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Showing posts from September 10, 2006

Darfur Down

Western policy is in near despair over Darfur, and governments are turning to Russia and China to see if they can put pressure on the Sudanese government to accept a UN peacekeeping force.

"There is a critical period now when the whole
international community has to use its influence on Sudan,"
the British Minister for Africa Lord Triesman told
reporters.

The plains are quiet under the forlorn Sudan The people wilt like flowers planted beneath the sand From rape and murder and starvation Of unfed mouths Unfed hope Love Care Humanity Consumed by the Janjaweed Ravaged by the Baggara Descendents of grand tribes Lost  And moving  Down Roving the sands And hopeless sun Stopping only to Plant gardens  Down Push the black seed Down Into the empty guts Of Darfur  Down Again Darfur  Down The hunters raid The rapists thieve The murderers slay Lacerating fatality Down Upon the child’s teeth Down Upon the mother’s bones Down Upon the father’s strapped back Trickling Down Oozing Down A grow…

Humanity In Free-fall (9/11)

O! Humanity flying down! Will thou not catch thyself and stay a while longer? Can you not hear the music within you, the sweet reverie of morning warble, “Live… Live… Live…”?

Look to your sky not to your feet. Look to serenity not to the eyes of oblivion. Look to the children dancing in the night. Look heavenward! Right thy journey!

See the bird’s wing aloft in splendid flight, may not you be like her and stay a while longer?

O! Humanity slipping `way! Do not forsake this world! Stay within her arms! If you turn `way and face not the writhing truth you’ll let slip a fragile magnificence and her children will laughter end...


© 2008 by mark prime/thepoetryman

Widowed Sky (9/11)

The sun had its sky, the sky had its blue, the blue had its clouds, all held to an ensuing loss.

The world had its nectar to offer, stunning mountain ranges, plentiful fields of grain, sustaining waters…

The sky did then forsake them on this day, widowed of a pristine love bathing them in joy, the weight of it unhappily tumbled down, congregating with one another, mourning…

The sun had its sky, the sky had its blue, the blue had its clouds, all gripped in looming collapse.

After the shock of death’s swift alliance with anger they held their heads high and marched onward, all the while in grief’s search they strode past denial and posed the earth's hovering question, Why did the sky abandon our trust? “I’ve never seen people enjoying their husband’s death so much.” screeched the hollow voice of the rigor-mortis-of-rant, the miscreant’s language spilled from an empty breach splintering, once again, the solemn day’s widowed sky.


Copyright © 2006 markrprime/thepoetryman

Floor by Floor, Beam by Beam, Soul by Soul (9/11)

O! Madness of our most maddening day! You come as an unshakable memory sidling up against our ashen skin, howling low your senseless deluge, through bitter sky you plummet to our minds, tattered ruins of time floating face down, floor by floor, beam by beam, soul by soul…

The squall, long gone, remains a dust of shattered will standing on the bitter streets of these events, bringing quarrel to honest men in dwindling light. A jagged state split by wealth and power, haves and have mores cackling in wretchedness, hording the air in search of our lungs, floor by floor, beam by beam, soul by soul…

Molding a single day into mantra for empire, rattling sabers and beating drums to tyranny’s stride. You crushed them. You still crush them in rigid desire. O! Let this day alone! You must now let it be! Let them rest. Let the embers fade. Let them go! Release this day. Liberate it. Set it free, floor by floor, beam by beam, soul by soul…


Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

The Path to 9/11

In Pursuit of 9-11

Our dreams, our thoughts with silent hands groping for light, folding outward through the streets in hunt of a forged hope, what voice do they follow? What path calls to them, the bright toxic dust-spattered air, the founding ships, the bright soil aching for seed, the whimper of a child?

Do they seek the stolen, warped, molten frame of glinting icons? There is no learning if they pursue the light to shine innocence. There is naught to glean in reaffirming glory’s ghost, igniting the once tall beacon if they seek to blind over truth and not use its sturdy beam to reinforce new hope.

Have they crawled over garbage and corpses equally empty of love? While they search do they witness murder, disease, and the awful voices calling to them, “sing the anthem”, “pray for country”, “salute the flag”, “one idea”, “one god”? Have they freely begged, groveled, pawing that they might mean something?

Our ideas, our thoughts with silent hands groping for light, folding outward through the streets in…