Tats, Happy Meals and Bullets
Years ago a friend of mine got a tattoo.
It was a dragon with an M-16
and a banner that read "Marines".
I thought it was pretty cool,
what could be better
than an automatic weapon,
a dragon
and the Marines?
His best friend was also in the Marines.
They grew up
and enlisted together.
Everything they did
was for each other
and their friends.
I always thought of them
as a comic book dynamic duo
but with two Batmen
not a Batman and a Robin.
Now everytime I watch a Batman movie,
I think of him
so I don't watch
them that often.
The war has been
one big Superbowl commercial
advertising to get people to buy
their patriotic vision of
a thousand painful ways to die
and I refuse to buy any of it.
"Take this medicine and you will feel better"
Cyanide takes away pain as well.
They say the war is winding down
time to start the parades
throw the confetti
kiss every baby.
Instead they ride into town,
medicine taken, new and improved,
on the backs of unicorns.
Everyone wants a unicorn
who doesn't want one?
We see the soldiers galloping into town
a top their unicorns
and we lay down our own weapons,
our words,
our will,
look at ours,
now look a theirs,
we have better weapons,
we know better,
we fight with body and words,
we believe in our faiths,
we believe in ourselves,
This is war,
this is revolution,
this is ours
and this is better.
Don't even look at the unicorns
and think about
eating that piece of peace pie.
The hunger of war is only satisfied
by the full meal deal,
give me a number 2,
of unequaled insanity.
Buy one death,
get one free.
I don't buy it now
and never will.
War is a fast food happy meal
with friends and family fried
between two buns
with lettuce, pickle, tomato, cheese, onion,
a bio-chemical special sauce
and the prize
is just another life lost.
Years ago a friend of mine got a tattoo.
It was a dragon with an M-16
and a banner that read "Marines".
I thought it was pretty cool,
what could be better
than an automatic weapon,
a dragon
and the Marines?
His best friend was also in the Marines.
They grew up
and enlisted together.
Everything they did
was for each other
and their friends.
I always thought of them
as a comic book dynamic duo
but with two Batmen
not a Batman and a Robin.
Now everytime I watch a Batman movie,
I think of him
so I don't watch
them that often.
The war has been
one big Superbowl commercial
advertising to get people to buy
their patriotic vision of
a thousand painful ways to die
and I refuse to buy any of it.
"Take this medicine and you will feel better"
Cyanide takes away pain as well.
They say the war is winding down
time to start the parades
throw the confetti
kiss every baby.
Instead they ride into town,
medicine taken, new and improved,
on the backs of unicorns.
Everyone wants a unicorn
who doesn't want one?
We see the soldiers galloping into town
a top their unicorns
and we lay down our own weapons,
our words,
our will,
look at ours,
now look a theirs,
we have better weapons,
we know better,
we fight with body and words,
we believe in our faiths,
we believe in ourselves,
This is war,
this is revolution,
this is ours
and this is better.
Don't even look at the unicorns
and think about
eating that piece of peace pie.
The hunger of war is only satisfied
by the full meal deal,
give me a number 2,
of unequaled insanity.
Buy one death,
get one free.
I don't buy it now
and never will.
War is a fast food happy meal
with friends and family fried
between two buns
with lettuce, pickle, tomato, cheese, onion,
a bio-chemical special sauce
and the prize
is just another life lost.
An American Truth Chronicles Tribute To The Fallen
Awake To The Nightmare
I woke early.
dreaming, my head still foggy
I turned on the news
not to be confused with reality
instead a multimillion dollar hollywood
sci-fi blockbuster or copycat horror flick
Just before the hero puts it all right
two screaming beasts fly into two towering uprights
pillars of babylon,
alters for the dead sacrificed upon.
If only the monster had been slain
providing the hero with a storybook ending.
If only..
too bad reality is sometimes too real
and endings are never completely happy.
I grabbed the remote to change the channel
and all I learned was that
nothing is ever what it seems.
That night I listened to the radio.
Art Bell spoke of beliefs
that are nonsense to the masses.
Conspiracies were my hobby,
never truely my thing,
but so much made sense after that night.
Life is stranger than any conspiracy
and while we poke fun at those waiting
for their beliefs to become truths
and those truths to come to light
we forget to realize that all of life's truths
now and have always been in front of our eyes
waiting for our focus
never to be seen
because truth is often more painful
than any lie.
When the body count increased
I was told around two thousand innocents were gone.
It will never compare to the millions slain by,
disease, uncaring hunger,
needless war, fear of the man,
black gold and the almighty dollar.
Pillars from unsalvaged tombs
are now monuments of God forgotten rubble
patchy graves in the middle of desolation.
There is still hope and always will be
inside each child, healthy and fed,
inside each and every person saved
from social slavery.
For too long greed has come at a heavy price
in the form of millions of anonymous graves
We know nothing of the real end
to their dreams,
We continue being ungrateful
for knowing that all of our dreams
have a beginning
while those who live in permanent grey
only see the world as one monotonous scene
forever ignoring the colors at their fingertips.
Those with power,
sitting in their thrones of bone,
washing away blood from their hands
with countless tears of the damned,
they tell us they did all they could
they tried to stop this insanity
but the inevitable will always be inevitable.
How hard did they try?
Did they try?
Try to feel compassion
or cut by the words of families suffering
only to build more monuments
from the sweat and blood of those they loved.
Words spoken from those now without voices
reveal the fakes and frauds
presidents and preachers,
the famous and infamous.
They congregate feeding on the pain
of the little people
an all you can eat buffet
and go up for seconds and thirds.
At their tables you can hear the chatter
discussing the problems of the meek
while the meek knock at death's door.
This is the one true flaw,
that no one actually cares
until these words escape our lips
and we admit, no demand,
to see where once we were blind.
Yes, these lives and millions more have been taken,
but they will never, ever, be forgotten
as long as our words are kept alive.
dreaming, my head still foggy
I turned on the news
not to be confused with reality
instead a multimillion dollar hollywood
sci-fi blockbuster or copycat horror flick
Just before the hero puts it all right
two screaming beasts fly into two towering uprights
pillars of babylon,
alters for the dead sacrificed upon.
If only the monster had been slain
providing the hero with a storybook ending.
If only..
too bad reality is sometimes too real
and endings are never completely happy.
I grabbed the remote to change the channel
and all I learned was that
nothing is ever what it seems.
That night I listened to the radio.
Art Bell spoke of beliefs
that are nonsense to the masses.
Conspiracies were my hobby,
never truely my thing,
but so much made sense after that night.
Life is stranger than any conspiracy
and while we poke fun at those waiting
for their beliefs to become truths
and those truths to come to light
we forget to realize that all of life's truths
now and have always been in front of our eyes
waiting for our focus
never to be seen
because truth is often more painful
than any lie.
When the body count increased
I was told around two thousand innocents were gone.
It will never compare to the millions slain by,
disease, uncaring hunger,
needless war, fear of the man,
black gold and the almighty dollar.
Pillars from unsalvaged tombs
are now monuments of God forgotten rubble
patchy graves in the middle of desolation.
There is still hope and always will be
inside each child, healthy and fed,
inside each and every person saved
from social slavery.
For too long greed has come at a heavy price
in the form of millions of anonymous graves
We know nothing of the real end
to their dreams,
We continue being ungrateful
for knowing that all of our dreams
have a beginning
while those who live in permanent grey
only see the world as one monotonous scene
forever ignoring the colors at their fingertips.
Those with power,
sitting in their thrones of bone,
washing away blood from their hands
with countless tears of the damned,
they tell us they did all they could
they tried to stop this insanity
but the inevitable will always be inevitable.
How hard did they try?
Did they try?
Try to feel compassion
or cut by the words of families suffering
only to build more monuments
from the sweat and blood of those they loved.
Words spoken from those now without voices
reveal the fakes and frauds
presidents and preachers,
the famous and infamous.
They congregate feeding on the pain
of the little people
an all you can eat buffet
and go up for seconds and thirds.
At their tables you can hear the chatter
discussing the problems of the meek
while the meek knock at death's door.
This is the one true flaw,
that no one actually cares
until these words escape our lips
and we admit, no demand,
to see where once we were blind.
Yes, these lives and millions more have been taken,
but they will never, ever, be forgotten
as long as our words are kept alive.
American Truth Chronicles #1
Change is constant
yet we demand it
from politics and politicians
like a corner crack dealer
a dimebag costing our freedom
our hopes
our dreams.
We are told "Vote or Die!"
We vote and thousands die.
Promised a better tomorrow
with just a pull on the leaver
a single solitary action
a message goes out
texting the executioner
"bring the noose"
it's ok, it's American made.
An American made noose
around American made necks
killing American made thoughts and dreams
becoming the American made way.
They say the right to vote is a gift
and the outcome is our reciept.
The last time I checked
the signs on voting day
all read "Nonrefundable".
American Truth Chronicles #3 - Countdown To The Working Class Apocalypse
"American made" betrayed
by the American Judas'
hung by their blue collars
crucified on Hollywood billboards
making ants of millionaires
baptism by kosher candle light
in rivers of industrial runoff.
The burning bushes replaced
by a flourosant light bulb
lit only between
dusk and dawn.
We must not
be so wasteful
afterall.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
We are told life goes on
but where will you be
when time has run out
and every step we have taken
every carbon footprint
left in toxic gardens
has filled in
with blood and tears
and the fat lady has finally sung,
a silent musing,
her words trapped in a vacuum
of broken lives,
stained egos
and shattered dreams.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
Where will you be?
A Letter To The American Conservative
I remember the days
when logic superceded
greed and power.
Now, instead of needy children
we adopt the highways
we've littered with inattention,
Bury them in freshly printed greens
and watch our printing presses smoke
themselves to an emphazema death
as we all abstain
only as long as the moment lasts.
With the focus of a five year old
high on prescription speed
we soon forget abstinence
and chase the first fox we see.
Its the chase, they say,
that makes the foreplay sweeter.
Chemically induced erections
and silicone inflated breasts
sliding on skin covered in
trans-hydrogenated fat
slowly heating our oceans
and sea-to-shining-seas.
Today the news said maybe
we will or will not
prosecute the murderers
lounging on our blackened beaches
in Versace and Valentino
writing memoirs to their greatness.
I know you understand me,
I can hear you scream "Socialist!"
just fine.
The next time we are out
and your logic asks me to pick up the tab
just remember I voted for
the black guy with a big smile.
This "socialist" is not giving you
a dime
yet we demand it
from politics and politicians
like a corner crack dealer
a dimebag costing our freedom
our hopes
our dreams.
We are told "Vote or Die!"
We vote and thousands die.
Promised a better tomorrow
with just a pull on the leaver
a single solitary action
a message goes out
texting the executioner
"bring the noose"
it's ok, it's American made.
An American made noose
around American made necks
killing American made thoughts and dreams
becoming the American made way.
They say the right to vote is a gift
and the outcome is our reciept.
The last time I checked
the signs on voting day
all read "Nonrefundable".
American Truth Chronicles #3 - Countdown To The Working Class Apocalypse
"American made" betrayed
by the American Judas'
hung by their blue collars
crucified on Hollywood billboards
making ants of millionaires
baptism by kosher candle light
in rivers of industrial runoff.
The burning bushes replaced
by a flourosant light bulb
lit only between
dusk and dawn.
We must not
be so wasteful
afterall.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
We are told life goes on
but where will you be
when time has run out
and every step we have taken
every carbon footprint
left in toxic gardens
has filled in
with blood and tears
and the fat lady has finally sung,
a silent musing,
her words trapped in a vacuum
of broken lives,
stained egos
and shattered dreams.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
Where will you be?
A Letter To The American Conservative
I remember the days
when logic superceded
greed and power.
Now, instead of needy children
we adopt the highways
we've littered with inattention,
Bury them in freshly printed greens
and watch our printing presses smoke
themselves to an emphazema death
as we all abstain
only as long as the moment lasts.
With the focus of a five year old
high on prescription speed
we soon forget abstinence
and chase the first fox we see.
Its the chase, they say,
that makes the foreplay sweeter.
Chemically induced erections
and silicone inflated breasts
sliding on skin covered in
trans-hydrogenated fat
slowly heating our oceans
and sea-to-shining-seas.
Today the news said maybe
we will or will not
prosecute the murderers
lounging on our blackened beaches
in Versace and Valentino
writing memoirs to their greatness.
I know you understand me,
I can hear you scream "Socialist!"
just fine.
The next time we are out
and your logic asks me to pick up the tab
just remember I voted for
the black guy with a big smile.
This "socialist" is not giving you
a dime
Bio:
Craig Firsdon is a 30 year old poet, songwriter, watercolor painter and sketch artist from just outside of Toledo in Holland, Ohio. He has been referred to as the "Toledo Renaissance Man" by Lorraine Cipriano in an article she wrote for the Toledo Poetry Examiner and often reads with other local poets including John Dorsey and Michael Grover. He was just published in RedFez and released his chapbook, "Opiate Dreams".
2 comments:
Hey dudes, here is Robert from USA My passions are football and watching american series. I work for a video game translation company.
Hi Robert, pleased to have you here. But do me a favour and don't post any links to your company. I'm sure you're on the up-and-up but I'll have to delete it anyway because of the risk of viruses and spyware and all that other stuff being spread around the computers of my readers. Thanks! (Bruce, ed.)
Post a Comment