Building This Thing and That Wall
by Darryl Price
The world has long since been bootlegged by madmen. The new
invisible con men are the same as the old
visible con men, hiding and lying
behind their walls of lingering death. There's a weapon
wielding demon hell bent on an insane
vengeance crawling around inside this tough guy's
moneyed flesh suit who would be your willing
angry champion if you so choose it. He
thinks his pale thoughts are his own fleshy dreams. But they
belong to the old self-righteous gangsters
of a sick empire still trying to own
everything and everyone for naught else
but the genocidal trying for ultimate bragging rights. They are
smoke-ringed bored angels, wasting all time, the most
prejudiced dangerous kind. No longer
so interested in doing good works, but in
bigger threats and damaging nightingale
explosions amongst all the innocent
stars of the jungle night sky, blaming every
lending hand in time but themselves for the
smoldering destruction of the all life-
giving forests. It's sad, to be sure, but
it should come as no surprise. The war is
never quite finished with heartbreak. It just
gets handed down. Babies are born melting
into the inequality fight like
so many pelting raindrops. Young men are used like
flat nails to crack down doors with their foolish hard
heads, when all they want is to find someone to
open their saturated hearts to peace.
Girlfriends weep from every wounded corner,
in every dusty crack of dawn, from every stoned and
broken window, in every stinking smoke
stack town and try to shield the love in their care
from the lust of suffocating hate. And still that's just one
finger smudged revolving picture of life
happening behind the moving cut glass
frontier of our modern times. Listen. There
are others. You make one. You find one. Share it with us. Be the
one. Build not to destroy, but to welcome.
Bonus poem:
The Broken Path to the River
by Darryl Price
You break my heart. I'll give you that.
You're doing it again, but I'm
Not looking. You break me open
Like lost poems that were never
Published. Eating cherries behind
Closed shutters. A wooden plow dragged
Like a comb over the bald head
Of the moon. Like a low green sky,
Okay? You break my heart more or
Less as a vital matter of
Inspired weightlessness. You break me
Down, on a Sunday—I don't know
How you do it—in stunning shifts
Of utter silence. I don't want
These thoughts to continue, but I
Know they will. Like bumblebees. Like
My poor attempt at a joke. Like
A glass of purely functional
Iced coffee. You break my heart. Like
Clouds wherever you go, not so
Much wild as being pulled along
As empty line. I really have
To explain the overarching
Concept? You break my heart. It hurts
Like hell. It leaves me abandoned.
Maybe I should go into the
Words and never come out again
To the path where you are living
With your latest fierce loneliness.
After all our kissed promises
I walk like I can't feel it, like
I can't breathe to remember how.
Some comments below for above bonus poem:
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Author's Note
It's easy to point the finger at one person and say there's your problem, but I think we know the truth is we're all involved with the way the world works. It's our thoughts and words and actions every day that transform us and the environment around us into the forest we live in. All I'm saying is perhaps a little bit of consciousness toward our actions, a little bit of compassion, might help us to make better choices. Your power to do something meaningful today is exactly as big as you are in your heart of hearts.
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Comments
"And still that's just one
finger smudged revolving picture of life
happening behind the moving cut glass
frontier of our modern times. Listen."
Amazing lines. Good poem, DP.
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"Babies are born melting into the inequality fight like so many raindrops." Raging sublime, all of it. *
"There's a weapon / wielding demon hell bent on an insane / vengeance crawling around inside this guy's / moneyed flesh suit"
Clubs are trump but that hand won't last and won't win. (Pinochle language)
*
"The war is never quite finished with heartbreak."
Unfortunately heartbreak abounds and apparently its emotions are not always enough to set a true course.*
"Like a comb over the bald head / Of the moon."
Amazing line in a fiercely-moving astounding poem.
I like this line:
You break my heart more or
Less as a vital matter of
Inspired weightlessness.
If this doesn't get her attention what in HELL will?? This? Alone? "You break my heart. Like clouds wherever you go, not so much wild as being pulled along as empty line." If that doesn't do it, forget her!
This made me ache in a heartbreak-type way, deja vu, nice work
Good poem, DP. Especially like these lines:
"Like hell. It leaves me abandoned.
Maybe I should go into the
Words and never come out again
To the path where you are living"
I like the image of movement, motion in the piece. Strong way to close the poem.