Old School Poems

Dancing Through Sunday

At such as young age,
I was never taught to dance.
Never taught to move my feet.
Dancing wasn’t all the huge thing that it seemed to be cut out to be.
As we move on to the next higher age,
Middle School,
Our gym class had been turned into a dance class!
The jitterbug, the boxtrot, the waltz, just some of the few that we had learned.
Classical dancing was never really my “style”.
To much to learn.
Nowadays, still no dancing,
But disco will roll on through Sunday.
Flash over to the image of a child in his room,
Headphone’s blaring,
Feet pounding to the beat.
Can’t you feel that baseline?
Ratalling like a snake,
Ready to bit and feast.
Images of old clash with new,
People only danced the way they did because they felt free!
Nowadays, it’s this teeny-bop contest,
Bodies grinding in the club.
People colliding in the Mosh Pit.
Bloody cits, broken bonez, fractured jaws, black bruises.
10,000 people clashing, pushing, shoving,
Welcome to the Mosh Pit.
Run the gauntlet,
Hope you make it through.
The baseline sends its poison,
Rushing through everyone,
Creating violence.
Which runs it’s course throughout the veins of the monstrous mob.
People clashing like stars crashing
In the skies, producing meteor showers.
Do you see now?
Can you see it clearly?
People will go on continually,
Dancing through Sunday.

Revolution Not Evolution

continue life as it goes.
ife has been set on pause,
everyone is slow, not available at the moment,
"if you would like to leave a message for your party, please stay on the line..."
where is that voice from?
the one that speaks in foreign tongues?
cross the T's dot the i's (eyes).
follow the large white lines,
jump from each one to the other.
an/ ocean of time seperates you from now.
meteor showers. electrical storms, acid rain
is this the coming of an end of days?
or is it the mothers of the children
sent to war?
their children being slaughtered by a foreign man?
"and so help me god!"
where is that voice?
the preacher man spoke of proverbs and psamls,
we only burned the holes in our palms...
Greater than god himself.
the devil flys on wings of lead,
so hoe does god know we have done such vile things?
"that snitch! I'll kill the little bastard!"
his best friend,
wait that's what he called him,
come to find out he's been planning your entire downfall for ages.
flames surround us in the end,
others lifeless bodies lay crumpled on the ground.
"what did we do to deserve this?"
that voice seems to come back
i can recall it faintly,
from a dream way back.
i saw a woman and her child lie on the ground.
our downfall is our own self-destruction.
the only evolution is revolution.

TV Headlines Lie!

Their screams turned to whispers as I opened the door.

The man that said he loved them, now a murderer.

Clutching the corpse of his long loved children,

Blood dawns the walls, bed covers and himself.

His soft whimpering seems to amplify to an earth shattering cry.

He never knew life could be so fragile in all its existence.

“god shall strike down upon his soul with great vengence upon all who oppose him and he shall perish in the flames of eternal torture and deception.”

Headline’s stream across the airwaves screaming

“Murderer!”

Churches fear the worst and make service in each day.

Mothers clutch your young in fear that he may strike again.

“Murderer!”

The headlines scream conspiracy and everyone fears the worst, “the wrath of god will be struck down upon this poor soul and he shall burn in the flames of Hell!” screams the reverend as he sits in his chair.

Secrets never lie, the priest was the original contribution to this horrid crime.

In the back room of the church, the whimpering of a boy can be heard.

The man’s voice cuts the air,

“shut up you little shit! And remember god wants you to do this…”

“Murderer!”

The man you though was your savior, your messiah, is only a pedophile. Slain in front of your I’s you witness the brutal destruction of your futile existence.