Tag Archives: poem

POW

I saw a Marine on my TV screen

On his knees, begging please

Release me, release me.

I saw men, shackled and cuffed, shuffle

In pain chained to the taint of their skin.

On their knees, they begged please,

Release me, release me.

I saw the ninety-nine percent torn from tents.

Maced in the face, teary-eyed for asking why

They were kicked to their knees and told to beg please,

Release me, release me.

Bradley, an apache; Assange, a messenger.

Hillary’s husband lied under oath.

Where is the hope?

The truth is proof that justice is a hoax.

I heard when Monica was on her knees Bill begged please,

Release me, release me.

I watch my son run in the wind and sun,

Under the African sky.

He is too young to know what is going on;

That we are all prisoners of a war we do not want.

The only way I can look him in the eye

Is to go down on my knees, and beg please,

Do not hate me.

Honeycomb

Model – Jost Kirsten
Sculpture – Honeycomb (Jost Kirsten)
Photographer – Andrew Robson
Copyright 2008

Honeycomb
the writer’s challenge
remains to move the pen less
while saying much more

First Love’s Last Love – Sunday Picture Press: Twistless

What do you know. I thought I was going to attempt another inspired story for this week’s Sunday Picture Press at Indigo Spider, but lo and behold, I wound up writing a poem.
If you are into some good reads, please check out Indigo Spider’s site. Some of the hottest writers on WordPress are showcasing their amazing talent there weekly.

First Love’s Last Love
The choices, the choices
The voices
Of those who told me what to do
When I had no voice
And there was no you
There was only me
Not yet I
Under a tree
And an orange sky
Alone.
Alone.
How I wish to be alone again.
How I wish to be young again.
How I wish I had listened
To the voices
And made different choices.

Poetry #2

—– I will be out of town Tuesday to Thursday to film and script a corporate video. I doubt I will be able to upload any scribbles on those days, so have decided to put up some poems I wrote between 2002 and 2004. —–

From son

To mother

My lover

Is not

You

(18 April 2002)

______________________________________________________________

That a single grain of sand,

Carried on the wind

In this desert, could blind you.

(18 May 2002)

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She said to me:

“We are the sum of our memories and I remember John that’s my real dad hurting my mother and I remember him telling me he loved me after touching me down there I remember he left without saying goodbye when I was five years old I remember trying to protect mom from my stepfather’s drunken rages his fists matching the velocity of his curses I remember him telling me he loved me whenever he made me suck his dick I remember sitting for hours cold and tired in the car with mom while he went in for one quick drink with the boys I remember wondering how she could choose to stay with him instead of running away with me protecting me but all she ever did was say she loved me.”

She said to me:

“We are the sum of our memories and I don’t want to remember anymore especially love.”

(27 May 2002)

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I sat down to write,

But must have misplaced

My

Words,

So I got up to make coffee,

Smoked a cigarette instead.

(25 August 2002)

Poetry #1

—– I will be out of town Tuesday to Thursday to film and script a corporate video. I doubt I will be able to upload any scribbles on those days, so have decided to put up some poems I wrote between 2002 and 2004. —–

This is Africa
Where elderly parents bury their children
With one foot already in the mass grave;
An entire continent going underground
Unaware the enemy is unseen within.

This is Africa
Whose trembling air is filled with the cries of a child;
Cries of hunger for food and hope and love
Long since withered by a senile old drought
With no memory of rain to call upon.

This is Africa
This is my Africa.

(13 January 2001)

________________________________________________________________

Candle in the sand
Lights this page;
The unseen sun
A million stars.
Gentle breeze
On a steady journey;
This desert inhales.
Alone in wonder,
Every motion
Poetry.

(11 February 2002)

________________________________________________________________________________________

Received as many flowers
As I have lovers;
Good thing I don’t
Own any vases.
And I…
I was too afraid
To admit openly
My secret admiration
For you, Valentine.

(14 February 2002)

________________________________________________________________________________________

Unafraid
Of my weaknesses
In your presence
I fall
In Trust

(10 March 2002)