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Archive for the category “Gen X Poetry”

35) 2016 What Will It Mean?

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Tears streaming down
Need substance now

A world most saturated
Political hemorrhage

Ideas dead
Consumed by dread

No room for growth
No time for love

Illusions and fog
Statistics and smog

Temperatures push up
Earth is running amok

Leaders are losing their heads
People consumed by hatred

Refugees flee from Syrian bombs
Leaving on vessels starved for new homes

Countries packed together
Explosive and prepped to fire

I am in my bubble.
Secure with no real trouble.

Yet, I fear our world will crumble
If all that we are is not stable

The glue of the past may unravel
And blood will splatter in ritual

And all that progressed our humanity
Will be lost in moments of infamy

Libraries will die
Humanity cries
Progress is dead
Off with our heads

Same as before
Hunger and more
Lost again
To fake and to fend

No learning from the past
No future that will last

Once again…
Our world to plunge into the abyss
Our inability to find bliss

No.
Not.

I refuse to accept that
All of this world is inept

So, if I exist then I must try
To do what I can before I die…


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34) A Memorial To Prince

“Despite everything, no one can dictate
who you are to other people.”

And Purple, Too


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31) Waiting For Rain…

GARLAND, TX - DECEMBER 28: A tattered U.S. flag that had been attatched to a tree waves over the debris at the Landmark at Lake Village North Apartments as the recovery process begins following tornadoes which hit the area late Saturday night December 28, 2015 in Garland, Texas. A meteorolocical assault of tornadoes, blizzards and heavy rain have left dozens dead and a large path of property damage in the Central, U.S. (Photo by Stewart F. House/Getty Images)

GARLAND, TX – DECEMBER 28: A tattered U.S. flag that had been attached to a tree waves over the debris at the Landmark at Lake Village North Apartments as the recovery process begins following tornadoes which hit the area late Saturday night December 28, 2015 in Garland, Texas. A meteorological assault of tornadoes, blizzards and heavy rain have left dozens dead and a large path of property damage in the Central, U.S. (Photo by Stewart F. House/Getty Images)


Eyes open wide,
Waiting for rain…

Waiting for death?
Waiting for pain?


Promise of destruction,
climate of change,

Why do we yearn for terrible things?
Are we wicked? Are we strange?

Yes.

And why? Because all that is, is not enough.
Comfort is boring and absent of stuff.
Stuff that motivates and expands our brains
And manufactures synthetics to nature’s things.

Eyes open wide,
Ready for change…
To get the human race to focus again
Eyes open wide for an end to this end.
My hope, I reveal, is not to pretend:

To be as one as one can be
To love the purity of the sea

To love all that crawls and flies

To love all that terrifies and delights
To love and protect all. That is right.

By right, I mean all that is in sight…
Beyond my terrible wicked mind.
To love all of nature and its kind.

In life, I am a coward.
On land, I must be a steward,
To govern all with deep respect.
My life is short, but I must confess…

That I, in my soul do feel:
that our lives are all too real,

We must fight for all with zeal,
that there is no God in heaven.
We must be the ones to reveal,
that WE must stop oblivion.


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27) April Fools

April 1, 1992

I was at home. The pregnancy test was positive and all I could think about was my father. He told me he’d disown me if I ever got pregnant, as if somehow he knew about my nightly excursions. The boy I was with; we played in the garden of earthly delights, forbidden fruit we consumed, each ravaging the other – exploring all that can be done between two people of the opposite sex.

Parrish-Ecstasy_2

“Ecstasy” by Maxfield Parrish

We sailed oceans of great feeling and played like children in our secret garden, where adults only dream: in closets and backrooms, at the airport in my car, in the clear waters of a swimming pool, the tennis courts at midnight and swing sets in playgrounds with blushing stars. Our torrential sex flooded into haunted lands and forbidden spaces; and only when the sun came up, did we really see the sobering reality, a thing we hated because the fantasy was over.

Was it love? My young mind couldn’t describe it; how does one know what love is with all the feelings that conflict and collide?

April fools…

Ours lives were a vast chasm, a generation of desire and hopelessness born of previous generations. We embodied the 13th generation in our reckless lovemaking. A trepid anger of the ages crept into our cells and frenzied us into heat – he, high on meth and I, high on sex. I couldn’t be apart from him. I held onto the feeling like a ghost in fall when the leaves trickle down to the damp forest floor, and the bounty of sacred, fertile things take over memory… and I in my youth, sexually erect and potent and empty. I cried out and raked my nails into his skin like a rabid animal.

The world around us was terrifying, rotten and void: void of beauty, void of life… and in this existence, we held on to one another in rapture, a kind of appalling sustained ecstasy. Nothing else mattered…

He snuck me into his house at midnight and no one was around. They were asleep. His sisters, four of them under 14 and he laid me down on the floor in the family room, my head by the couch. Caribbean Blue was playing in the tape deck. We dripped hot wax on our bodies to burn the pain away, our naked forms created heat on the carpet. He took me into his room and we stayed inside for hours until I had no water in me.

We slept until his sisters went to school and his parents left for work and then, he handcuffed me to his closet and penetrated me from behind and I moaned and we persisted until our bodies relented.

We let hot water pour over us in his parent’s shower. His body, wet and soapy and mine, the same, we washed each other and time disappeared down the drain. And then I drove him to work and I was alone.

Those days are a blur of highways and signals and strange thoughts that soar like floating clouds that disappear into the sun. Speeding cars, sex at midnight, blurs of life and endless dreams of escape.

April 1 – April Fools – God, I wish… I was pregnant and Mom had cancer and Los Angeles was about to burn. Mom told me to forget, to forget her, that I didn’t have a mother anymore, that she was dead.

I was late. I was supposed to start a week ago. I bought a pregnancy test. The test was positive. I knew what I had to do. There was no way I could have a child in my time. There is no future.

April Fools…


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16) Where Is There?

There is just here.

WHERE IS THERE?

Is it a ship that arrives with adoring fans
waving and blowing kisses in the wind on a pier?

Is it a coupon book that promises the best price on
Doritos and travel cruises, but wait… there’s more?

Is it a cozy room where you spend your retirement doing nothing in particular?

Is it a gold trophy that will sit behind glass collecting dust?

Is it the moment you lose your virginity?

Is it a check in the mail that makes it okay that the drugs you live on
will keep you feeling nothing for another week?

Is it the moment you wake up from giving labor and realize you can’t possibly live with the beautiful creature you brought into the world because you are more helpless than it?

Is it a purple heart you proudly wear in the darkness of your trunk?

Is it landing on an isolated, powdery moon without oxygen?

Is it a large sum of money you count until you are certain it is enough to sustain you before you die?

Is it a nice polished, mahogany coffin with your hands displayed neatly, slumped and silent?

Is it the moment your chosen creator comes to relieve you of your suffering?

Is it when you learn that nature does what it does and you still suffer?

Is it the moment before death when all you have lived passes before you like a David Lynch film and you search for the meaning and there is none?

Is it the moment you realize that all of history is more relevant than your entire lifespan?

THERE is just here.


Copyright © 2014 Solo GenX Warriors 
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