For your enjoyment, here’s an absurd little poem of mine:

The Raven

Raven;
Joy in the shade of space.
Fear of the unseen enemy.
The battle is fought,
the dark is won.
Nightshade triumphant!

It occurs to me that I’ve not posted a new poem in quite some time. As I’ve started running Google ads to promote my poetry writing, it seems prudent to put some fresh poems online. This post does just that.

This poem, “Genocide City Zone,” was originally published in the Voices literary magazine of Rock Valley College. In fact, it was written specifically for inclusion in that journal. I reprinted “Genocide City Zone” in my chapbook, Angst & Wrath.

The name “Genocide City Zone” was rejected as a level name in one of the original Sonic the Hedgehog games on the Sega Genesis. When I read about the name being cut from the game, it stuck with me. Several months later, this poem was produced. The title and theme is very reminiscent of a Rush song (Red Sector A, anyone?).

So, without further ado, I present you “Genocide City Zone.”
 

Genocide City Zone

Welcome to the genocide city zone

I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay

We’ve been killing folks here

All the live-long day

If you want to join us

You’ll have to pay the price

Your soul’s the cost, so ante up

C’mon and shoot the dice

 
Welcome to the genocide city zone

Everyone’s dying to get in

Ignore your guilty conscience

Though Jesus says it’s sin

If you do not join us

You’ll have to pay the price

Sacrifice your life tonight

To our deadly new device

 
Welcome to the genocide city zone

Check out time is soon

We only stop once a day

To eat our lunch at noon

If you want to join them

We’re happy to grant your request

Just remember this one thing:

We kill ‘em with the best

Here’s a new poem for  everyone. I’m in no way qualified to write this poem, as I am not a Native American. I do, however, believe that the natives of North America have been dealt one of the worst hands in history. Their systematic slaughter by waves of white immigrants has been hollowed out of the history books and replaced with the “Maize; you call it ‘corn’” bullshit we get fed in grade school.
 
I apologize if some of the language I’ve used offends you. It’s my hope that, by using such abrasive terms, I’ll get your attention and you’ll think about what it means to be any color but red in America.
 
For the record, I do not advocate a native uprising, a la Shadowrun, but Indians deserve better than fucking casinos and firewater. Your comments are welcome, unless they’re hateful, bigoted ignorance.
 
This Land Is My Land
 
Niggers and spics,

kikes and Micks

(don’t forget the krauts and deggos, too)

live on land that belongs to you.

If your skin is red,

you’re better off dead

than deal with this sordid affair.

No one told you caveat venditor, “Let the seller beware.”

 
You trusted the limeys and frogs to boot:

they used that foot to grind you to soot.

Ashes and soot of once-proud nations:

now there’s strife in tribal relations.

 
Anima spirits, totems, and tools:

the white man has played you for fools.

Soon, painted faces gather in band,

proudly declaring, “This land is my land.”

In honor of Valentine’s Day this Sunday, I thought I would share one of my love poems with you. You can find this piece and over three dozen other poems in my chapbook, Angst and Wrath. You can buy a print or electronic copy of Angst and Wrath from my Lulu store for under fifteen bucks. What a deal!

I Think Of You

When I’m afraid,

I think of you.

When I’m alone,

I think of you.

When I’m frustrated,

I think of you.

I think of you

and your loving embrace.

I think of you

when I leave this place.

I think of you

and your pretty face.

When I’m sad,

I think of you.

When I’m being bad,

I think of you.

When I’m glad,

I think of you.

I think of you

when we play.

I think of you

every night and day.

I think of you

and my problems go away.

No matter what I say or do

I think of you.

For your Friday enjoyment, here’s a new poem entitled “Vision.”

Vision

open your eyes

see past the lies

or get out of the way

the visionaries lead

in this time of need

there’s so much left to say

through dark of night

the heroes fight

to bring back the light of day

shackled and chained

criminally deranged

there’s nothing left to say