Wednesday, July 25, 2012


Two temples face
The Taj Mahal
One is sacred
One is just for symmetry
Looking backwards, useless
A showpiece pieced together
A reflection of the other
A mask of a mosque.
It reminds me of those
Who twist the words of the Quran
From its teachings of love to hate,
Who would take Mohammed's teachings of compassion,
That brought warring tribes
Into a fellowship,
And turn it into a war song
Against those perceived as more fortunate.
The Taj Mahal stands white
Stained with the blood of slaves
And the two temples gaze upon it,
One filled with reverence and devout praise,
The other a mere shell, to fool the eye into perceived balance
in a world that isn't black and white.

Please visit, thanks.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Living Poets Society

The first Tuesday
Every month
Congregated around the cafe table.
We share our words in voices
Scarce heard above the grinding coffee.
Every year we prepare
And take our show to the beach.
Our audience is much smaller then our
And we are thankful to all of them.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The poet and the painter

A poet and a painter
Went walking along the shore
Of a river.
They talked of their lives
And their art.
The painter proclaimed 
After drawing deserted squares
And war torn buildings
He had repainted borders.
In his own hands
Taken the brushstroke
Lithely and sharp.
Eagerly he had
Redrawn maps,
Whitewashed societies ailments,
Drew divisions so deep
Into weak psyche
That even after his final strokes
Were laid upon the canvas
There were people who
Believed his art as truth.

The poet laughed 
And in a rehearsed voice
Recounted how he had rewrote history.
How the verses so bold in imagery,
Had raised armies and toppled religions.
With words craftily slanted
Set revolutions of starving people
Against their own,
Simple psalms that echoed
Into the minds of the vulnerable;
Drafts generations took as god.
Moreover he spoke
About his feats of literature
Overcoming question, propagated to the point where truth was changed.
Rewriting a nations language and policies into a police state.
How his poetry echoes still through the institutions of learning,
His picture lauded by millions.

The poet and the painter
Arrived at a gate
The three headed dog bowed
Welcoming them to damnation;
For these were his masters
Who had sent so many his way
Through pretty words,
Grim paintings,
And false promises.

Please visit non-negitive arts, thanks.

The Greed of Infamy

The greed of infamy
As the  scavenger media
Drags fresh carrion into spotlights.
Well geniuses suffer fame
The ignorant and weak
Are so desperate for affection
They do unspeakable things.
In a high school world
Of popularity contests
People believing to be known
Is better then to be loved.
Shoving the envelop
Blood drenched parcel, 
In a culture full of deranged strangers with illusions of grandeur,
Encouraged by cultism.
Victims trapped
Attacked by egotist supremacists,
Cysts of a society on the catalyst
Of devastation 
If we continue to feed scum
The attention they crave.
Apprehended and given grand jury
When they should be taken out
The back door and shot.
What need for fair trial
When the perpetrators guile
Is sociopathic pathetic pleas
For cameras and headlines.
Dissecting the causes
Flawed individuals premeditating
How to become world famous,
Glorified defying all logic
Deaf to the cries of the dying.
Bereft of understanding 
the dying know no pain,
But the void of the lost
Can never be filled again.
The living suffer the circus
As the hyena plays its game
Laughing madly in the camera
Flash bulb burnout.
Every one too exceptional
For the common sense
This is a warning about no one,
To those who would seek
Infamy over fame,
Reputation is a tattoo nothing can erase.

Please visit, thanks.