CONFESSION ZERO

We're hungry for a mordant rage, Food’s too difficult to come by. When fury finally puts its hand on us, The world will further its slope. The days since she first began listing In an ocean of grief, we’ve encouraged, Applauded a wrathful clout like apes beating Chests, shrieking allegiance to suffering. There are gleaming waters here. There are Gardens and farms. And trees, Scorched and naked, still feeding off the sun. Hunger won’t seek nourishment there; hunger Will find its prey bathed in light, in slant of clay And stone, camouflaged like angry hunters Enshrined in huts of flesh. O! Summon the rain So things might grow instead of die! Call out to the hunters, send forth violent man, Bring him before the world, under the sun, Called away from his wars and mad pillaging, Stand him up to see his soiled use, Force his blind eyes open to see the ruin. His sloping death called back from the edge, Useless furor breathing a most foul hatred. We’re hungry for ...

Sure, it’s cute enough for a t-shirt, but Its words are without richness. Men are real enough alright, they are. Beating eggs mere practice for the brutality in the craft of oppression, oligarchy bent on choking the souls of the multitude. Passive man wrestles with himself, curbs his primal senses toward humanity. Real is a word made from our darkness. Men are wide-eyed singular flesh and bone. Peaceful man is neither violent nor bent, Civilization, his champion, his tutor, his sin. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

She sits grim-faced in the living room, her bent eyes upon the staggered lines of the cedar wood floor where he stands half-cocked, waving his arms around in the sticky air as if fighting off fierce ghosts. All she sees are the dismal shadows of his flailing arms as she grips her teddy bear tight, the smell of whiskey hemorrhages through the air, her eyes trained on the hardwood floor, her tiny back, stiff, waiting. Soon it will get deathly quiet. She’ll know he is there, she will feel his warm and liquored-breath on her hair. She’ll close her eyes and hold her infant spirit in, waiting on his coarse hands to embrace her skin. Her teddy bear will let go of her hand and fall, and he'll weep and rock her gently to his chest, His tears will fall down upon her as his sad hands begin to twist inside her hair. “Sorry”, will again spill from Daddy's unhappy mouth and she’ll wrap her trembling around his arm, never letting go. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

I hear the murmur of rain on the roof. She steadies herself against the wall, her ears ringing a dying song. The air smells of decay as she moves along the edge, blood trickles out of her nose and she suddenly freezes like a scolded child. The room moves without her, and her legs begin to quiver, drunken with shock, locked down tight like a prison cell, they shudder. I hear the rain falling harder now. She looks toward the door. Could she make it? Would she go through the door, into the nameless arms of the world, leaving her fear and home behind? She has nowhere to go, but things do their howling in all places, slipshod drifters in thankless alleys shriek above the darkness and sometimes their lives come to shattering. I hear her uneven breathing over the drumming of rainfall. She moves closer to the door, edging toward her escape. I know you. You’re the one that’s been banging the walls, the one that’s been lying to everyone about your face. You’re the one that’s ra...

Association on American Indian Affairs The Eastern Association on Indian Affairs was started in New York in 1922 to assist a group of Pueblo people who were fighting efforts to dismantle their pueblos. In the 1920's this organization merged with a like-minded entity, and again merged with a third entity in 1937. In 1946, the name was changed to the Association on American Indian Affairs. In 1957, the organization was granted non-profit, 501 (c)(3) status for federal tax purposes. Columbus Day: American Holocaust and Slave Trader By Roy Cook In 1492 Columbus' ships appeared off the coast of San Salvador. The Taino Indians greeted Columbus with unimaginable hospitality. Columbus reported to his queen: "So tractable, so peaceable, are these people, that I swear to your Majesties there is not in the world a better nation. They love their neighbors as themselves, and their discourse is ever sweet and gentle, and accompanied with a smile; and though it is true that the...

Why do we stand and watch as men beat others down? Noisy machines mark all of our lives As our children are trained to be assassins By witnessing this appetite for battle. Why do we then scream so loud after the deed is done? It only brings about more watching, More noise to capture our slope toward death And the itch of transporting an untold grief. Why do we march in formations with a mournful cadence? Our soundtrack has a most cheerful rhythm Written on the dangling air of its lessons Designed for everyone's viewing pleasure. Why allow ourselves to imagine we’re anything more? Each of us are obliged to follow along, Give credence to the wretched course And wait for the scene to be our own. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

Begin. Imagine the grimness of an enormous cruelty whose mammoth jaws reach through the sky like a mechanical beast snapping aimlessly. The sightless, unfeeling beast, gnashing at our dismal hesitation, shrieking its steel claws down into the bone dry world like Hydra. A hideousness trying to slay our children, inflame fear, crush our hearts and spirits… What other horror could ever near such implausible belief? Pause and begin again. Imagine waking to a kindness so colossal that its head stood above the sun like a god, a god that we worshipped and prayed for its blessing, built garish houses for its worship and approval, feverishly vowing to die for it, a god we gladly give our souls to upon bent knees, crying for it to spare us of our immense suffering… What other wonder could ever near such conceivable certainty? Pause. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman