaged
creatures.

And I realized why the Republicans
would want them all,
to have as many children as possible
without any means to support them.

Should they be paid to be sterilized?
I confess after I
put the Lions and Bears game on
I secretly turned my head and unthinkingly,
I knew that
I would allow them to do it.

And now I have a better understanding of
why the police dislike going to their home's
a number of times each month.

Violence of Mind

Once a nation
Supremely white as driven snow,
Singularly Christian, white and male,
Purely untarnished, and aglow,
Grandeur unparalleled in fairytale.

Hence a grievance
Punitively bold as bloody hellfire, 
Potently prosecuted in seats of power,
Oppressively waged against objects of ire,
Prisms of nonwhites seeking justice in the hour. 

Now a leader
Colossally void as sterilized weaponry,
Glibly sanctions white phobia and rage,
Lethally enflames this proto-fascist fancy,
As corporations provide aid to the rampage.

Thus a faction
Devoutly for leader, they stand down,
Steadfastly ready for the order to kill,
All woke-ish elitists, and enemies black and brown,
That white men reclaim their rightful place at the till.   

Violence of mind
Shocks no one in America,
Where thugs are part of romantic lore.
With our ascendant authoritarian replica,
Are we ready for what washes ashore?

Published in Dissident Voice: 01/09/22

Coronovirus Heart

I put a bug on you!
it was a lady?
it was a vampire?
it was a boogar?

introducing a new cough?
wasn't pertussis enough?
we'll sit at the store in tight masks
finding how to boil them in a flask

is it an outbreak
or a Spring Break gone mad?
it's Coronovirus that has shut down the loop
every ice cream cone and every scoop
must be sterilized in fire
now, we will not admire

to the moon and back
these little viruses cut you no flack
stay, stay they told the dog
now it's Flapjack
anyone will not be exact!

so the hearts will push them away
i have on this mask
Everyday!

Where Have All the Birds, Trees, Animals Gone

The birds are gone
               along with the field
               that is gone ...
               The birds left,
              along with the fields
               that disappeared ...
              Disappeared in the burn
              darn,
              disappeared in the occupation
              rampant ...
              The hysterical men
              sterilized the earth,
             exterminated the birds
             and they left the devastated life ...!

Don'T Want An Infection

On death row I was somewhat surprised,
once an inmate had been tranquilized,
that when facing death,
and a very last breath,
the lethal needle must be sterilized.

Gobble Gobble

Why-why in God's name were you unleashed
time and again to rape our community
empty eyed mug shot
walking time bomb filled with hateful snot
 
...and the judges of these mad men
sitting in their sterilized cloud
high above the martyrs and maggots 
broken cinder block sanctuaries,
giving this ogre a twenty fifth bow

I pray that "it" soils your cloud
sprays its snotty seed over your pristine 
sends you tumbling into our humble community
devours everything you cherish and love
drags you down a bloody path 
of your poor judgments
happy thanksgiving
gobble -gobble

Grassroots Revolution

The government’s been lobotomized	
The left and right’s too polarized
The media has us hypnotized		
All the topsoil’s getting sterilized
What have we gotten ourselves into?

Nobody’s talking face to face		
They need a computer interface
If we keep going at this pace		
There won’t be no more human race
What have we gotten ourselves into?

I humbly propose a clean solution	
We don’t need to change the Constitution
No need to make no contribution	
Just start a grass roots revolution
Stop being the problem and be the solution

If you don’t know what’s going on, WAKE UP!
If Big Brother’s doing wrong, SPEAK UP!
If someone’s hurting someone, STAND UP!
Be a participant in life, not a critic, not a spectator.

Someday when you’re old and gray	
You might look back fondly on today
Was it the day you chose a better way	
Or was it just like any other day
To change the world, change yourself first and expand from there.

Start a grass roots revolution.

Seeking My Way

I am not who I was yesterday
Gone are the ills and pains of the past
No longer burdened by anger and hate
My load is lighter now, making it easier to walk
A mind cleared of debris, the chalkboard wiped clean
Sanitized and sterilized, I thank the universe for that

I am not yet who I could be
My journey has just started
I've only recently began to learn how to walk
My destination unclear, I may not achieve what I seek
Yet I will keep walking forward
Even when times are dark, I will search for a light
One day I might acquire what is sought

I Didn'T Ever Mean To Be

I didn't ever mean to be
This kind of happy
In love
Enjoying life...
Reliably

I'd meant to be an artist
A musician, a poet
Reckless and poor
But I tired of hunger
And settled for more (or less)
Comfort

Regular hours and sleep
Contort my will
Deprive me of lunacy
To be the opposite
Of corrupted
Purified?
Sterilized

It's hard to tell
If this is fulfilling
It's just chill and slow
And the lows aren't so low
I just couldn't go on
Believing in nothing
With nothing
Paralyzed*

* - without you I'd die.

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