Addicted to Words

I always knew
that you
would see me
cease to be
like snow
melted low
but I thought
if I fought
you would see
me for me.　 

Glinting light upon her glasses
fevered dreams upon the masses
prickled thorny lies to push
the frenzied crippled morning bush　 

The Green and Black Revolution
An Oral History Report by Clinton Chessman
Mr. O’Connell’s Senior Class
Public School 117
May 21^st, 2012

When the Irish first came to America, it seemed like they were destined to be the enemies of the freed northern blacks and what remained of the Native American population. While they weren’t considered white, the first Irish settlers wished to share in the wealth of the white European settlers, but found themselves at the bottom of the social stratification, working jobs that no white would work and so had left for the black population. Meanwhile, the Indian Removal Act of 1830 forced Native Americans who had lived in southern and southeastern states all their lives into what the white settlers termed Indian Territory.

That was the racial climate of the early 1840’s: the white power structure ensured that the white settlers got the best jobs, as much social help as could be afforded to them, and all the land they were willing to settle for themselves; the Native Americans had their land stripped from them, were forced to relocate to a place where they could no longer bother the strange aliens who had invaded them; the blacks were either slaves or second-class citizens, working menial labor jobs that were purposefully set aside for them, given as much freedom so that they did not impose on the white citizens, and made victims of violence whenever they stepped out of line; and the Irish, who, wishing to become white themselves, acted as oppressors to the blacks while simultaneously working to create a monopoly over the job market which had been specifically carved out for the dark skinned competitors. Despite the racial oppression that the Irish immigrants had faced under the rule of the English (or perhaps because of it), the Irish worked as hard as possible to become oppressors themselves, stomping the blacks under their boots as they pulled themselves up the social stairwell.

Then, in 1843, Irish political leader Daniel O’Connell (also known as the Liberator, or the Emancipator) sent a desperate plea to the Irish Americans who he saw succumbing to the corruption of the white English power system: “Over the broad Atlantic, I pour forth my voice, saying, come out of such a land, you Irishmen; or, if you remain, and dare countenance the system of slavery that is supported there, we will recognize you no longer.” His plea might have gone unheeded, and if it had, I can only imagine the horrors that would have manifested in the modern world: racial inequality, discrimination and class warfare, the same white power structure and patriarchy the plague Britain and other European countries. But none of that came to pass, because in 1850, an unlikely alliance was born in a churchyard in Boston. Black abolitionist Benjamin Williams, Irish workers led by Patrick Kennedy, and Native American leaders from the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Muscogee nations met to sign a document of allegiance to the oppressed peoples of America and war against the oppressors. This document would come to be known by the whites and Europeans as the confederation of colors, and to the oppressed peoples as the Declaration of Civil Disobedience, named after Henry David Thoreau’s 1849 transcendentalist essay.  

Sweat pricked its way out
until my face was a flood
and the fan blades saw
the drenching of death. 

We looked on
the burning books,
changed our clothes
changed our looks,

turned our backs
on education
reared our kids on
manipulation,

fought a war
against ourselves
fallen heroes
broken shelves,

were asleep
until we woke,
and were quiet
until we broke,

turned dangerous
like a militia
of animals
trapped in
a burning forest
while the pillars
of the earth
fell in flaming
strands of
angel hair
around us.

Now we are what
we once weren’t,
our hearts burdened
our values burnt. 

Sorry I haven’t been here regularly…

I just moved into a new house, and I’m still trying to get everything set up. Important things like the air conditioner and doors that close.

Also, my car is leaking oil. And I’m looking for a summer job. And I’m trying to avoid my old roommate and my ex-wife.

The air conditioning should be getting fixed tomorrow, so I should start up again tomorrow night. 

She was a lion
I was a child,
I was curious
And she was wild;

When the world ended
soft as a whimper
the rushing waves tamed
our innate temper. 

Wake

The mailbox was twisted like
a car wrapped around a tree
or those words you screamed

“The gravity was gone and
the ice was black and muddy!” 

The passive voice, so still,
an aftermath to earthquakes,
while the world mourned still. 

To be that tattoo you wear
on your wrist
                   (like jewelry)
of a gear
             (like those in a clock)
with a bird
               (wings outstretched
as though at the apex of flight)
encircled within it’s steel spokes
would be
             (to me)
                        a perfect poem　
(not a single unnecessary word).

How Evil Things Happen

“Your brother cheated on Jessica and then lied to her about it, and he keeps changing his story, and when she tried talking to him about it they got in a fight and he grabbed her arm and twisted it which hurt her. And instead of apologizing for it, he keeps playing it off like it was her fault. So I’m afraid if I stay in that house much longer I’m going to shoot your brother in the face.”

“He didn’t cheat, he broke it off with her before he asked the girl out, according to dad. Also, Jessica called the resort posing as Chance’s wife and tried to get the girl fired. Though I don’t think he should hurt Jessica in anyway… I do think he’s not entirely wrong in this argument.”

“Your dad lied to you then. Chance was with Gloria for days before he broke up with Jessica. He didn’t break things off until the day he was on his way back.”

“Well, dad seems to think that he broke it off beforehand.”

“Your dad seems to think a lot of things to protect his only son. But regardless, Jessica doesn’t need to be in that house, and Chance never needs to put his hands on another woman.”

“You know that dad wants what’s best for Chance, but he would never lie to cover his ass. That’s what his understanding was… I wasn’t there, I don’t know. And Jessica does need to be out of the house. She’s crazy. No matter how much I don’t trust a guy, you won’t find a sane girl calling another country to get some girl her boyfriend met on vacation fired. Cause it’s not her fault that the relationship is falling apart or that my brother cheated, it’s not like she knew he had a girlfriend in the states.”

“But it is your brother’s fault he cheated, and it seems like you don’t really care. And it is your brother’s fault he put his hands on Jess, and I guess you don’t care about that either.”

“I’m not saying he’s in the right. I don’t agree with him hurting anyone. I’m just pointing out that she’s not just some innocent victim. I’d also like to point out that this is my brother and dad, and even if they aren’t perfect, they’re family.”

“Right, so you won’t listen to reason no matter what your brother or father did.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who’s not listening to reason.”

We stayed up all night
just to watch the sun rise
and the moon descend
to crown the mountain
like a halo of silver;

they slept all night
to watch the cars race
through lifeless streets
filled with zombies
craving moonlight.　 

Deception comes at a high cost
the likes of which I wouldn’t pay
to maintain such assurance lost
I’d rather dedicate to play,
so leave me to my bridges crossed
and I shall either stay or stray,
but once your confidence is tossed
(my untruthful stories smartly glossed)
I hope you won’t proceed my way
(a liar once, till judgement day).　

Artistically Suppressed

artisticallysuppressed:

If I could just write a perfect poem
in ten syllables and five perfect feet
with an unparalleled summum bonum
would you recognize that impressive feat?

Could you discern the meaning from the whole,
the tiniest points that a noun implies;
would you tattoo those verses on your soul
and close read them from the back of your eyes?

I’m not content to write a masterpiece
if the soul of the poem is left mute;
after all, what point is a golden fleece
when all Pan dreams of is playing his flute?

A perfect poem all laid out and neat
Unrecognized as such begets defeat.

by animalitia.tumblr.com

I became the
chalk outline
she left
behind her;

she became
the salt
they buried
me in.