when we are the monsters
in my bright
shadows the bells
don’t ring
………………..don’t bleed
a soft song & children
hear
……….unworded where
they lie
……………..my son
…………….my daughter.it left
its bones behind
…………….strangling
………………………………the doctor said
would be kinder
Piteous is a potent word
for unwanted, unfed,
too weak to cry.
In a shit-pit of shame,
lie eight-hundred stains
on Bon Secour piety.
No smiley peekaboos
no gagagagas
stains don’t giggle
In the bowels of Christ
tiny bones mingle
whisper like flutes
until plump children
apple-scrumping
uncover their truth.
You dare to dice with me, pitch your luck against mine?
Fuck the crossroads, you say, we’ll deal anywhere
with our stash of slur and slander, our stock of false news,
alternative facts, inflammatory views.
..
Fools, with your consuming religion of hubris and greed!
My advocates are legion, a cloven clatter, thronging corridors,
halls, city squares, to the blare of rallying horns.
It behoves you to fear me.
..
I don’t care for the foul rot of your newsprint mulch,
its smutty, acerbic smoke, I won’t scuff my hooves
scratching for crumbs of a creed that’s already mine,
to broker a deal for your worthless souls.
No matter that the fires of hell are choked with ash,
the vapour of pulp fiction, or that the damned
no longer burn in torment, but warm their bones
at dying pyres.
..
You stoke your own hell on the lands you’ve ravaged,
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shall relate harmoniously to the natural environment and existing development
with that said, I am again caught off guard by the mischaracterization of opposing counsel
…………………………………………………………………………….(trill of blackbirds in the cattails)
I’m seeking a fair process for my client
minimizing visual impacts and preserving natural features
………………………………………………………(sunlight as it passes through aspen leaves, green)
that certainty was not the claimed basis
having ostensibly a superior relationship with and access to staff
………………………………………………………………………………….(in the pine tree, owlets beg)
maintains that your order gives him the right to wait in the weeds to respond
there is no rat. I am not a snake hiding in the weeds
……………………………………………..(tiny bird shaped shadow crosses from willow to elm)
to buffer and screen portions of the parking lot
the applicant finds this criterion shall be met
………………………………………………………………….(the greenest green, the bluest blue)
all exterior lighting shall be shielded so that…
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1/
for some crows are dreadful
but they only haunt
your imagined fears
crows are harmless birds
just throw a stick
they’ll flap away
2/
crows are unwitting victims
of color prejudices too
you just want to have enemies
but don’t want the[m] strong
and your prejudice ends when
a sturdy black mustang a best friend
3/
crows are merely a species
like you and I
they have their own ways
just like you or I
but it’s only you, never I,
who wish crows to all drop dead
while they will surely stick and stay
even if you look away
Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com
After Israa al-Ghomgham
I recall the solitary scarlet flower I took apart as a child
standing out from a gilded vase of flowers boasting their erect penises.
I recall ripping off its head and a red fragrant spray waxing my fingers.
Standing in the crime scene accused I blamed it on my brother.
I vividly remember how a snail left a silver road to where it rested in peace,
it was in my nature to interrupt that calmness and end its life with my shoe.
I recall the gold of its guts and the sound of an insignificant thunder,
that night I felt so bad that I watched them in the rain drag home to burials.
As a boy, I remember having no interest in the colours and meanings of flags,
except for one in blue-collars who hoisted me up to the proud…
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Snow leopard without flakes to humanise. How a creature became monstrous in the act of its fakery. A rose by that name could never smell as sweet. Or Bogoris – the small one; wolf of shortness. How who and what we are at our core puts a slant on what is said: the monster was the best friend I ever had. The de piffle of it all. Play with names not namus. No Bush Pig ever soured with such a stench at this. The diminutive is in the stature of grace and caring, in the true knowing what is right and wrong, in the rhetoric of wolf and sheep and history’s making
The man from Corporate wears an expression
like a constipated bullfrog and announces
that he has an announcement. He requires
everybody’s attention. We lock our computers
and wait till the poor sod on the twelve-minute call
with a complainant gets through
with being verbally abused, after which
the phones are ignored and anyone knocking
on the door of our department is redirected
in the general direction of where the sun
never shines. He has our undivided attention
and he uses it to talk about infrastructure
and integration and the Corporate Operating System
whereby every site functions
on the same model and such factors
as geography, demographics and socio-economic
realities don’t figure since people half our age
on four times our salary who don’t remember
the Thatcher years are apparently
better qualified to know what’s best for us.
What’s best for us is set out in an infographic:
the top half…
View original post 165 more words
Things are getting so sharp,
deplenished and unreplaced.
Regurgitated, swallowed whole,
then spit up again served new.
Broken crowns in black not gold are
still claiming in the name of the king.
A blockaded bishop is of little value
when the rooks have crumbled down.
Shutting off the logical part of the mind
to hear the sound of one hand clapping.
Riddles on bombs falling from flaming
birds on places people have never been.
Loser is such a harsh word, just say
the father of the boy who didn’t win.
Old high performance energy theft.
Pissing contests on vintage rugs too.
Plastic faces breed pretty lies in towers
above the peasants pleading for change.
..
James D. Casey IV is a southern poet with roots in Louisiana & Mississippi, currently residing in Illinois with his Muse, their goofy dog, and two black cats. Mr. Casey has authored four books of…
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reubenwoolley 