So shoot us or feed us, Big Man. We are very tired. Feed us or kill us quickly–or else what good are you?
The Crying For A Vision
A man muddied, clothes torn
sits alone in a dark alley with shards
of glass around and stomach denied wine
drifting from an open dumpster. The man
rises to his feet, then empties onto
the sidewalk. He slowly drags one leg
after the other, passing buildings, each with
boards in place where windows used
to stand. He stops and passes through
the space between two factories. He enters
the first from the back exit. The man
reaches the foot of some steps, he grabs
the hand rail and pulls himself up a floor.
He stares at the rotted door with a tag
that reflects his name. –Five years earlier,
the man types, fingers rapidly pushing
buttons, at a computer in his office. He sends
an E-mail to the president of the company,
outlining, point for point, faults created
by a slight downfall in the stock market.
The man, hoping the leaders, like FDR,
can prepare them to prevent a major loss
of jobs. The president reads the message
like a tip from his business manager,
and spreads the word to other top stock
holders.– The man pulls a soiled newspaper
out from under his shirt and focuses
on a picture of the company’s former leaders
sitting around a table, drinking warm
coffee with the president of the U.S.
I wrote this for a class in 2004 and is a part of bigger poem titled democracy.
Posted in Academic, Arts and Sciences, Creative, General, Information, POEM, Poetry, poetry 2000's, Writing
Tagged angry, art, corporate, corporate crime, corporate leader, existence, homeless, insider trading, leader, leaders, life, POEM, Poetry, poetry 2000's, robbed, white collar crime
Ode to: Jim Morrison
Portrait of a poet:
Maybe the Lizard King,
maybe black leather dressed demon.
He self implies that he has the “soul of a clown,”
who blows it at the “most important moments.”
Drugs, liquor, women, art:
the ingredients of a male artist.
Mixed with talent and a vision
he found fame’s way,
lost the sunlight of the day.
Art made of pain,
the media driving him insane.
up rise — down fall,
dead at 27.
Art lives on.
His art lives on.
I wrote this sometime in late 1995, early 1996. Jim Morrison inspired me to write poetry and start delving into art. At that age, he helped me deal with my mental health issues I didn’t know I had yet. Loved The Doors as well. Not my favorite band now but will always hold that place in my heart.
Posted in Arts and Sciences, Creative, entertainment, POEM, Poetry, poetry 1990's, Popular Culture, Writing
Tagged american poet, art, Inspiration, Jim Morrison, Lizard King, ode, ode to jim morrison, POEM, Poetry, portrait, rock singer, teenage poetry
A star, another solar systems’ sun,
expands, engulfing planets, swallowing
every bit of matter. Space transforms
into electron explosions, creating flaming
growth, building one massive body
comprised of energy and warmth. Suddenly,
this gorging celestial body collapses underneath
the girth of too much weight. In a short
period, the once ballooning sun becomes
a mammoth hole that thinly stretches
light, only reflecting black emptiness. Bright
rays gone, making way for a proton
sucking, anti-matter spitting gap. Doomed
to slowly pull all universe building material
into its long corridor of bent rays.
Posted in Arts and Sciences, Creative, Inspiration, POEM, Poetry, Poetry 2010-2020, Writing
Tagged art, astronomy, black hole, light, planets, POEM, Poetry, solar system, sun, themes