Writing to Routine

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Making plans

Manipulating phrases

Chiseling poetry:

Fallen, forgotten, worlds

Nostalgia, fear

Connection, obsession.

7 worded nights

Fighting after they’ve taken

Your will to live

Fighting with nothing left to lose

Fighting with fingers

Mashed into

A potato fist

Clashing batons

Whipping, slashing rounds

And I’ll stand in the middle of

The battleground

With little, but

Crippled fists

From bashing faces

Into misconceptions

Of “art”

Only the greats would envy

If they could only see

If the product

Wasn’t so impermanent

As a newly born author

Picking up his first pen

In the street

Outside his first

Wholesale purchase

Of cheap liquor.

 

Wavering in Dark Places

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The ground was cold on the night

Foe became more than friend

The leaves fell from the trees

And your tarnished hands

So softly held the last flower

In bloom

But your hands hold no water

And the sun

Is yet to be seen.

And just like every beautiful

Offspring

It choked in your grasp

If I could place you in the recess

Of my memory

Trap you in the insanity of my mind

Tighten the grip

Thirsty, crawling

And celebrate

Dancing in your anguish

Me and my demons

Prancing

Revolving,

Prepared to feed with lustful eyes

And the needs of a lonely lover.

Bastards

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“I can fuck any bitch I want”

Rattling off foul consonances and vowels

The terrible mantra boys

Chant off in the school yard

Like throwing mud on the third

Grade sweetheart

That makes their mother so ashamed

Ironic

They can say these things

Off the cuff

When the father

They’ve never met

Sits at a bar in Mexico

Says the exact same things

About their mothers.

We know how it feels to sit

On top of the world

And spit on the creatures below

Like birds on a telephone wire

Waiting for the one wearing

The worst day

To add insult to injury

Into the Urinal

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I dip my toes

Into the urinal

For the plastic ocean

Is too pure for me.

Humanity isn’t transparent

Sparkling

It’s deteriorating

Yellow puss

Steaming fat

Urine

                Rot

                                Worthless.

Loss of Words

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These are the moments

On frost bitten edge

When a pretty face

And a well written word

Asphyxiates

Instead of astounds

When swimming lessons

Make you drown

Falling over each other

With clashing lips

When words

Can’t hurt enough.

Losing a Finger on Their Label

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I want them all to think I’m some radical insane

Feeding on the deteriorating morality

Of their McCarthyism

I want to be the one cockroach

That picks up the foot and tosses

The capitalist aside

I want to be the procommunist

                                Procapitalist

That everyone can find a piece to hate

Labels are like diseases

Slowly you watch pieces

You once cherished fall and

Rot from the bone

As one conforms and

Three murders two,

Only four three to find

He’s been played

By the all powerful five

My Beautiful Red Dress

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My beautiful red dress

Would degrade the very form

Like trash in a satin bag

Or a Queen wrestling the men on the street

Where I have seen your face

Shy from my glare

So many times before

I’m not radiating the hatred that appears

I just wish to never see you again

I’d like to make it clear

These words aren’t worthy

Of the page it’s written on

Since it is addressed to you.

You aren’t the first

To trap me in isolating ivory walls

That I assault and I rush

Charging a blind war cry

This isn’t the first glob of spittle

To hit my eye

Do not confuse your illegitimate revenge

With the spit on my face.

*This was written some time ago, and I’ve forgotten about who, if there even was a who. I do not condone assaulting significant others (I was assaulting the ivory walls!) or treating one’s significant other like shit. It’s not cool.

I Will Not Smile

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My father’s first poem in the last four to five years. I love it. It’s been a hoot to see where this writing is coming from. Thanks for the read, and thanks for the poem Dad!

 

By Ross Silver

 

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,

take your flowery high mindedness

take your justice fairness and kindness

And put it in a sack and drown it in the river

Celebrate cruelty, inequity, victimization, despair

Refute your hypocritical facade

Lay you bear and naked

for all to see

Your grim sadism

You will not fool me anymore

I will not smile today

 

Malingering Justice

We talk daily about stemming the spate of violence against women. We pay lip service about punishing offenders, but when is justice really served. When a judge sentences a privileged white man to six months in prison for brutally raping a woman what message is that sending to others like him? The Judge in the […]

via WHEN WILL WOMEN GET JUSTICE — MARVA SEATON BLOG

Thank you. There aren’t enough people talking about this. There aren’t enough people angry about this and it may feel that it doesn’t matter, but it’s another step, and womyn’s rights are getting somewhere.

 

Malingering Justice Picture

 

Brandished wildly

Desecrate by

The same dumping ground

You’re still, silent

But you’re howling

Ice cubes melt

From your face

Frigid, moist

Engulfed in tides

 He is

Submerged

Moving one with the

power, one with

Hate.

He thinks about what

It’d really be like

To dominate

He holds the devil

So close when he dances

I can’t tell man

From beast

To live in that strange,

Dark continent

Watching, waiting,

To sprinkle the sand

over her eyes

He’s embraced her dark corner.

He violated those dark corners

A dream of what

Could have been

Burning in the oil fire

Convention begets violation

From the law

To chivalry

To the gilded athletes,

Devouring, dissipating

Our children’s survival;

Our future

But it’s convenient

To stay in your

Burning home

When it’s cold

Outside.

And the judge doesn’t bat a lash

Sewing the stitches

Through the labia

Of woman’s humanity

And releasing

Mad, parched dogs,

After a night in the pen.

For the growl is heard

At all hours of the night

And her figure is ravished

Perforated teeth mark turf

As he chews on her

Under the guiding hand

Of “justice”