Poetry
• the video ended - Rex
Butters
• What is America to you? -
Hillary Kaye
• Life’s
Rollercoastering Pagination - Rich
Mann
• Class - Gerard
Kuc
• I call this world we live in
Petropia - Validus Veritas
• Sending in
the Troops - Margot “Pimienta” Pepper
• Delusions of Grandeur - C.V.
Beck
• Trials And Tribulations Of The
Brown People - Sherry Chovan
•
Hiroshima Morning - Diana Roose
• Our
of work, out of money - Al Farhoodi
the video
ended
the screen popped
on
before I could turn it
off
a bulletin interrupted
everything
a wide
eyed
small caterpillar mustached
guy
wackily
toupeed
works his jaw and says
nothing
I remote control an increase in on
screen
volume
arrows
still
saying nothing
he stops eyes
wider
he looks off
camera
he looks down and sees the
microphone
in his lap as the picture
cuts
to a president
saying,
“saber rattling?!
you people in the
press
are doing the saber
rattling.
this is no saber
rattling
there’s no need for saber
rattling
because if there was he would
feel the saber
and that would be
that”
–Rex
Butters
------------
By Hillary
Kaye
What is America to
you?
Good
shopping?
Fine
eating?
Stimulating
conversation?
On whose back do you
ride?
Your
mother’s?
Your
father’s?
Your
boss?
Some
man?
Some
women?
Or does the government support
you?
Or are you independently
horrible?
-------------
Life’s Rollercoastering
Pagination
One step forward....Two
steps backward...destructively
One step
forward....One step
backward....negatively
One step
forward....One step backward....spinning
neutrally
One step forward....No steps
backward.....timely
Two steps forward...One
step backward....tolerantly
Two steps
forward...No steps
backward....productively
Five steps
forward...none
back..................hopefully
Ten steps
forward....none
back..................wishfully
All
forward................................................Excellence
–
Rich
Mann
------------
Class
by Gerard
Kuc
it’s the
way
your feet don’t
touch
the
floor
and your eyes don’t
see
the
ground
it’s the
way
your lips don’t
speak
the
truth
and your hands don’t
reach
for
love
-------------
I
call this world we live in
Petropia,
A
petroleum and opium-based utopia,
Where oil
and poppy fields grow in Afghanistan,
Giving
comfortable profits to establishment
man,
Where corporations rely on an endless
supply,
Fulfilling an addictive
demand.
– Validus
Veritas
-----------
SENDING
IN THE TROOPS
“How long would
authority and private property exist, if not for the willingness of the mass to
become soldiers, policemen, jailers and hangmen?” —Emma
Goldman
Photos arriving on the
wire.
American soldiers boarding planes,
dressed for success:
designer helmets, makeup and Kevlar
vests;
leaden boots and M-16’s slick as
Hollywood.
Bodies taut as cocked weapons,
their hearts will become as hollow
as the discarded shells.
They will bomb the square
where elders gather to tell
stories,
tear-gas the
laughter
that rides the perfumed winds of
desert nights,
and pillage the secrets of
lovers.
They will shrapnel the
future,
mutilate the
past--
rape and rub wounds with salt.
These are humanity’s
hangmen.
I stare at the
faces.
They could be waiting for the subway
doors to open,
or standing in a movie
line.
Is this the face
once caressed by a mother?
--once stroked by a lover?
Are the cheeks soft?
Kissable?
How many of these faces
will return to applause, college degrees
and a home behind a rose-wrapped fence?
How many will lose their minds
or drink themselves to death,
spare-changing between V.A.
appointments?
Don’t you know,
soldier, that you are nothing?
You with the
patriotic baby blues,
or you with your
family in the ghetto;
you with the dark skin
at the front of the line,
or you who wanted
to show them
your parents don’t have
to speak English
for you to be
“American”....
Your president
cares about you
less than last year’s
American car model.
You are like a little boy
whose dreams are too small
and whose boots are far too
big--
talking tough, terrorizing the
playground
so no one will notice
you trembling as you take aim against those
who have more in common with
you
than do the billionaires your weapon
protects.
– Margot
“Pimienta” Pepper
-----------
DELUSIONS
OF GRANDEUR
by C.V.
Beck
There is nothing like--waiting til’
the lastminute
to
bail
especially when old people are depending
on you
And not so old, but sick, people are also
depending on you
and we really needed your
support with your very own
body ‘n
soul, your presence as well as some
“Kquoin”...
but you waited til’ the
verylastminute
to
bail
because you loved your
perfectcreditscoremore.
------------
Trials
And Tribulations Of
The Brown
People
By Sherry
Chovan
Friends till the end or until we get
divided.
Know your history so when the enemy
tempts you with his
treats
you
won’t get too
excited.
Friends till the end or until we get
divided.
Know your destiny so your truth is
strong and you won’t
feel the need
to
hide
it.
Friends till the end or until we get
divided.
Know your ancestry so when this
empire falls you’ll find
me in the
smoke.
Friends till the end or until we get
divided.
Don’t fall for his tricks
you’ll never be his equal just
his
sidekick.
Friends
till the end or until we get
divided.
Together our people must stand
united. So someone now
put down
that
palm
pilot.
Comrades they want to take our hearts
and keep us
divided! But we
must
stay.
Amigos
temp el fin. And never be
divided.
------------
HIROSHIMA
MORNING
it was a hot
one
that
morning
steamy
already
at
breakfast
i seem to
remember
woke up
sweating
cicadas loud
hum
bells tinkling
breeze
among
rooftops
i try to
remember
crowd
gathers
prayers
incense
even
nonbelievers
bow to
buddha
i want to
remember
we must trust each
other
gently teach our
children
that war is
catastrophe
and can be
prevented
the survivor
remembers
even in the midst of
horror
parents saved their
children
carefully quietly offering
water
there is always
love
brave
love
the monks chant
walk
solemn and
slowly
drum drum
drum
we both
remember
this lovely
morning
– Diana
Roose
------------
Out
of work, out of money
What do you need
man?
The bliss of the leaf, the frantic rush
of speed
or the ravages of the
needle?
I got here, right in my
pocket,
no need to check
it
I’m the most honest dealer there
is.
My home is the
beach
My mother is my
mind
While my father left. When? Beats
me.
I got sick of begging the tourists for
their change
Got sick of the constant hunger
that wracked me over
Oh, I tried to find a
job
Believe me I
did,
but the economy’s
shit
and no one’s got
money.
Who’s got money? The dealers
always did.
So there I was standing on the
Strand
Trying to figure out who would
do.
Hey man, need a nug? And that’s how
it started
And now here I
am
My stomach full, my back
clothed.
People call me scum, they say I add
on
to the degeneration of
society.
Well listen buddy, society fucked me
over,
society is why I deal
today.
So don’t judge me too harshly
each time I sell a sack
when at least I
don’t have to force families out
thier
homes when they can’t pay up
or face
some shitty dead-end job.
I’m here in
the prime of the arrogance of youth
living on
my own with no one to look after
me.
I’ve done it all but tap the
vein
and trust me, the descent into
oblivion
is all but
horrific.
Maybe one day I’ll be smart
enough to
quit or leave the
city
but till then, want a
sack?
I’m the most honest dealer there
is.
– Al Farhoodi
Posted: Mon - August 1, 2005 at 11:32 AM