Endless hours idle,
peering through the glass,
wood,
leather,
knives,
though no person’s gaze catches the return,
and money is left at the counter.
Necklace brings ghetto light,
noting the clean purchase,
nothing is bought for the price,
but small hands still are clasping,
small hands wanting food.
Broken fingers caress fabricated joy,
small eyes attempt the reversing glance,
small hearts beat faintly, tiredly, in the jungle heat,
with every Mall foot print they pant.
“How do they get the stains out?”,
a young lady asks.
“Are these wash and wear?”
“Are these for sale over here?”
“Why is there blood on my brand new jeans?”
“How did it get there?”
No one responds ...
... but with eyes cloudy,
coldly.
MOVE
I move in spite of my surroundings,
a wanderer immersed in lies,
I stop to gain direction and compass,
but I am left with nothing.
I move,
to gain breath,
I see,
clearly I am seeing now,
and if my voice cries out,
even though the shore is still distant,
God still hears me… Maybe…
Or,
God may screen my calls,
God may place me on ignore,
waiting for the celestial search results from Google.
All nature must conform,
All of creation must be co-opted and secured,
So my movements bring nothing.
I move despite God or gods,
I move to spite the gods,
I move away from the Devil,
I move because I have no choice.
I move and the moving changes everything.
GRINKEN TIME
Grinken Time is almost here,
every fool should grab a beer.
Stand upright for the coming storm,
don't be afraid to oppose the norm,
expect a fire to burn up high,
and on a cloud His time is nigh.
Grinken time will be a hoot,
take a bite of the poison fruit.
Your olden day times are gone,
your parents are buried in the grave,
no one to save the lost throng,
as songs saved breathe air into a beast,
something ugly as Yeats said,
coming from the EAST.
An elder view from behind the hill,
casting iron in tired will,
persistent and enticing,
life and bread and water,
the slaughter,
the kill,
tested watchers still.
As day turns to dusk,
land fills with fire,
the city crier becomes a liar,
when his whisper is heard,
a muffled thump,
the sun rises,
you hear the bell ...
"All is well."
"All is well."
100 travelers make the break,
as waves crash higher and higher,
weary of their world gone by,
staving off the brash young wolves,
not taken,
not broken,
not ready.
"Steady my child" said old Keith,
all his teeth knocked out by the Gergin-Thieves,
"Stake out your BIG STAND"
and he pointed beyond the hills,
"A killer wind is carrying us along",
no song from Keith,
just passage.
GRINKEN TIME is for the BRAVE,
a quiet chain around your neck,
you can bust out,
stop being a slave,
accept the blood price,
ever nice,
as forks give way to knives,
and lives are tossed onto the pyre,
the town crier is first to burn.
Did we learn this time?
Did we gather wisdom and mead?
Did we get what we need?
Are the seeds abandoned on rocky ground?
A sound unleashed from the depths,
for sly cheaters and grifter slime,
a time turns over from corn syrup to blood,
and like a dud this "century" ends.
A rotten promise from a "friend",
a careless tryst with hooker fiends,
and in the KARMA laughter is heard,
no more words for this crooked scene,
spread upon the sands.
A gift from the ages,
for those left behind,
you won't find an exit,
just a whisper,
"Welcome to GRINKEN TIME!"
"HAVE A NICE FRAY!"
JEWISH SUFFERING REMEMBERED
It's a phrase you must repeat,
every night before you sleep,
with the rest so near in sight,
body and mind give up the fight,
and YOU KNOW it's right:
no one suffers as much as the JEW.
From movie's end,
from playground friend,
to high school,
and college,
through every twist and bend,
you always know,
with clarity of smoke,
of cremation and gas,
and DACHAU GLASS,
a message we do send:
no one suffers as much as the JEW.
Commencement speech,
we hear the TEACH,
caring words and instant blurbs,
"never ever ever forget",
and as your pops dies of drink,
as your mom bleeds into the sink,
as your sister whores around,
you can hear the incessant sound:
no one has EVER suffered as much as the JEWS
Your hair turns grey,
the sky flag waves,
millions march towards their graves,
mystery men with gleaming eyes,
selling us these rotten skies,
dirty food for the brood,
dirty lives in return,
and the world burns,
that noise again seems to belie:
no person can know the ultimate pain of the JEWS
And when the world winds down,
a turtle with a frown,
an ape alive in a cave,
so very brave,
the last living being to eat the moss,
a boss of oblivion and loss,
as he shambles towards the night,
as he struggles up the road,
a turtle to a toad will say,
on that last cancer day:
no one suffers like the JEW,
no one suffers as much as the JEW,
JEWISH SUFFERING doth renew,
Satan's grasp on the world.
My whole life,
the first and last thing I ever knew:
no one suffers like the Jew
