Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
If you're brown
please beware
If you’re black
watch your back
If you’re yellow
dive for cover
If you’re red
you’re already dead
Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
They’re coming to take us away!
They’re coming to take us away!
Raise high the flag
Raise high those stars and stripes
We’re Christians and Hindus
Muslims and Jews
We work, we sing, we dance
We play in parks
On Sundays after church
We’re neighbors
We’re lovers
We’re builders, cowboys
waiters, and cooks
We’re hot dog vendors
and ice cream peddlers
We hoe your fields
and pick your fruit.
We drive your trucks
and plow your fields
We cut your meat
and herd your cows
You wonder the price
You wonder the vice
It’s time to De-Ice
Rid us of these lice?
Strike! Strike!
Strike up the Band!
They came and took us away
away
away
away to Guantanamo
What is harder, the border, the pictures
or the brightness of light and dark pieces?
It is a mishmash, sordid assortment of
escapism, scrutinized under illumination.
Piece by piece, I fall to pieces, pick them up,
scatter them to my mind’s wind, hem and haw
over the nuances; why do I torture myself so?
In the vice of the big picture - resounding parks.
Two canvas frames, two boxes, tepid waters,
the need to complete, competing only with
me, myself and I. Now, I see everything in
tabs and blanks, even as I count sheep.
Even as I watch t.v., the pixels penetrate my eye,
portion into die-cuts. Dioxyribonucleic acid flesh -
are we pixelated…like paper doll cut-outs with
wardrobe and accessories, my own Barbie palace?
Soon, I will finish this 27 by 20 preoccupation.
With a stethoscope and head mirror, examine
each rectangle - 63 squares; my hope - not
one morsel is lost, pieces of my life complete.
Self-harm is my vice,
A vice that is not nice,
Nice is not the something,
The something to change the nothing,
Nothing is what I normally felt,
I felt trapped screaming for help,
Help that would never come,
Come watch as I feel like my life is done,
Done with these scars,
Scars that cover my arms,
Arms that bleed with the poke of a blade,
The blade in which my hand found a way,
A way to not feel numb,
Numb is the feeling coming undone,
Undone day by day,
The days are slowly fading away,
Away from me and what’s around,
Around me, my grave in the ground,
The ground soft yet thick,
Thick is how I describe the rope,
The rope that is tied around my throat,
My throat is slowly closing,
Closing as I notice something,
Something in the distance,
The distance not so far,
So far yet so close,
Close to me,
Me and death,
Death greets me like an old friend,
Friends are who we are,
Are you sure that death isn’t far,
Far not so close,
Close to being as dead as a ghost,
On X maybe musk is vexed ? It appears there is a price.? Placed upon a certain
Life..' Is it actually an act of vice?
In allowing a call to slice.' Into the social
Fabric of a Nation.' Who are being just that
Trifle.' Pendantic.? In their actions of defence.After real aggression, perpetrated
And multi-layerd, was by Isreal projected hence, with America soon to join, in the very acts of bringing
ruin..' It all seems un-holy
to me.' Now it has morphed onto a world platform,
in the form of a blood-price
In an advert, that seems openly to promote vice.'
what is the public business of this country?
is it not the private business of each citizen?
Why forbid our civil liberties when we exercise
them as long as they don’t bother anyone?
Nowadays if your ship comes in it is docked
by the government. Its my opinion the main
vice many of us have consists, not in doing evil
but in permitting it.
We are no longer the ones who chose our
politicians. The rich have bought and
paid for them. May Heaven protect our citizens
if we do nothing about saving our constitution
Two carbon entities
exhale green miasmas
and throttle white throats
in a noose of iron.
The cored captives
diaphanous and rasping
plummet to frightful circles
where sardonic wraiths
gnarl wingèd flesh
in screeching packs
as time loops reverberate
manic and mindless.
( ( ( ( BACKATCHA ) ) ) )
MR PRESIDENT
Black, brown, white, a colored quilt unites us no doubt
Red states, blue states, sees only green our chief lout
Racist humor, filled with glee,
makes not a monkey out of me
Obamas envied, no master race three Reichs you’re out!
For President's Day (early)
2/16/26
Superbowl Sunday
Winter Olympics
2/8/26
When I’m there I inhabit every corner of the sky
because that’s where my sadness goes to die.
Where all of my darkness turns to light,
the problems, so far, they seem out of sight.
I taste what love could do to me;
what once imprisoned me now has me freed.
There’s peace in my head, I take it to bed
I see other colours, not just grey and red.
Yet, why it is true that I’m not so blue as I’m bathing in the midnight gleam,
the next day, I notice a change, a grim disarray, it’s a slope that I’ve already seen.
My stomach sits empty way past twelve,
self hatred trickles in, quickly fills the shelves
that clutter my mind, line by line,
that merge into one, and stop all of my fun when they block all the light, with all of their might.
I feel myself ache, with each promise I break
when I find myself back with the stars.
But what do you do when the one thing you chase is the king of all of your scars?
Someone once said that we all have our vices
but should these vices be inviting pure crisis
when you look in the mirror should it be the case
that you find your old self to have been erased?
?Something's burning in my chest
?Like a river of fiery larva
?It's the ocean of savaging doubts
?A faltering in which my thoughts dwell
?
?My bed is a deck of remembrance
?My heart, a wave of many memories
?Lost in the storms of what could've been
?Left with the choice of what's to come
?
?A fragile heart, a heavy soul
?Weighed down by the weight of vice
?The fire burns, the flames rise high
?A reflection of blood shed by my soul
?
?The ghosts of good old past
?Haunt me, with forever to stay
?I seek a glimmer, a thin bit of hope
?Even a strength of many coalitions
?
?I'm searching for a lifeline
?A beacon in the dark
?A guide against my raging err
?A command of peace to my troubled waters
A serving size they say is wise
Never issued a measuring cup
Nobody led with avoid demise
Here take a sweet nothing, yup!
How do you quantify gluttony?
Misrecognition from the start
Is it hunger or just bad company?
The hollow sale of a poisoned dart
Throw an arrow, remember to sharpen it before it reaches it's end target
Who is naïve enough to cross your parameters of closeness
Capture this person whose mere sight you adore
Aim at their legs, your prey will land face first on the floor
Don't be scared, Don't you worry
This is how love is meant to be
Or why would cupid, on his smooth back, so many bad intentions carry?
Or why would the heartbreakers or cheaters not worry about their actions
If they didn't know, love is never a synonym to passion, but pain
To confusion and spiraling games
Love was never stable enough to stay after an orgsm
Love, they repeated over and over
Yet it felt like it had just slipped off their tongue
Bind love in ropes of promises, skim apart their soul
Listen to their heartbeat till the gushing of their bloody lies couldn't be ignored
You'll know when the prey gets too weakened, it can't move
Just fall apart into broken shreds of a beautiful story
Piece by piece, Complete the jigsaw pattern
That lasts people eternity, then you can congratulate yourself
You've caught your prey
I stop and wonder
Where would I be
Had a chosen left vice right
another path left unseen
His hand in my life
my faith in his path
going left vice right
was not meant for me
I'll not repent these sins of mine,
The love that burns, the stars that shine.
Compassion's touch, my aching heart,
Empathy's thread that stitches where sorrow starts.
I trust the winds that whisper through the pines,
And freedom's taste in horizontal lines.
The ocean's song, a hymn to the skies,
Its waves, like breath, it's endless rise and fall.
The bushes bow, the trees hold sway,
Their roots hold truths no storms can wash away.
Roses in bloom, their fragrance soothing and sweet,
Leaves spring and fall, a dance of life, death's defeat.
Let vice be vice in virtue's cage that I hold,
For joy that's bought with love's coin is gold.
I'll feast on the sights that the earth unfolds,
The turquoise wave, the wild, untamed sea.
I'll kiss the thorns and feel every sting,
For pain is the cost of life's true spring.
And if my heart breaks open like the dawn,
It's worth the price for all I've gazed upon.
So judge me not for clinging to vice,
For love, not guilt, will be the cost.
These sins of mine, like roses, in bloom,
Each one a gift I'll will love not less.
In vice, I find the world in embrace,
A fleeting taste of life's eternal grace.
Love is really beautiful
But for those who are
Addicted to two
Never think about
The third person
It's pure selfish motive
Not selfless love.
A vice president can’t
Over-ride a president’s choice
Because the president has
The final say-so on everything
If I’m not mistaken, so
How can they be at fault
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