party faithful
automatons
steal our
good faith
mugging trust
sleight of hand
misdirection
in each retail
handshake
each devious
pose struck
for lens of
the camera
sly insincere lips
drip with stale
dusty words
pious claptrap
when anxiously
clamoring ears
demand answers
when outraged
grieved eyes
demand actions
the commonweal
heart needs real
heroes not hacks
needs their pledge
to real truths
and this agonized
era of murder must
once and for all
be seized kicking
and screaming
by hands of
uncompromised
moral authority
brought to a
final and firm
denouement
Murder
All posts tagged Murder
it happened in a dream
I became king of the world
but the world didn’t care
so I stepped from the throne
and a monster took my place
then the world was afraid
I painfully pondered
what my conscience commanded
while the whole world suffered
could I kill the monster
without becoming one too
thank God it was a dream
(originally posted March 2013)
that terrified feeling
we have surely gone to hell
again and again
deranged and consumed by hate
we murder with abandon
(Regarding the New York truck attack and the Texas church shootings)
(Regarding the Baton Rouge assassinations of police)
blue burgundy blood
once the bright
crimson fluid of life
now a dark seeping
stain verging unto the
dead hue of rust
spreading over this
landscape of menace
disfiguring ethical facets
philosophers carved
from strong civilized bones
precious gems of republic
the functional stalwarts
of ordered society
modern centurions
serving protecting
become now
its violent victims
their innocent offal
unspeakable trophies
of rampaging hatred
the hallmark of monsters
descended from Cain
skulking in and among us
to furtively strike from
decayed intellectual barrens
where cowards have
ever found reason and root
to grow into assassins
(Regarding the terrorist attack in Nice)
birds surrender their song
to madness of murder
angels arrive on waves
kneeling in heartbroken agony
The terrible events in Dallas have rendered me unable to write poetry these last few days. I am filled with anger and despair.
My son is a decorated police officer, a police academy instructor, an EMT, a former member of the Civil Air Patrol, and a United States Navy veteran.
He is a man born to a noble ethic who enthusiastically swore a somber duty to serve and protect his fellow citizens – ALL of them – regardless of race or creed or character.
My entire family shares the grief suffered by him and by all of his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms around the country, as a result of the cowardly acts of those utterly despicable Dallas assassins.
We pray that he stays ever alert – keeps safe – and remains undeterred from his mission. We are exceedingly proud of him – and deeply grateful for the service of everyone in uniform – all of whom are increasingly in harm’s way.
The American social fabric continues to shred against the sharp edges of malicious factions. And now, more than ever in tatters, appears unmendable.
born to the blood
rage wells in my channels
a flood-tide of ancestral
passion for vengeance
the intellect whelmed
by sheer volume of anguish
all grace of humanity
washed from the spaces
within me by waves
of spontaneous anger
percussions of hatred
reducing my bones to an
unrecognizable ruin
the bullets of madmen
have made of me one of
their unreasoned own
murder filling my mind
ungainly hands chopping beards
severed heads by mistake
filling baskets with accidents
stumbling on underground markets
with buyers for evident crimes
thus did a new business model
emerge from the wielding of razors
aggressively drawn straight across
ill-placed trust in those ungainly hands
of a new minted ultimate barber
my cardboard voice
stiffens the tongue
with dull artless words
too plain for appalling
occasions of carnage
inhaling the horror
familiar and fiendish
air caustic with cordite
death screaming
its silent surprise
in the peaceable ears
of mundane communion
drawing innocent blood
from an unwary morning
ordinary monsters
convened executions
uttering sonnets of bullets
one verse at a time with
unnerving malevolent luxury
gun-written slaughter
composed under sway
of a sick-minded muse
holding bastardized faith
hellish metaphors foisting
on murder the merits
of principled piety
this cardboard voice
can but corrugate
ridges and troughs
of unbearable poetry
void of solutions
I have
no words
only hatred
for evil
no pity
no mercy
hot anger
eyes cry
burning tears
my violent
anguish
wants only
a sure stroke
of vengeance
from justice
one life
for nine
nothing less
and I’d do it
myself
I know
I must be a
poor Christian
but a man
who brings
racism’s
bullets to bibles
with vicious
intentions
who slaughters
the innocent
prayerful
at peace
in their
holiest
gentlest
expressions
of faith
such a man
is no man
but the vilest
of beasts
poor Christian
I must be
I know
but forgiveness
comes hard
to this sinner
who loves
and who hates
with what
I surely pray
is a moral
distinction