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aayoung

Poetry, Prose, Art, Photography, Random Shit

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war

war by candlelight

amidst the curiosities

of my yet to be packed up

roll top desk

i found a diamond bracelet

you had given me

hiding in one of

the apothecary drawers

it reminded me immediately

how you waged

war by candlelight

instinctively i pulled the pin

on that gauche grenade

lobbing the tacky bauble

into the goose shit encircled pond

behind the house

your weaponry

is not welcome here

anymore

this house has a history

 

i put on some water for tea

then decided to mop the floors

of our new little nest

before the furniture gets carried in

before the rest of our lives happen

Murphy’s Oil Soap

water and sunshine into a bucket

carried through the echoing emptiness

of what will be

over original hardwood

placed there in 1941

i love to clean

the ritual of it

i write in my thoughts as i work

images painting themselves

into spaces around my gentle humming

spreading wet across the grain

seeing hands that mopped this floor

before me

wives husbands

fathers mothers

lovers and

put-upon teenagers

oh this house

has a history

built the year

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor

it’s all still there

nailed down memories

layers of time entombed in wax

someone stood in that living room and heard

we dropped the bomb

we landed at Normandy

of a flag raised in Iwo-Jima

Kennedy was dead

Vietnam was a lost cause only good

for folded flags being handed to weeping mothers

Nixon was a crook

Reagan and John Lennon had been shot

the Berlin wall had fallen

i heard first steps

crying babies

crying widows

joyous laughter

say cheese

wine glasses clinking together

realizing with a smile

this floor is mine

the foundation of a family

and i will love it

then

the teapot

began to whistle

 

 

 

 

 

war

if mothers’ tears
could build palaces
the whole of humanity
would live as kings

dad’s gonna be pissed

my generation had no great war

until the towers fell

and the government invented one

then we were told

it’s not our fight

beyond the departures gate

at the airport

our struggle is removing our shoes

and grabby TSA agents

we never grew a victory garden

we never salvaged all our metal to make bullets

or watched the soldierly  Vietnam death toll

march across the bottom of our television screens

we were raised by Atari systems, Pop Rocks, Sweet Valley High books,

and Bob Barker’s skinny microphone

so forgive me, my fellow

generationally x’d out americans

if i don’t give a shit

about your opinions on the upcoming election

we have forgotten to call our mothers

as the ocean reclaims the land

and our comfort level with it

we will realize in a collective gasp

we have squandered

centuries of invention, blood, and privilege

with human conceit

.

we have wasted every memory

every idea

every love

by failing the planet

.

we have forgotten to call our mothers

as we were killing each other

over

unknowables

and inflexible

fallible

beliefs

.

don’t go crying to science

science tried to tell us long ago

.

so eat your nachos

and barbecued chemistry lab meats

cheer on your gladiator teams

as they bash their skulls together in a coliseum

enjoy the halftime performers as they twerk and bleat

 

live stream a diversion

drink your wine and craft beer from sustainable bottles

.

insert artisanal tampons made from the wool of

vegetarian  fed sheep

.

file your taxes

.

don’t you look pretty

with thicker, fuller lashes

drop your child off anywhere

so long as you don’t hear their screams

.

pay for neon sex

on the latest smartphone

with that one last good credit card

.

swipe the strip or insert the chip

but do it hard,

consumer culture,

more, baby, more

.

a civilization

blindfolded in agreement

and a few syphilitic mosquitoes

is all the next

mass extinction needs

 

 

.

 

The Maid of Orléans

in the twelfth year

of her peasant girl existence

Joan of Arc

saw god before her eyes

asking her to wage war

for the good of France

to rescue her people from their strife

she believed

she swayed a king

she kissed her sword

she kicked some ass

she achieved the impossible

she paid with her burning life

she became a saint at 20

her ending irrelevant as smoke rise

the point is

she had the courage

to stand

and fucking fight

 

(written for Manny Feuerberg)

crashing zeppelin

when a living creature

has an unnatural state

inflicted upon its existence

things rarely turn out well

for the specimen

.

war

starvation

drought

intoxication

concentration camps

laboratory foods

pharmaceutical cultures

imprisonment

unhappy marriage

industrialization

slavery

religion

Los Angeles International Airport

and

the  digital imposition

that is

the internet

.

yet we can’t stop meddling

with our world

.

when what remains

of humanity

can no longer see the sun

.

we will blame pollution

and the microchip

.

yet it is our own

irreverent

parasitic instincts

.

too late to admit

human psychology

was the harbinger

of our own death

murakami-o-rama

This piece will only appeal to avid readers of Haruki Murakami. If you don’t read him, you should. The following poem, written for his fans, will act much like Jeffrey Lebowski’s rug, it will tie the whole room together.

 

coffee

tea

tofu

someone bearing the name

of a food or a spice

elephants

cats

vanishing elephants and cats

spouses

vanishing spouses

empty wells

vacant houses

tokyo at night

prostitutes

suicide

strangulation

coffee houses

motorcycles

inheritance

ironing

world war II

earthquakes

faceless men

mysterious women

creepy psychics

train stations

abandonment

noisy birds

alternate realities

parallel universes

massage

coming in your pants

rape

dowagers

groceries

bad dreams

creepy investigators

all knowing uncles

erections

whiskey

scotch

beer

NHK television

someone who wants to have sex you

for a mystical reason

water

rain

verandas

brothels

odd teenagers

chaotic jazz

depressing classical music

vinyl records

dormitories

letter writing

ear fetish

cooking

sofa naps

contemplating death

still more contemplating death

clothing

footwear

sitting on benches

stars

moon

unexpected phone calls

sleep

war makes murderers

there are but three

unchangeable forces

known

in our meager lives

.

history is indestructible

dying

and the passage of time

.

that having been said

no wrongful death

may be avenged

with the death of another

.

if history has taught us

nothing else

it is that

war

makes murderers

of all humankind

 

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