Once, a hundred cigarettes
glowed in just one cinema.
Arrows flew yet all were near misses,
random unaimed bullets easily knocked over
bunches of whooping Comanches.
Some horses were shot unseen off-screen.
In small Midwest towns fantasy roamed unchecked
nibbling at young hearts and brains.
Many adults pinned their hopes
on the aerodynamic tailfins of Chevy Stingrays
and more spaceship roundness in their homes.
Malls proliferated on the edge of cornfields
where prayers were answered on Sunday.
All this was normal, no one marked our
lack of awareness, we were painted innocent
by a world that had come to terms with
its time.
We knew much was wrong
some radicals fought for the oppressed.
Texas Rangers stood ready to lasso
hordes of cartoon villains.
A few federal agents imagined time travel.
The whole country was going somewhere
and working hard to ignore where we were,
as if in fact, we were all stuck in a movie
peering over the glow of a hundred cigarettes.
Categories:
unaimed, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Twitching finger
Symptomatic to Parkinson,
And his namesake dis-ease,
Holding a dirty pistol,
Pointing out the barrel
Is unaimed, but serendipitously
On the right parabolic trajectory...
And boom, boom, boom
Out go the lights.
Instant justice, for
Justice missing the target.
Categories:
unaimed, judgement, loneliness,
Form: Blitz
Lightning’s silver bullet,
Rips the hollow clouds to ribbons.
Cold September’s rain,
Soaks the steaming skin,
And calms the beating monster,
that punches through today
Like a plane crashing to ground.
Sitting on the balcony,
The clouds’ tears,
Bursting on the stone to my left.
On beautifully stormy nights,
Like this one,
She animates, revitalizes and
Breathes life’s cold cider through my veins.
The air tastes like a freshly fallen apple,
She smells of life,
Colour and blissful youth,
Like an iced pareos brushes past your cells.
But her bloodthirsty husband,
with dreadful discharge, unaimed,
disavowes her freshness,
and kills his victims,
with silver bullets,
reflecting his grimace.
Still sitting on the very same balcony,
Rushing my fingers, suggestively
Down her legs and up to her leaves,
Enjoying her whispers,
Smelling her make-up.
Come you coward,
Let us see how bright I burn.
Categories:
unaimed, allegory, silver,
Form: Blank verse
Plato's Solilique
So we join the protest of the war
with six others by the hardware store
we carry signs and cars honk us
wave at angry others who jeer us,
we find democracy, gasping, alive
lifting a stone off something that died..
It was poetry of the suburban streets
read to the unwashed.. SUVs
I am unwashed, unheardof, unashamd
unnoticed, unprepared, unaimed,
a bottle hits Patrick full throttle
It was neither half full nor half empty.
He is Plato on the steps
of the Parthenon, debating
the course of the republic
with the cars, interchanging
and the roman troops,
over the Tiber, congregating..
Categories:
unaimed, political
Form: Rhyme