Revolutionary Poetry – The Poetry Of J.P.

A Time for Choosing ~ A Poem by JP

If it were that Churchill had saved the world
and we had been delivered from the purge
of those most foul and infected fingers
would the Doomsday Clock still near its strike?

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The Old Lie ~ A Poem by JP

There’s an old lie, that saysthat it’s sweet and fitting to die.That we should fall so a nation can risehas always been the soldier’s plight–but tell me again of the glory of warand what we should lay down lives for. Were we ruled by men like Cyrus the Great,perhaps there would be glory in theContinue reading “The Old Lie ~ A Poem by JP”

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Mass Formation Psychosis ~Poem by JP

I have met them, as the sun set,
Coming along down the highway
From Memphis to Las Angeles;
Ordinary well-meaning people,

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The Machine’s Operation – A Poem by Jp

The terror storm is not yet here for us
so children’s lullabies can still be sung;
aboard bodies are pressed against the gears.

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The Cost – A Poem by JP

Sometimes love is not enough,
sometimes all the rainbow doesn’t lift
the heart from the basement of us,

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Laborers – A Poem by JP

Where did they go
when the capstone was finally fitted
and the labor contracts were off in the garbage?

Where did they go
when the Taj Mahal had absorbed its last marble
and the laborers were without their paychecks?

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I sink

You won’t write me down in books
or read my words with a rose
colored gloss over, or toss paint
as white as I on picket fences

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For Some

For some
razor wire fences ascend
as phoenixes from the ashes
of division;

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Socialism is a Sickness

Do not let the wind towers make you sick;
it’s hate and fear that resonates with men
and makes demons of rotors spinning on the wind
there’s no sickness, except men mid-panic,

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Long Live Our Lady

We need the Old Colossus now
with it’s defiant blazing torch
as architype for our goddess

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What if?

What if I made you change
your ideologies today?
there’s babies soft and strange
and hungry human hearts at play
where algorithms dare not go.

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Into The Trenches

We are out gunned,
out skilled, and ill equipped
for this oppressive force,
but into the trenches

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Atlantis

I live in Atlantis,
sunk deep beneath the ocean waves;
hope is mere semantics,
for my people cannot be saved.

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Tears to Pay

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?