Author: poetryfest

You’d think Christians would be quick
to advocate for anybody but the devil.
Yet who is first to complain
when David throws his stone?
Ambushing the noble Goliath
like a gutless coward
before he could meet the shepherd
in more honorable combat.
Sword vs. Crook
Tank vs. Tunic

The Pious wait for a
Rapture in progress
their eyes glued to the heavens
as the trip over the clothes and corpses
of the meek and the merciful
unaware they’ve been left behind.
Those persecuted peacemakers
withered with neglect, if they’re lucky
at least die in when God calls them home.
The cold ground, for them, a warmer hearth
than these houses of Unconditional Love.
Those less fortunate, seen by their saviors
discover just what God’s children do
to the least of their brothers.

Sitting pretty in their homes
long since forsaking their earthly church
it’s sermons too long, it’s pews too hard
(and not to mention communal!)
Modern missionaries sow from the sofa
reciting scripts, never reading scripture
so their message, not God’s, can be spread
in 30 seconds or less.
Them belly full
reading Matthew 19:24
and thanking God for the man
that fit a camel in a Cuisinart.

Mr. Credit and Mr. Cash
hanging on the wall
as soon as the light goes out in the shop
and the owner leaves the place
at night, at night the money stops jingling, jingling
and Mr Credit and Mr Cash are alone
and both are still hanging on the wall
and Mr Credit clears his throat at first
and Mr Cash rolls his eyes
because they are not facing each other
but are on the same wall, in the same system
because Mr Cash is only Mr Cash because Mr Credit is Mr Credit
and this system has actually replaced another one
“capitalism is capitalism because monarchy is no longer monarchy”
says Mr Cash to Mr Credit
but soon Mr Cash and Mr Credit will no longer be hanging on the wall
and lie united in a box on top of each other after all these years
and Mr Credit will be on top of Mr Cash
and they will gather dust together
and in their place will hang a dusty queen
instead of Lenin’s portrait

november fifth
crestfallen and dejected
peace is now a myth
everyone is affected

a country
disconsolate
half the people
victims of hate
a leader
whose own daughter
he would date
a president
who leaves his people
irate
a politician
who’s a felon and cheapskate
a man
who only likes women
he can sedate

his egregious “policies”
and denigrating qualities
derisory remarks
and the orders he barks
marks the beginning
of his federal sinning
and morals thinning
he manages to keep winning
despite his lies spinning

his only cares
are control and power
a man who can’t share
who only empowers
other knavish white men
and yet again
we live in a country
where women
are owned and controlled
their “only use” to be boned
and it seems
freedom
has been postponed

Dozens of stars twirled their celestial bodies
To the rhythmic tunes of Jazz and Blues
illuminating with sparks filled with glee
Its transcending society was unquestionably free

Growth persisted—all stood on their own two feet
Until one day, a single star intended to take society’s radiance
He was short, ill-tempered, and would fight anyone who dared disagree
ideas spurted from his mouth nonsensically
He’d slither—directing the masses

Erratic tangents filled with rage
Declarations that demanded change
“You roll yourselves in harmony. Let’s make a system with progress, and we shall call that peace.”
But once the stars succumbed to this unbeknown allure—monarchy fastened
A calamity

Years erode—faith surrenders to hell
When a star speaks of the memories, they’re lynched until they squeak
Their luminosity sparks with disastrous pleas
The throne is chosen. and a system of greed is the main focus
Art, literature, and love—Subjects meant for God

“Money, economy, tyranny—that’s society’s unquestionable freedom
Where we chain workers to a wage and hours that they’re forced to maintain
As I lay down on my sofa
They bring me my champagne
Keep making me money as I wander away
But be warned that my eyes are heavy
You make a mistake, and you’ll owe me plenty
Your soul will never fly; it’s mine; now stay.”

Up to now, this hand was faith’s divinity
Revolutions commence in hopes of obtaining life
Stars failed, and they hid in burrows—like warthogs to leopards
Most were preyed on by pointed, tainted teeth
They were never to be seen
Plagues widened as the stars labored away
It’s ravenous cells multiplied on the frail community
Millions died—politicians & the wealthy simply dined

Dad?
Yes, son?
Can I ask you a question?
Of course.

Today, the teacher scolded me for
making fun of Judy’s stutter.
Well, I guess she is saying you shouldn’t do that.

Have you ever eaten a banana with peanut butter on it?
I think so. When I was younger.
We tried that during recess today and I loved it.

When do you think I will be old enough
to go camping on my own?
Do you want to go camping all by yourself?
Maybe. I was just wondering.

What is bankruptcy?
When a business fails.
Our math teacher said it and I never heard that word before.
Have you ever been bankruptcy?
Bankrupt. No, decent people pay their debts.

When you first met mom, did you
move on her like a bitch and grab her by the pussy?
What?
I heard the TV and you laughed so loud I thought
that was how you first met mom.
Don’t ever say that again, you hear me?

We made cardboard clocks in school this week.
Did you ever do that?
I’m not sure.

the air tastes like rot
like something buried too long beneath your indifference
a million voices choking in the same breath—
but you’re here,
waging wars on libraries
tearing at the spines of books
while your people are crushed beneath ceilings
cracked by storms they couldn’t escape

does it soothe you,
banning the trans kid who just wants to
exist?
to make laws out of fear and call it
protection,
while the soil dries to dust
and rivers crawl slower than your
sense of urgency?

you have no answers—
only distractions:
who gets to love who,
who gets to read what,
who gets to live how.
but the ground splits open behind you,
swallows whole towns,
and you have nothing to offer
but the clench of your fist
on a red pen,
underlining the names
you’d rather erase.

priorities?
a mother watches her child
wade through a flood
to reach the house
that isn’t there anymore.
a farmer breaks open his own hands
searching for life in a land
you let die.
a child breathes their last
while you’re busy
deciding if they had the right to be.

and when it all falls down—
when there’s nothing left to govern,
nothing left to rule—
will you call it victory?
is this what you call priorities?

Purpose of a mannerism,
shed I but a tear betrayed
when that boy was shot;
and resounding gasped a
world aggrieved, for their
youth perceived itself
where bullets hail ever.

Life knew once that fight
belongs where good men
die; though wherest once
dwelt a kindred has since
become enemy to another.
Wiser was a rock that
perceived itself shaken.

Kinder was that day
before this night fallen
upon the silt of gauntlet
so fraught dear of lies;
and to believe kind will
duly should have seen
where goes the hand.

Late, we are, to believe.
Early we become to war.
Cancel, for tooth and jaw
should be the law; and
fire has its crown in the
annals of time where
once regal knew brave.

They renamed the Gulf of Mexico,
erasing history into dust.
The Mexica civilization, who we called Aztec.
Their great empire crumbling into rust.
A name can hold so much power,
Words stomping with all their weight.
The Gulf of Mexico holds the legacy
of those who came before,
The brutal, the ugly, and the great.
Colonizers and colonized alike,
The name reflects the history of the place.
Yet the government changed its name,
Indigenous history that they don’t want to face.

Why am I ordered to degrade my rights on the constitutional amendments?
What are minorities are facing besides killing their future?
Where should a young intelligent male do to keep his house and family safe?

Falsely Accused!

Who do we label as the evil beings in the eyes of all mankind?
When are the hunters going to surrender themselves from this cycle, we call Reality?
How do we look forward for a true savor for our own kind?

Falsely Accused!

I am at a standstill between
two meanderings on
the flat, soggy dirt of an island.
There, on the not so far banks,
shouldered with wisps of dandelions
ready to leave their nest and forked weeds,
rests a beast.
She is a kindly beast, but a beast nonetheless,
coarse fur attached to loose skin atop rough sinew and
hardened muscle, eyes dark as coals without flame.
They query my rigid state underneath once-brushing willows,
now holding their breath, waiting for their queen to pass judgement
on my fate. My shallowed head dares to stare upon her gaze,
understanding few live once they have.
While words may be my preferred manner of communication,
I am still animal enough to recognize a decision has been made.
A soft and firm wind comes around the corner at the gentle nod of her head, upstream of the
meanderings, brushing my hairs and the willows;
they follow her Majesty’s orders as their tender branches impede my gaze.
As the willow branches softly fall to their sides once again,
She is gone.