Words in a Blender

Look at me, the words I wrote
And see how deep my soul goes
The terseness of my lines denote
I have no time for prose

Here a phrase and there a phrase
My disconnected pieces
Await your gaze and then your praise
I hope it never ceases

What? My words confuse
You poor illiterate fool
Never edit, say the muse
It is their golden rule

Pearls and swine shall never mix
There's my neophyte's cliché
And my relic word is betwixt
As partial rhymes give way

I hoist the verse for all to see
The masterpiece I tender
But critics cry my poetry
Are just words in a blender

America

America, where Capitalism is religion,
The Rich are it’s disciples
And the Poor it’s parishioners

America, where Education is big business,
Teachers are it’s wage slaves
And Students grist for the mill

America, where Heath Care is unattainable,
The Food Industry is it’s poison
And the Pharmaceuticals it’s addiction

America, where Politics is divisive,
The Republicans are the Democrats
And the Democrats are Republicans

America, where The Press is marketing,
The Reporters are it’s shills
And the Taglines it’s facts

America, where Fear is the governor,
Safety is the product
And Privacy it’s price

America, where War is profitable,
The Tax Payers are the investors
And the War Industry it’s stock holders

America, where Guns are freedom,
The NRA is a front
And Gun Owners it’s dupes

America, where the Dream is American,
The Lottery is the mechanism
And the Game is rigged

The Group

While wandering aimlessly in the cold dark lonely void
A voice calls out beckoning to join them
A warm, welcoming refuge promises to accept
And all within are quick to approve the new arrival

Plastic smiles greet the nascent recruit
Whose eyes are full of hope and happiness
Having found a bastion of belonging
Where superficiality is initially served to the unvetted

But since assimilation is the goal and rejection the risk
Suppositions slowly slink into the pleasantries
To try the tribal truth on the malleable member
Whose initial reactions are secretly judged

Adoration is the first victim of a furrowed brow
Dare the critical become the ostracized
And while the elder associate attempts to appease
The threat is averted by accepting the innocuous idea

But as the group devours, the dogma digs deeper
Layer by layer leaving little of the landscape left
Replacing the unique with the canonical
Until the individual is indistinguishable from the institution

Empty Nest

It was the best time we never had
And she was in costume
With only her round little face showing

As the wagon slowed, we got off
First untying the balloons that adorned its bed
And with that bundle of balloons in tow
She joined the children who scurried and scattered
And was quickly lost among the crowd

With confidence, she played
And with confidence, I busied myself
With the mechanics of the day
And after a moment, I put down my tools
And that day, that beautiful day was over

I looked for her as a wagon arrived
With new children, ready for their day
And when I finally caught up with her
I lied on the ground to watch her play
But something had changed

“What happened to the balloons”, I asked
And as I watched her look for them
I felt compelled to explain to the unseen crowd
That she was in college
And to their unspoken question, I answered
She is short for her age

I watched the happiness drain from her face
As she realized that the balloons where gone
She began to cry releasing a lone Mylar balloon
And as she fell into my arms, I reached up
Barely grasping the balloon’s edge
And noticed it was old and deflated

We fell to ground and were all alone
For the crowds had gone, as had our time
And I began to sing to her, a song she had loved
But the words choked in my throat
So, instead of singing, we cried
She for her loss
And me for mine

And then I awoke into the darkness
And the realization
That she was gone

The Banner of God

The sickening men who rule the land
The things they think they understand
They spread their death for all to see
Then pray and weep on bended knee

They kill those they don’t understand
And deliver their souls into His hand
But any god who’d accept the fee
Is no god fit for you or me

I wish there was a placed called Hell
Where He would burn and forever dwell
For all the things he’s said and done
With the Holy Ghost and his bastard Son

The Fotomat

Sanitized through the sands of time

My memories of the Fotomat

Are pristine and picture-perfect

The remnants of a seemingly simpler time

Poised parenthetically in parking lots

These bastions of drive-thru culture

Housed the hopes of hundreds

That their modest memories would be maintained

And like the photographs they dispensed

They have faded into the landscape

Worn down by weather and time

Withering wistfully into the past

In these days of plentiful photography

I sorely miss the time of these icons

Where the rarity of picture taking

Met with the now rarity of film

See What We Have Made For You

See the fear that we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it slowly letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, inseparable

Then and only then are you ready

To propagate it to others

See the god we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it early letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, indistinguishable

Then and only then are you ready

To proclaim it to the world

See the lie we have made for you

It's been designed for your enjoyment

Partake of it often letting it seep into your bones

And once it's part of you, irrefutable

Then and only then are you ready

To kill for it