Foaming | Sawyer Carpenter
He is foaming
at the mouth
with his own
angers and hatred
How does a man
speak poison
and not harm
his own tongue
It is impossible
not to.
lack of compassion poems
Just Another Day | Shawn Aveningo
“Must the hunger become anger and the anger fury, before anything will be done?” John Steinbeck
Another night of dreams upon corrugated pillows—survived,
mother and child in their daily trek to Loaves and Fishes,
line stretching ‘round a city block. Escalades flaunting
Jesus Fish, Little Nemo playing on flip-down plasmas,
unload youngsters in tartan skirts & poplin blouses. “Ma’am
could you spare a little change?” echoes from the shadows
to those who are deaf to their cries. The cries of infants with
bellies swollen from hunger, mothers too famished to produce
nature’s nourishment, fathers desperate, ashamed. Hunger
to anger. Anger to Fury. Fury to blood spilled on the streets.
Public outcries as pie charts in papers show crime on the rise.
It’s November. Politicians’ promises tallied. Soon bells ring,
coins collect in red buckets, ‘tis the season for giving. Until
Spring cleaning sweeps poverty under the rug as CPA’s tally
charity on Schedule A’s. Just another day in paradise.
More at http://www.redshoepoet.com.
The So-Called Aristocratic-Marxist Lady – A Poem by Naduni
You, the seemingly white dove
Who advocates egalitarianism
Who calls us ‘friends’
Are a capitalist to the core.
The deepest irony is embedded in the
Faux gold and pearls
On the fingers
That crave for women and ears
Deaf to the hushed murmurs of
The poor, the average, the rural and the ignorant
Spending a whole life on converting
Nonsmoking women
To smokers and heterosexual women
To homosexuals
Ruining married lives under the veil of
Empowerment
You laugh from you throne
Which to the infiltrator is a
Mere wooden chair
Gilt to deceive the gullible
The uneducated, the rural and
The innocent.
The luxury vehicles are appropriated
From others’ permits
Which you never deserved
The driver holds the door open for you
Who is obviously humiliated under my gaze
He doesn’t know I am from the same village
You drag your feeble feet
Too old to stand straight
After a lifetime of self-deceit
Deceit, falsity and a continuous struggle to
Become an elitist
The sign value and the exchange value of your
Ornaments
Beckon me to uncover a secret.
I know their secret
They merely laugh at your foolishness
‘Conspicuous consumption’
In other words.
Where will you end
Even you are unaware
This poem comes to an abrupt end
Symbolic of your own end