Sunday, February 19, 2012

the required poem

There are rhymes
that stand the test of time
that can change lives
that are said to wives
and that can hide the lies

and then there's the shit that I spit
it comes from a deep pit
and my sharp wit
and hides from me my shit

hides from me my shit
and rhymes that hides my lies

you see i am on a journey
to the best poem ever
something you will remember
words weaved together
in such a way it will be real forever

my goal is to be be whole
to fill the hole in my soul
so deep and full of woe

I am empty and worthless
so full of feces,
i should be another species
and E.T. simple likes Reeces
and wants to go home not in pieces.

to go home
away from being alone
emptiness be filled
Please make this a happy poem.

you see I write to fill the hole
I write to become known
because at times I am like, the world of warcraft gnome.

tinker, inventor and mechanic of words.

words on paper
words in the air
words from nowhere

that fill my mind
and above all fills my soul

you see I could never explain a poem
least of all one of my own
I try to give you tone
and something you can take home


how real it is to you, will never be known
girls being thrown
boys being owned
sadness begin shown

and so i write
write for the good of my soul
write for the millions untold
write for the illiterate young and old

you see i am on an endless journey
to the best poem ever
something you will remember
words weaved together
in such a way will be real forever





Monday, February 6, 2012

the war on drugs is a good thing

and the man's little child, dies in his arms
Bruised a little about the head and body
The death certificate will read: "internal bleeding; unknown origin"

the place Afghanistan,
the time now, right now.
A man with not a lot of money and two small children.
Needs more than his meager crop of corn can provide.


drug lords invite him to a meeting.
so much food, he has never seen before.
he drank till he had no thirst,
they gave him food to take to his children

they showed him how well his neighbors do.

they said that if he grew just one crop, he could have enough for his family for two years.

He desperate to provide, agrees, to the deal as stated by the drug lords: "grow and harvest our poppy, and we will pay you handsomely"

they supply the seeds,
he provides all the work and the land,

they check on him weekly
he shows them everything is well taken care of

He hears the local men talk of something called "war on drugs"
The European's and the American's have a problem and they use a group called
Peacekeepers, to help.

He thinks nothing of it, in Afghanistan, Poppy is a good thing,
it feeds the family,
provides schooling for children,
gives farmers enough money to keep their homes in repair.
and if other countries use "Peace keepers" it must not be that bad

three weeks later, he hears a commotion in his fields, he goes to investigate
military vehicles, tanks, and armed men, flank his lands as local police destroy his crops.

Emblazoned on the military vehicles are the initials "U" "N"
...

that week the drug lords show up to check on their crop,
the farmer explains "but... but.. but.... the peacekeepers... not me,... them"


the drug lords having no compassion
seeing only lost revenue
explode

their violence erupts in the mans small shack.
the man's children hide
and they beat him beyond unconscious
and then kick him a few more times

When he awakens his 8 year old girl and 10 year old boy are gone
his lungs on fire from broken ribs
bone sticking through skin of his right arm
his face deformed from the cruelty
as he stands his broken bones in his leg, cause that cause him to vomit and pass out.

hospitals require payment in advance
he has no payment
his bones set by neighbors, may never heal

Three weeks later the message comes
Since YOU let our poppy crop be destroyed we need $20,000
we understand your plight so we will give you two months
$20,000 in two months or we keep your children,...


In a country with such poverty $20,000 is 10 years worth of salary
in such a country, the police are powerless
in such a country, ancient laws make it OK to trade children for debt.
in such a country, outsiders force un-welcomed change.

and to the 8 year old girl they torture very little - fresh, untouched meat on the open market is worth much more than used merchandise.

and to the 10 year old boy, a perfect unblemished piece of wood, that could be sculpted into a beautiful delicate figurine, they instead pound in 6inch spikes,
splintering
deforming
turning wood into paper that is written upon, again and again and again.

The 10 year old boy, is thier favorate toy and played with many times, but then, like all toys he becomes no longer fun he becomes a rag doll with all of its stuffing spilling out.

The boy is thrown from a moving car in front of his fathers house.

the father, thanks his God for return of one of his children,
the boy does not speak of the last month
no doctor will examine for fear of what they will find
no police to call

And two days later the man's 10 year old son, dies in his fathers arms
Bruised a little about the head and body.
The death certificate will read: "internal bleeding; unknown origin"


As the man shuffles back to his beggars spot,
a US reporter asks him if he has heard of the war on drugs,... and does he think it is a good thing?