Beneath the waves a gyre turns it’s gaze.Awake, at last, that sleeping giant is loosedonce more upon the world. Anarchy is the rulethat sets the center askew; the antichrist is surely near.The shooter, his rifle, is surely at hand;surely there’s some terrorist plan,surely the boogeyman has come to bearthose Freddy claws and leave us turningContinue reading “Found in Notes on phone”
If I was born a thousand years ago
perhaps the beauty of birds
or all the natural world
would have been enough for me,
I would tell you
are not alone
two bodies tied
to each other
We are out gunned,
out skilled, and ill equipped
for this oppressive force,
but into the trenches
Precision and prowess is
clutched within the bowels
of the serapeum’s stone walls,
proud geometric boxes
of suspicious skill.
I live in Atlantis,
sunk deep beneath the ocean waves;
hope is mere semantics,
for my people cannot be saved.
What matters if we stop these bells,
—the toll and knell of guns and bombs,
the monstrous groan of metal wheels
the murmur of a boy gurgling on hope
before his breath is smothered out,
if we cannot quench the thirst of bureaucracy?
Never let ideas die,
not with a man
Where have the lilacs gone?
Are they with the belladonna
that bloomed when we were young,
before the truth was known,
before the side effects,
before the taking of remedies?
Where do I begin,
what words will convince you
that a knowledge of history
is not a conspiracy
I know that I usually post poetry, but as of yet I haven’t quite the words for the topic that I am about to tackle as least not in the form of a poem. Nevertheless, I do feel compelled to write. The year was 1776, the Declaration of Independence was signed, and a symbol ofContinue reading “The Ponzi and the Poor”
The beetle takes the last emerald
that’s jutting from the snow;
a nature more valuable
Neither mother, maiden, nor crowne
can morn more the passing of this nation
Remember Lenon and his words,
how he sang so eloquently
‘that your still fucking peasants
as far as I can see,’
He’s nobody’s hero,
the man that wakes at dawn,
the bagger that packs bags
’till swole with groceries.
We are living in Orwell’s mind,
while Huxley sings his lullaby
Do not believe bankers, princes,
or governments; for all their wealth,
glittering gold, and grasping at control,
He passed away today—or was it days ago,I have not the strength to tell.Anymore, the rose’s petal’s saywhat my words could never:don’t send me more flowers—please don’t affix a card to the lilies,because I have relived his deathwith each wilting lilyand cried more often then a rose in molt.
Oh, Khafre would you tell the truth?
Was it you who removed Anubis
from the rough paws that soothed the world
Divisions unite us:
The righteous verses all
who dare to dream on false idol