Tag Archives: capitalism

Clipped Wings

All greatness we achieve is exploited in the end,
the language we speak used to condemn,
the letters we write now contracts that bind us to them,
and the paintings we scrawl, presentations of our downfall.

If this absurdity had given us large enough wings,
neither you nor I would be allowed to fly freely with those things,
we all know what such power and elegance brings,
a flood of dead president callers, all holding collars.

We would fly, sure, but only if it suited our benefactors,
they’d pay us to stay grounded, keep the lights on, run the tractors,
overwhelm us with gifts of earth born distractors,
ensuring room enough in the sky for those worthy of flight.

Better to sing for yourself and leave them with silence,
write on the walls of your heart, let their pages feel your absence,
paint pictures to paper your home and let them live in blindness,
what greatness is in you, does not need their value.

Maybe we can’t fly,
but we can bound through life as best we can.

Marathon

An endless rhythm pounding against the ground,
echoed steps lost, never to be found,
Stop.
Let it all flood in,
thrashing against the coves of sanity –
white foam, screaming.
The gulls cry out for stunned fish
lying on the rocks
unaware of their consumption,
an endless rhythm pounding against the ground,
echoed steps lost, never to be found,
Stop, finally,
amidst the garland.
Are the flowers for respect,
or just the satisfaction
      of causing something else to die?

The Serpent and the Snake

Eager blades rise like waves,
tightly coiled for the depths below,
where dark waters twist and tumble
fraught to maintain such great heights
until gravity’s anchor drags them back to the undertow

Those fangs sink in through the scales,
stopping only covetously for the bone.
The venom it sends rushes to unknown ends,
a curious tide trespassing secret coves
echoing haunted laughter in sunless geometry.

The other beast strikes back in reflected anger,
rushing its aggressor like a gull caught in a gust;
sharp salt sea breeze cutting the sun,
fracturing the blue canvas with a searing light
before plunging again into the familiar stream.

Two currents opposed to form a whirlpool,
neither willing to give any ground to the other,
flowing ribbons of water; ocean waves,
burrowing against the earth and rising against the sky.
For the want to live, they both will die.

The Rain Barrel

Hard times like wine on the skin,
some blush between the discarded inhibitions.
Verdant memories soaking in slowly,
like ancient intercontinental trade routes;
the silent contents growing louder with history,
as too the benefits.

On sunny days, while grace shines upon us,
the vessel looks out of place.
Less than useless, an abuse of the time we have,
to remind us of the times we hate.
It aches in the light, becoming brittle planks,
on which our eyes will walk briefly,
and plunge into the depths of the day,
escape or drown, it’s all the same.

But on those rainy days they come to collect
all our troubles overflowing,
and they tell stories only the rain can hear;
thunderous applause after each quiet punchline.

It is dangerous to consume what the sky gives us,
for it may return our own gifts.

Desire

I need
I need

But twigs in the beginning;
piled high, unaware
of what those heights were for,
then set ablaze
raging for the air,
for the fuel.

I need
I need

I want it all and quickly,
the fibers – the paper
the wood – the tree
the house – the forest
the world!

I need
I need

Though you neglected me to embers
I still burn in darkness
slumbering angst
waiting to wake again and feed,
should you offer any more.

I need
always, I need.

Artillery

Fire surges us forward at speed
piercing clouds and comprehension
threading violently through the chaotic cotton
eluding any eyes that would dare to follow.

A monstrous arch that frowns against the world
all the fruited things now rotten
corrupt with anima and conflict
warring over what little remains of Apollo.

Human nature is to define and to contradict
and they do so with unquenchable bloodlust
condemning their opposition without discourse
at a pace that leaves their memories shallow.

We crash to the earth, nowhere they could predict
a bedlam of the horrors willfully forgotten.

Wrenched

Caked car parts
            thick with darkness
            dripping

                            drip

                            drip

                            dripping
                                a pool of introspection
                              soft echoes of the world
                            in hollowed tones.

  no one dares the dipping of a toe
growing
            undisturbed
                              save by itself.

the mended
                                          the broken
              both remain

the world flows through and spills out
                      all the same.

Citizens United

I wish I had enough
to budget for my vote
the cost of the ear
my representative
long since entombed in gold.

While we scrawl on paper
which evil is lesser
our betters tell us
that they are citizens
and they are united

behind something greater
than any we could wield,
as many zeros
trailing as for us lay
ahead, there to impede;

for though voting is free
positions cost money
and it behooves them
to give money power
while we still reward greed.

We too are citizens
but are not united,
we blame each other
for the lack of funding
we would need to contend

but if I could afford
to bend the golden ear,
I’d cry out in pain,
give voice to our freedoms
dying in avarice.

Kings of the Sea

Lobsters, I’m told
have no natural ending.
Back when they were frowned upon
not worth the water that would cook them
they’d become so large they’d horrify
the mind.

But somewhere
someone said,
 “delicious.”
and quickly,
we found the strength to overcome
building giant machines to scoop
them off the seabed
like clams from a shell.
We subjugated them
harvested them
until nothing of the monster was left but
these tiny little things you could pick up
one hand.

Now, bigger ones,
unimpressive youth in the shadow of their ancestors
are kept safe
on pedestals
where we can catch
a glimpse of those past monsters
through a cage of glass
beneath fluorescent lights.
A circus thing
alone and delicious.