in the darkness…
the story of life?
a momentary glow
in the infinite night!
the smell of sulfur,
and fingers burnt…
holding the flame
too close!
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why is it every time
i can taste…cornbread, beans,fried chicken,hell, everything fried!barbeque, good whiskey,southern baptist revivals,dark eyed girls moaning,fresh turned earth on the plow,oak split by the axe,squirrels, rabbits, and frogs…and yes, the hanging tree,the buses partitioned by hate,the factories sucking life’s blood,now shut down and haunted.the milk cows gone dry,and doors that are now locked.the meth lab taste of…
i am not the picture
not the old song,not a fleeting memory.i am not the namethat parks behind yours,i am not the rent, the lights,or the groceries.i am not the excuse,the curse, or the lie….not the name of your fear,not your morals, or your chains.i am not the old mansitting in the chair,staring blankly out the window.i am not the…
your hair falls in layers as if
all mystery abides… your eyesmoan, a deep and gutteral spirituallonging, the history of mankindabiding there…your lips, silent, motionless…yet those eyes the painter’s brush!nightfall itself bows in gratitude.beginning and end, again and again,as if the earth breathed somewheredeep in the softness.i see the first fire, the shadows onthe walls of the cave. and i heardrumbeats in…
changeling,
you’re alltongue andgroove!you salt my desirelike no one else can.hidden beneath layersof self-imposed hurt,and walls you built,hiding from yourself.you rage against the stormsof life, your hand quiversat the wheel!i wait; a small birdon your windowsill….for time to bring you backfrom the land of the dead!
who will make your socks, your shoes?
and who will make your beds?those who sleep on dirt floors!who will grow your food?those whose children are hungry!who will bring you your oil?those whose blood stains the sands.who will write your poetry?those held in your tiny cells!who will build your houses?those who sleep in their cars!who will build your roads?those who wander with no…
gut wrenching,slap in the face….America’s indifferent hungerswallows it’s own poor,drowning in their jobless stupor….take, take, take!now nothing leftbut the crumbs of greed,falling from the chinsof the unsuspecting;who blindly followed,in the name of God,wearing patriotic boots….souls made of the fleshcolored by forgotten need!(inspired by Terence Craddock)