In a quiet inn
         in an aching world
there was a boy with mind
body and strength
he had the talent
the unyielding bent
to wield his power
to unrelent
he was sometimes cruel
he was often sweet
he was sometimes gentle
his word carried heat
people loved him so
his poise and candor
his mind was a joy
his work was pure splendor

he was asked
         from time to time
if you could lead us
with your mind sublime
what would you do
where would we go?
         beyond, he'd say,
to the stars and depths
to the moons and mountains
to the planets and systems
how long,
         they'd say,
would you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore."

his rise was swift
his patience deep
to the destitute, favor
to the broken, weep
his gifts were vast
his counsel practical
his word was bond
and ever magical
he trounced the greedy
imprisoned the malicious
righted all the wrongs
seldom vicious
and before long
his rule was secured
a man of justice and principle
tenets of cure
how long,
         they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
         "A thousand years and a thousand more
         a thousand thence and evermore!"
we wish it so!


trouble gradually
like bubbles passively
breaking the surface
of his grand design
officials profited
underclass maligned
body for profit
"all are mine"
there was danger in the air
ripples in the well
poison in the minds
infirmity with no care
and sickness took hold
people lost their hope
they questioned Great Lord Marra,
how long,
          they'd say,
will you lead us, hence?
          "A thousand years and a thousand more
          don't ask me again
          or there will be
          more..."

Chaos in the streets
desenters rounded
deserters uprooted
populace cowered
education
to the masses
knowledge of rights and potential
traded for respect of rule and power
hour by hour
day by day
toil was spilt
for the grand design
the work of tyranny
is cruel and violent
so was Grand Lord Marra
never certain
never quiet
         he would ask of his subjects,
         how long shall I rule?
they'd say,
         "A thousand years! A thousand years!"
"Never forget it!"
         we shant, our lord

Whispers arose
of a new power rising
someone true
someone firm
someone compassionate
someone alight
he roused the dreams in the soul
he broke the chains in the heart
he walked the roads that were barred
he climbed the mountain forbade
and slowly people turned to him
away from Grand Lord Marra
and that tyrannical father felt it
he felt the waning of his power

Like a dragon in the bowels
of our precious, sacred, love
Marra tightened around that
which the people ever adored
the grand design of toil
the great work of tyranny
the state paid for with blood
that whose edifice was a crypt for the innocent
and that someone who was hero
stepped up to that edifice
with chisel, hammer, pen, and passion,
he carved away that
which held the malice within
he let out all
of the death and destruction
that Grand Lord Marra
had caged in the people
the world played with their shadows
that had been nailed to the edifice and its steeple
and in time they shook free
of Grand Lord Marra's tyranny
for when they learned their freedom once more
the old lord looked old and feeble
not a thousand years
       nor a thousand years more
               nor a thousand years hence
                        and nevermore
just 66 years
it took to break free
of Grand Lord Marra
and his projected
infirmities

The illness left them all
         breaths of relief swept the nation
and the hero who had come
         was crowned the king of freedom
and he taught all who followed
how to wield the power he knew
how to be free as well
and every dragon of delusion slew
        peace would not reign forever
        new chaos would come
stronger than the last
        strong as the world and its evolving sun
but in this age, there was peace
        joy like never before
                 and our hero's name was remembered
evermore
evermore
        he did not live a thousand years
but his stories certainly lived longer
in the hearts of the people
in the hearts that were won

Yet a strange thing occurred
       sure as night conquers day
Grand Marra's visions of the future
       did not decay
                 they became the bedrock
of future design
        for light rests on darkness
the grand design
        two sides of the coin
yours
and mine

darkness for foundation
        light for revealing its depth
pathway into the future
        left and right steps...

Drop kick your wit
Into something more fitting
Something forgetting, lace up your ego
And step outdoors, **** that ***** down the street wit his hood up?
Nah he’s too good wit his hood up
Doin nothin but good and good alone
Until one day, evil has shown
Up on the front porch, with heavy hearts and pitch forks
Pork slow roastin on the back of the grill
****
You hear that
Another one bites the rust of the rimless curb of this never ending, but slightly always pending circle of ****, of life
Christ, why do bad things happen to good people
While evil still is a struggle that’s real
Feels, those feels bro, you got me on my feels, rocking on my heels
Avoiding all eyes and prying little flys on the wall
Waiting for that slip up, that stick up, that trick up the sleeve on the eve of your last wish.
Wishes, I have three, one, to never be loved by a shadow of a figure who never knew how to love or figure if love isn’t real, then what’s the waste in time
Time is número dos, time so far in the spectrum of speed and yet, almost comatose. Let me have this time on this rock, pose as a breathing, living, forgiving and seething with life type human, or three will never be for me, humanity. Wish number three, the salvation of man
Because god can, can’t,
Maybe wont, but left in his hands it isn’t, it’s up to the working man, who’s hands are capable with cans, do’s, wills, and preservation
Perspiration, perspire the desire to salvage this green and blue vessel, scavenge this land, back to the roots of our roots in our mother earth. Who’s ground is fertile from the plow and hearth. Seed it with love, time, and the offer of human empathy,
The human experience, fierce with pent up fenced up aliens, feeding off each others brothers, every boy and mothers negativity
That negativity creates negative energy, ******* up the synergy that is the human race for lust, passion, and the same story from times of the dust
Bowl, whole again, manifest density was only applicable in a time where destiny still had the sparkle of a child’s sparkler on Fourth of July.
Lights burst upward, celebrating ever changing forward motion, downward, backwards never ending commotion, two steps forward, three steps back, this roller coaster of insufferable emotion continues onward, forward 3 times now, how rendering change and pain and all that came along with the letters,
F
R
E
E
D
O
M
F for four score and so many years, tears were shed and blood ran fuller than the old miss
R, river, the ever lasting forgiver of time, flowing endlessly and uncaring of the work its sharing, while its purity waxes and wanes, secrets come with battered shame, carried downwards into the open famed arms of the abyss.
E, endless energy and growing conservation of mass media and concentration of governing persuasion and invasion
E, excavation of the once great nation, under all those layers of of white hair and high airs, layers peeled back, revealed the
D, dominating, pervading, intimate lives of the common man, as the not so common wig takes big sips of the white collar melting ***, hands deep in the pockets of the rotting underclass, tee tottering on the edge of what seems like a never ending, case of innovating but not so innovative backwards progression,
O, omit the hand that feeds, heed this, and feed yourselves, provide a nurturing seed for those in dire need, if you give a man a fish, he’ll eat for a day, if you teach a man to fish, he’ll wish it wasn’t so hard to discard the simple facts and facets of true personal reward. Teach a different man to fish, he’ll wish no one else heard word of this gift, there’s
M, money to had in this type of ish. Money made and the lesser fade out into sea to dwell with the rest, never sinking , but barely afloat while the fish scoff at the ironic twist of fate.
Dears, peers, the ones with fears of hate, hear this, wait, your time will come, theres a fine line between the past and the present and that line is today. This day, Sunday, Monday, fill in the blank day, 24 hours per day, waste whats left of life away or take initiative, begin to wish, are you among men, or among fish, will you be seving the one whos eating, or will you be on the silver lined dish, garnished with yesterdays didnts and “maybe tomorrow’s” real pain, sorrows, will follow you into the future of all tomorrows, but you can create, levitate in mid air, hold it there, an image of what you could/couldnt stand to bear, to manage, not take, make, create what’s yours is yours, not mine, hook, line, and sinker.

Head pain and ugly,
World movement too,
The insatiable slug thee,
Manifests between two.

Lounge lay and eat,
The extent of the life,
Scrounge play and bleat,
You're not the only one,
So revel in this life,
A resplendent underclass,
Make bankers and beauracrats,
Pay it through the
Glass ?

Is one proud of this half life one lives ?
Radiation dwindling in 30 to 10,
To be in rain with freedom to squat,
Looking in strangers for compassion,
When all you deserve,
Is a sound good lashing.

Hide away from your responsibility,
No entry on response,
Forgotten all ability,
Ability all lost,
Based on  acidity.

Face all edited,
The preservation of youth did not preserve your face,
The resignation of you,
Did not delay fate

Give me the obscene
Not the clean
But the filthy ****
The pink ****
The thrusting ****
If that’s what you want
Then that’s what I got

Give me the obscene
Let me clear the scene
Of what we have seen
What you call unclean
Cause in the past
The obscene was the underclass
The undercurrent
Miscegeny, rock music
Civil liberties for minorities
Hippies and other counterculture
Freedom and treasonous language

Give me your obscene
Cause that’s where the future lies
Not were perverts spy
On ***** secrets
But where the freedom of language
Leads us closer to being
Better human beings

So I’ll take the obscene
Instead of the mind numbing
Thought controlling clean

I am a refugee from the City upon a Hill.

My homeland once a resounding light to the nations; has become a convulsing black hole, threatening to devour any semblance of civility.

My City, once a radiant promontory of enlightenment, its illumination of liberty’s searing torch revered, it’s practical striving for democratic wisdom shaping the long arc of the moral universe emulated by people of good will across the globe; now lies in state as a mordant corpse, serenaded by a funereal chorus of laughing griffins, a dead patriarch surrounded by the ruins of a once opulent now sacked city, a bygone home to the scattered disassemblage of a once noble people.

I recoil from the rancor of extreme partisanship, the gerrymandered apportionment of citizenship rights, the buoyant vindictiveness celebrated by small minded ignorance.

The blind allegiance to jingoistic nationalism, the adulation of Blueline authoritarianism, the fealty to imperial militarism and the dangerous trajectory of it’s awful consequence yet to come, enthralls me with dread.

Compelled patriotism enforced by threats of faux patriots, amoral ammosexuals, their small hands stroking quick triggers of long guns, genuflecting in mastabutory glee to the preeminence of 2nd Amendment atrocities, angling crosshairs of resentments to firmly fix a promise of ghoulish body counts, a rationalized apocalypse a captive people must suffer to underwrite profiteering gunrunners who blindly defile the constitutional tenets of life, liberty and happiness, the blood splattered keystones of our true exceptionalism.

Xenophobia and racialism, are stoked and celebrated by the City’s chief executive, his impish smile mouths Blood and Soil sloganeering, he solemnly salutes the Confederate flag while cheering torchlight processions of enraged White Nationalists marching to the drum of the Grand Republic’s midnight dirge along the once hallowed trail of Jeffersonian Democracy and a sacred place of secular enlightenment and higher learning. His gleeful decrees tweet the destruction of families and his police agents mouth holy scriptures to justify the imprisonment of children.  These vandals rhapsodically paint images of phantasmagoric nightmares trampling and mocking democratic ideals, resurrecting long settled conflicts, terrible tests a once great City rose to extinguish, now swelling numbers of craven citizens ardently embrace Klansmen, insurrectionists and ****’s as righteous brethren.

The madness of chauvinism and racial supremacy has fully metastasized within the body politic, polluting the mind, infecting the bloodline with a virulent strain of a white blood cell disease coursing through the veins of republican citizenship.

A City stolen from the Native inhabitants, ethnically cleansed and its former inhabitants remanded to the prisons of reservations, a City constructed on the backs of chattel slaves, erected on the graves of exploited wage laborers, provisioned by the ruthless denigration of the earth’s bounty, law and order mandated by criminalizing the marginalized, repressing the civil liberties of outliers and subjecting women to a perpetual status as the second *** underclass; has failed to repent and steadfastly refuses to make reparations for its sinful past has made the City uninhabitable.

The embrace of tolerance and diversity is the balm, the curate that can salve the oozing sores crippling the City. Nativist prejudice is a long protracted path that City citizen’s find impossible to exit. The malevolence that consumes the mind and moves the soul of a desperately spiteful people, who take delight and find it necessary to dehumanize and imprison alien races and creeds to maintain vapid notions of superiority, profane the ideals of a republican calling. They ruefully ignore the beacon of light warning of the dangerous shoals that lay ahead. The ideals of the great democratic experiment on course to be dashed on the jagged rocks of ignorance, fear, and anger. The doomed City has set a course that endangers its embargoed citizens. Travelling in steerage, a captive body, believing they are on a course for the rebirth of the City’s greatness are emboldened and chained by the delusions of their self destructive steadfast resentments.

My home City has become unknown to me.  I have become a stranger in this strange land. What was once beloved has become insufferable. What was once treasured has become burdensome. The familiar has become fully alien. A terrible avenging apparition haunts and mocks people of good will. My heart is disheveled. My spirit bruised. My body literally aches from the wounds exacted from the deconstruction of my beloved metropolis.

I stand stranded at the border of incivility. Bewildered I peer through a protective wall of concertina wire, eyeing the imprisoned haughty souls of fully enfranchised citizens, bellowing self righteous psalms, singing interminable lamentations of terminal ignorance.

Condemned by their belief in the salvation of violence and recrimination, secure in their faith that their moat of self righteousness shelters them from the gulags of perdition they eagerly proclaim for others, feeling recused from the bane of sinfulness by meager tithes, tumidity and scriptural specificity and the sweet delusional conviction they are the chosen tribe of God’s favor; their aspirations viscerally dashed in blizzards of metaphysical illusion strewn like meaningless confetti onto a passing parade of barbarians who have taken the City as its grandest prize.

Sadly I must withdraw from my beloved City. I retreat to a refuge where the barbarians dare not enter. Their ignorance and stasis weds them to a place far from my sanctuary of choice. May my sanctuary restoreth my soul!

I find refuge in the temples of jazz. I sing arias of lucent improvisation. The freedom of unbridled expression reinvigorates the mind, alighting the emanation of our better angels. The music calibrates my soul with the syncopated beat of an irrepressible life force, the humanity of my welling heart swells on the sonorous oxygen of a lyrical free spirit.

I take refuge in our vanishing mountain wilderness. The natural world offers a solace of solitude, a unrequited impression of scale and a transcendent communion immune from the trampling cacophony of gleeful vandals running rampant through the streets of the City. In winter the summits are capped in crowns of viginal snow, spring awakens a dormant flora, autumn leaves shout the chorus of a seasons glory and summer flowers bloom in multitudes of brilliant colors marking a startling contrast to the fifty shades of gray tattooed onto the City’s restive souls by the purveyors of power.

I find respite on the friendly banks of rivers and breeze swept ocean shores. The perfume wafting along a rivers streaming eddies or a briney snort gulped from the foam of a cresting wave invigorates the lungs, strengthens the heart and clears the mind. The flow of living water heals lifes wounded spirit. It quenches a thirst for justice and nourishes the hope of freedom for all incarcerated souls. The ceaseless roll of the ocean waves prove the enduring power and inevitability of liberty.

I find a good refuge in books. Here I discover a fleeting glimpse of our forgotten love of knowledge and pursuit of truth and rational thought. Enlightenment is the plot of every storyline.

I take refuge in art. I escape into the multiple dimensions of aesthetic beauty trouncing the twittering banality of fad, pornographic affectations and consumer fethishism. Glimpsing beauty while beauty is there to behold and the diligent practice of its creation is an answer to a higher calling.

I take refuge in my dog. Unconditional love and trusted friendship are values at peril in a transactional world; virtues nobily demonstrated and freely given by our canine and feline friends.

I take refuge in late night comedy. Working the midnight shift, whistling past the graveyard with a hearty laugh helps to while away the desperate hours. The rancid fruits of our labor leave a bitter taste in our mouths, humor is the bread of life that clears the palate and makes the terrible sufferable.

My lasting sanctuary is the stronghold of faith, forbearance and tolerance. I trust the long arc of justice will bend toward the righteous and offer a pathway of redemption for all desecrated souls.

I take refuge in the Blues. Let my lamentations turn to songs of joy and deliverance.

I take refuge in prayer. May my places of exile restore and heal my denigration. May God deliver us to a good destination. May our generational wanderings in the desert of desolation end in the discovery of a good place of habitation.

In the solitude of prayer may I experience catharsis, may my petitions find an open ear, may I achieve clarification, may my pious supplication be genuine , my conviction firm, a direction found, a decision made, a call to action clear.  May I become a healer of the breach.

May Your grace be sufficient for me.

I declare my exile over. I will return to my City. I will attempt to rekindle the extinguished flame of liberty to dispel the darkness enveloping my City.

Selah.

Mark Almond: The City

Puyallup
6/30/18
jbm

They died two millennia ago
and now their skeletons are on show.
In York they excavate the graves
of fit young men albeit slaves.

There's evidence of cruel wounds
from many ****** afternoons.
Some headless, some killed by hammer blow
while bloodlust crowds shout and bellow.

Their bones bear marks of contest
from lion's bite to coup de grace.
Buried with funeral feast.
Once doomed now exhumed underclass.

How should we react today
with intrigue and concern to learn?
Where does our bloodlust find its prey?
Drop it! Dig out the day return.

The battering ram of the underclass cruelty had left pocket marks in his dark skin as the quarrelling customers threw down cash just to ****** it back up as though they were bartering against each other for due time and money owed. He did nothing, save sit there and blink. I thought to myself it almost looked as though he was counting each second in the brief flutter of his eyelids. Open and closed they went, up and down, on and on. The two men were still bickering, each insisting the other owed more than he. My orange juice had begun to sweat in my hand, and I was anxious to eat my late night snack. I considered quietly persuading the two boisterous fellows to conclude their business and exit, but I feared what form their anger might take when reassigned to my annoying interjection. Saying nothing, I waited, testing my own patience and hoping fiercely they could move along. Some fifteen minutes later when all insults and insinuations were spilled out into the open air like oil into the ocean, the duo finally exited and I made my purchases, thankful to be rid of their company, and as I left I saw him sitting, stoic, still blinking rhythmically, not a word nor breath escaping his lips.

The tallest poppy sprout refined and majestic in rarefied inner peace

In wisdom, knowledge and truth he embraces his charismatic rays

Self-assured, confident, stoic and compassionate, sincere in truthful pleas

That duly in the service of others, our world would be a better place

Where each and all finds in true hope, their deserving nirvana undismayed

And with honest toil and gainful endeavour, bright smiles will grace every face



Alas, the land is filled with psychopaths, deviants, louts, charlatans and knaves

Mindless simpletons, arrogant buffoons, deluded malcontents, shepples and fleas

Racists, liars, Lilly-liver ed cowards, inadequate bullies and stained underclass with knives

Hedonists, drunkards, pedophiles, lying hypocritical vicars and inglorious common thieves

Fathers and mothers with no control over off-springs and hapless aged locked away in fear

Whilst the shameless cowardly reprobates, uncouth, unwashed declares, we rule the hives

And as the wont of sad degenerate mediocrities,  mesmerises a gang of fools in similar dire



Some say they are the barbarians of Europe, uncultured, arrogant, mindless, jingoistic ***** dusts

Basking at once, then denigrating a proud history made by the elites, who now patronise them

And indoors, sip iced Bollinger, nibble on caviar, and shake their saloon ed heads in disgust

The educated professionals indulge them and offer liberal platitudes, the problem is at the stem

And the pitiful ingrates, dosed on *******, hyped on beer and moonshine from a Polish den

Stagger and pounce about pathetically, and hiss through yellow uneven teeth, power to the people

"This is Democracy", they pontificate, we can terrorize the likes of the Tallest Poppy, that silly Zen



So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos, then

How do indulgent semi-illiterates class, limited by a benevolent nanny State see they project their angst onto better men

And vent their spleen and the frustrations of their limitations and insignificance on to others who they fear and envy.

The pain and miseries of their unfulfilled, mundane and superficial, empty lives, means others should suffer too

So again, So how does one explain what 'piffling contempt' means to deranged, deluded, inadequate psychos

How do you catch a *****, extricate the coward bully, and revive a dead brain, capable of aspirations and higher ideals

With torches and angry words they riot in our streets. They set fire to buildings and call our public servants Nazis! They cry about equality all the while the preach anarchy! They say they can fix it but they never do. They want you to be angry and hate where you live. If we were only more like other countries, just how great it would be. Their plans have been tried in cities and states in our land. The remnants of burnt out buildings and failed ideals litter the landscape of these places. A so called underclass frustrated and angry rage against the honest and hard working people. They think they can destroy what has been built and remake it in their own warped image. Despite the best efforts from without and within, America the idea still lives! So let the hate mongers rage and destroy where they live. You cannot burn down an idea, it has been tried again and again.

Mother thought the world of you
When you were in the womb
You were the charcoal blur that rocked the world
Pride of place on the refrigerator
Seemingly indifferent but people saw different
They looked at you and drew the moon
And from the grey extracted something peach and empty
In the days when it was okay for you to be empty
Before the weight of the world drained the colour from your face
The milky glisten that shrivelled
Diminished
Turned you invisible
Now show them all that you’re not afraid to **** at the sun
Once the door is closed
Let that ultraviolet umbilical cord to the underclass make you golden
Make you glow once more

Such elegance and opulence
Beneath this highway overpass,
Where rocks provide the sustenance,
As winter culls the underclass;
Gimcrackery of transients,
Guitars and spoons and mattresses.
Police come charged with striking tents.
You can't live here, the city says.
One level up, on 2nd Street,
Old cars and vans make living space
For down-and-outs who still compete,
And teach their kids to ask God's grace.
This kingdom come, of what's been done--
Earth daughter, mother, father, son.

disenfranchise underclass

write disenfranchise words

with disenfranchise sensibilities

only relevant to disenfranchise angsts

and without the privilege of introspection

they march down and down in ignorance bliss

one man apart Public Enemy - Don't Believe The Hype

It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back - hahhahhah