the prospect of persecuted protectors

all over this hemisphere,
the very people who've suffered the most
from our uncivilizing denial of our sacred nature
are putting their lives on the line
to protect our future,
while we allow ourselves to be
deluded and distracted
over which devious and grasping,
lavishly remunerated representative
should be the figure head of the
not even cloaked coterie
of obscenely self-focused,
empathy deficient,
irremediably arrogant,
incorporated psychopaths
who profit from destruction
and guarantee death.

it takes a village in Seattle

imagine how it feels to be a child in Seattle,
seeing your teachers stand up for you,
making the unequivocal statement that they define you
as part of "US",
one of those un-hyphenated someones
the institutions in our (continually misfiring)
Democracy are designed for;
one of those someones the media
automatically assumes its talking to
when it casts aspersions on "them";
someone whose life matters so much
that these intelligent adults,
who recognise you as a member of the village
they're trying to raise,
would put their lives on the line to protect you;
in short, an actual HUMAN BEING,
carrying OUR DREAMS into OUR FUTURE.

on clinching inroads

when you grasp that the leading lights of the Democrats,
going back to Bill Clinton, have been constantly unleashing
battalions of bureaucratic swindlers to propagate "trade deals"
that are in fact a new form of colonization, that mint new
"legally" enforceable inroads into the meager resources
that protect the public commons in "developing" nations,
you realize just how evil the Democrats actually are.
yes, of course, the Republicans are always evil, too.
but the "choice" can never be allowed
to stray from the sway of evil,
more than the spectacularized squashed spectrum the media airs.

when you're insatiably greedy and are
saddled with the apparency of Democracy,
it pays to be clever when constructing the menu.

that one thing

ye shall know them by the mass murderers they idolize.
for verily i say unto thee:
if she wasn't such a rapt enabler of apartheid,
or the veiled gallant of Wall Street;
if her "Democrat" apparatchiks hadn't
mocked Democracy;
if she didn't profit with her husband
from snatching that very dream
from the first nation of former slaves,
and her minions hadn't arranged
the Nazi revival in the Ukraine;
if a sizable portion of the billions
Obama gave the banks
wasn't gaining interest in her war chest,
and she hadn't been paid several fortunes
just to privately assure
her supporters of her support;
if she didn't refer to industrial mass murder
as "taking civilians",
or see whistleblowers as traitors;
and if her legacy as Secretary of the Imperialist State
wasn't strewn with all those
uncounted and "dispensable"
dead brown bodies;
there'd still be the hero worship of Henry Kissinger.
and that one thing would surely tell me
that there's psychopathic grasping
where i'd hoped to find a soul.

the realized vision (the latest chapter in my novella-poem in progress, 'Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

bidden by his vision back to the grotto

Sappy all atremble trampled Rashful's heels,

his burden giving off reverberations

the way bells siphon shock with resounding peels.

though able to summon but scant attention

Sylvana collected the tide's blurted gist,

enough to rekindle the seams of a dream

with a sun-drenched missive spilling in its midst.

but chilling her veins and snatching her focus

a sudden barrage uprooted the bower,

ensnaring the bier and flower-strewn mound

in a crashing, splintering, guttering shower.

with swift and heedless, selfless abandon

Sylvana lost herself in scrawling abrasions.

for naught could surpass the soul-rending rift

of clearing that path of clinging lacerations.

  

and finding the princess reposed and unscathed

the levee ruptured that had bridled her fears

birthing a free-falling river of diamonds,

conducting redemption in glimmering tears.

making its way to the wounds of the willow,

ceaselessly seeking its recollected place

it grazed a forehead and trickled down a cheek

tracing the contours of unrequited grace.

and the bloom reawakened in stages,

in the steady advance of congenital blush;

gushing the generous, luminous perspectives

of a singular, corporeal brush.

by the time Sylvana had seen the eyes open

they were clasping hers in an ardent gaze.

for hitching one's wagon to a beacon

eclipses other methods for lighting the days.

she lifted Sludge White from her bed of roses

while Nate backed into the trail of a boulder.

he swayed through the lesions, recoiling in shock.

the sparrow rode a rod propped on his shoulder.

and from there the tourmaline was winking

in its fluted setting of riddled, knotted pine.

"what's happening here?" Nate managed to inquire.

then he stumbled on a sly, slinking vine.

"we've been set upon" Rashful tersely explained,

dazedly gaping at the lover's embrace.

Sappy only nodded, bunching up his hood

dabbing at tears on his reverential face.
***** * ***** * ***** * ***** * *****

- Evan Hawthorn, the 2^nd of October, 2016

the emperor's new veto

to our repetitively ironic president,
the "dangerous precedent"
of allowing US war criminals (er, citizens)
to be held accountable by persons in other countries
is something that must be avoided at all costs.
and he doesn't even bother to justify it.
he takes it as a given that Americans,
brainwashed since birth,
are so utterly convinced of their superiority
(despite the never ending litany of illegal imperial invasions)
that they do not believe that laws apply to them.
this is how so many
pale-persons-who've-no-doubt-their-lives-matter
fail to grasp even the fact of black lives,
let alone red or yellow ones,
or Afghans, Russians, or Iraqis, take your pick.
after all, Hollywood, newspapers, history books,
and virtually every Democrat and Republican candidate
pander to this warped, essential ingredient
in the enabling of empires.
just ask the Nazis.