Gold bells celebrate judgement in honeysuckle light shafts;
their mocking echoes taunt the coat tails of misguided holy vespers
with jackal barks and ridicule,
as regal beams rain through cracks in the stained glass of our stuttering eternity
and a black man ascends to the throne.
Flocks of flushed out white folk come to dance in time’s historic temples
like blind eels winding asinine into orgy thronging madness
deep within the enigmatic sanctuary of Sargasso sea surprise.
Their damp churches stand algae stained and brim full
of candle-mass ghosts, still looking to suck senseless obscenity from obscure and perverse interpretations of purity; their musty voices clinging congenital
beneath sexless creases and the misfiring folds of tired robes and bibles.
Cockroach cold behind stale pews and shit drunk with indignation,
cower the predictable souls of those languidly yearning salvation.
I watch them masturbate the last juice of judgement
by the brittle fingers of a tired bony moon,
I see them spit watery seed at whatever lurks inside
the imaginary axis of their paranoid evil
and I adopt the indignity of their ignorant shame
in a melange of songs now gleaming.
Drowning in the dust spume of congregational falls,
the alabaster skins of fading politicians dodge magazine bullets
in a carnage café of leprous limbs, all flailing in the whisper wheat of
surreal fields, where rotting dignitaries - replete with erroneous satisfaction and
surgery-sized spouses, roll and tumble into samurai mantraps
baited by the brave new limbo of confusion.
Goddamn that commie Pete Seeger. How we’d kill that shrill bitch Baez (if we only had a hammer) ……
…… are words they leave unspoken but ironically imagined in the politically correct casket of these dreadnought days. Go blame the emancipation of slaves on long haired liberals and the moonstomp sacrilege of Beatle music;
go burn their Give Peace a Chance mantras at the stake of a bold constitution;
condemn them to death for tub-thumping on the tombs of America the Brave
as it sings Proud Mary into history’s heroic comic book of creation.
And who will forgive them as the lost hypocrisy of beckoning euthanasia fires gum soft roars for mercy killings and the salivating dreams of lynch mobs?
Back at the barn dance, hoe-downers chew on the coagulated cud of ignoble memories; the cowards in them seek sanctuary in the half-white
whilst choking on the pyres of low hanging fruit,
still smouldering in the steamy heat of a supremacist night.
They bend subservient to take a bitter communion of freedom from the surreptitious cup of progress, kneeling gnarled and prayer hopping across stones of ultimate absolution. How they queue to cleanse their coagulated throats
with the brown pith of forgiveness wine - for they know not what they did - nor less of what they said.
As one, they lift up their chosen voices to the Lord of their choosing,
chain-gang linking the pale string and sinew of worn-out limbs, to proudly sing
“We shall overcome”,
ignorant as a fuckwit stood pissing in the wind.
Beyond the yawn of dog-tired temples,
the spirits of proletariat people jam proud on the swirl of profane humanity
and peacock walk their enriched veins,
impoverished by the brilliant dazzle of victory colours,
stillborn of new hope and the frail truth of dreams.
their mocking echoes taunt the coat tails of misguided holy vespers
with jackal barks and ridicule,
as regal beams rain through cracks in the stained glass of our stuttering eternity
and a black man ascends to the throne.
Flocks of flushed out white folk come to dance in time’s historic temples
like blind eels winding asinine into orgy thronging madness
deep within the enigmatic sanctuary of Sargasso sea surprise.
Their damp churches stand algae stained and brim full
of candle-mass ghosts, still looking to suck senseless obscenity from obscure and perverse interpretations of purity; their musty voices clinging congenital
beneath sexless creases and the misfiring folds of tired robes and bibles.
Cockroach cold behind stale pews and shit drunk with indignation,
cower the predictable souls of those languidly yearning salvation.
I watch them masturbate the last juice of judgement
by the brittle fingers of a tired bony moon,
I see them spit watery seed at whatever lurks inside
the imaginary axis of their paranoid evil
and I adopt the indignity of their ignorant shame
in a melange of songs now gleaming.
Drowning in the dust spume of congregational falls,
the alabaster skins of fading politicians dodge magazine bullets
in a carnage café of leprous limbs, all flailing in the whisper wheat of
surreal fields, where rotting dignitaries - replete with erroneous satisfaction and
surgery-sized spouses, roll and tumble into samurai mantraps
baited by the brave new limbo of confusion.
Goddamn that commie Pete Seeger. How we’d kill that shrill bitch Baez (if we only had a hammer) ……
…… are words they leave unspoken but ironically imagined in the politically correct casket of these dreadnought days. Go blame the emancipation of slaves on long haired liberals and the moonstomp sacrilege of Beatle music;
go burn their Give Peace a Chance mantras at the stake of a bold constitution;
condemn them to death for tub-thumping on the tombs of America the Brave
as it sings Proud Mary into history’s heroic comic book of creation.
And who will forgive them as the lost hypocrisy of beckoning euthanasia fires gum soft roars for mercy killings and the salivating dreams of lynch mobs?
Back at the barn dance, hoe-downers chew on the coagulated cud of ignoble memories; the cowards in them seek sanctuary in the half-white
whilst choking on the pyres of low hanging fruit,
still smouldering in the steamy heat of a supremacist night.
They bend subservient to take a bitter communion of freedom from the surreptitious cup of progress, kneeling gnarled and prayer hopping across stones of ultimate absolution. How they queue to cleanse their coagulated throats
with the brown pith of forgiveness wine - for they know not what they did - nor less of what they said.
As one, they lift up their chosen voices to the Lord of their choosing,
chain-gang linking the pale string and sinew of worn-out limbs, to proudly sing
“We shall overcome”,
ignorant as a fuckwit stood pissing in the wind.
Beyond the yawn of dog-tired temples,
the spirits of proletariat people jam proud on the swirl of profane humanity
and peacock walk their enriched veins,
impoverished by the brilliant dazzle of victory colours,
stillborn of new hope and the frail truth of dreams.
Author notes
I'm not revising this.
In a list
- Other Poets-My Favorites • next in list
- My Favorite Writes By Other AP Wordartists • next in list
- A Poetic Notebook of My Favorites • next in list
A contest entry
- Good poetry by Floorboards.
1700 points, ended May 10, 23 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Contest: For Those On My Favorites List by Night Hope.
1200 points, ended November 6, 50 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 23 of 23
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This is a deep, dark, imminently visceral penning, Kezz. There is much to digest within these words. Your alliteration throughout added a great deal of power and might to the thoughts crafted upon the page. I don't blame you in the least - I wouldn't revise this one, either. It stands as a strong statement defining your beliefs and it is certainly a most remarkable penning. Thank you for entering my contest, Scribe. Good luck, Sweetie.




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While I may not necessarily see eye to eye on some of the issues addressed in this grand wordcraft, I can certainly appreciate the language, imagery, passion, and stabbing wit that have poured into this delightful read. Amazing.


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Kezz . . . I humbly thank you for sending this beatific masterpiece my way! This is absolute gold bro, it stings my eyes, it blisters my soul and the social conscience that I hold dear to the very fibres of my be-ing. You have wrung out a dark eyed hymn for the disenfranchised among us . . . sadly, some things never seem to change, but we gotta keep on banging on the poetic drum in the hopes that eventually some will open up their complacency encrusted ears and HEAR!!!!!!!! Give me more poet, yes give me more . . . I wanna see this in a book so I can ruminate over its bones for years to come . . .
Marc

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Marc, to receive this comment from you, a poet who I regard as one of the very finest writers of this, or indeed any other age, is truly a great honour. Your passion for words, justice and the emancipation of the human spirit, is a great source of both solace and inspiration to me; without the invigorating beat of your vital syncopations, I doubt that I could even aspire towards that drum - and many of my poems in recent times would simply not exist. Thank you. K
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Political diatribes are making aa comeback! That's wonderful. Your very beat write is a breath of fresh air in this era of carefully crafted MFA-conforming shit. Thanks.


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I've worked out that for every 37,952 readers there is one that gets it. Thanks for your A1 comment.
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Stunning opening line, not a fan of long write but since this was featured I gave it a shot but it didn't work once again I got lost its not you its me I never seems to get the long ones I do believe it nothing changes then its simple nothing changes its time to move forward or Mankind will no longer exist...


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Well at least you had a go! Thanks for that and for taking the time to comment too. Admittedly the subject matter is a bit heavy (ostensibly, it's about the reaction of the US right wing, caucasian establishment - now they have to look to Obabma as their President). I guess Paradise Lost is a no no for you too!!
Glad you liked the opening line though!
Love & Peace, K
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PS
The Title Is Awesome! -
POWERFUL,GRIPPING,AND CAPTIVATING!
Wow...The powerful energy and various emotions you released with a natural passion and flow,will grip the attention of anyone who reads this. I probably will read this again.
It's a very deep,thought provoking write.
You have great talent. -
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Thank you so much for your wonderful comment!
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WOW Kezz....I'm not sure what to say here. This piece is masterful in language and flows with images so face slapping forward, I almost feel like I've been slapped and slapped hard. The truth you smear with every stanza makes the reality that much harder to swallow...but swallow we must.
It's live or die choosing a side of this coin to land on, or else. The or else means more of what we've suffered. A devastated nation, beaten to a bloody pulp by the fists of good ole boy politicians who will thrive no matter what. The rich will continue to rule and be rich, while we (black, white, purple, green, brown) whatever color our skin, will continue to believe there's got to be hope out there somewhere. We believe because that's all we have left is our belief in "One Nation, Under God, Indevisible, with Liberty and Justice for all." Which would you rather dream...being part of the problem, or part of the solution???? Answer me this also...where do you stand by definition of your own words? What country do you live in that the grass is so damn green?????
OK...I'm done!!! I apologize for my rant...I guess my one little voice has been stiffled far to long...who else shall I vent to?
Love your extreme talent, always have, always will...even if it hurts.
Kisses
Shelly -
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"One Nation, Under God, Indevisible, with Liberty and Justice for all." -
In 1993, I wrote the lyrics to a song called One Nation:
I loved that song - but no-one else did! It was probably the first politicised thing that I ever wrote; having read your comment above, I'm so glad that it wasn't!
Thanks and love to you Shelly.
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For me, this is the best piece of poetry I have read on this site in a long while. Your use of language is wonderful and your handling of the subject matter is sharp. There is a lot to consider here and I will for sure be reading this again.
It's well-crafted without loosing spontaneity, which is a pleasure. I like your take on things and your historical referencing. I like it indeed.
It's a piece that reflects our time. Relevant and sharp.
This will be bookmarked and I am certainly going to check out your other stuff.


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I am deeply humbled by your gracious comment. Thank you.
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P love it
This is a work of art. I love this it is much different from what I write; I hope to see a lot more of your work.

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I love the way you capture things in a visual light... well done a great write!
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i really like the imagery in this write and you have given me food for thought. thank you for sharing this with me today and i am looking forward to reading more from you in the near future. viyanna rosemarie
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This poem could fit right into a book I'm reading from the 'Beat Generation' right along with Allen Ginsberg's and Jack Kerouac's poetry. It's so incredibly descriptive and I love your use of words. I wish I had that capability. Good write.


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Thank you so much for your comment!
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This poem is filled with so much indignation that it skewers hypocrites of every stripe. The language is rich and paints a vivid picture of prejudice, ignorance and pain.
The first hundred days of Obama's administration proved the shallowness of the precepts of the Religious Right, Moral Majority or whatever they are calling themselves today. Eight long years we suffered erosion of our freedoms, our national reputation and our economy and only now do they speak out with their orchestrated Tea Bag protests. Give me a break. How dumb do they think we are?
I would love to see more of this type of confrontational poetry. I was incensed and yet delighted when I read this verse. Keep up the good work and good luck in this contest.
Peace, Liz

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Thank you so much for your intelligent reading and this wonderful comment. L&P, K
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A like it.
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