Free Verse

 

 

Joseph Farley, US   Surf and Turf   Fish swimming up a stream Damn them! Damn them For being free. Force them. Force them Out to sea. No rivers, no land Let them see. Give me land Give me oceans Filled with sand. Give me property And make it law. Give me property Under God. Give me property Or die you all!     Rats Run The Maze   The rats I know live in the walls And scurry through the corridors Of City Hall. The rats I don’t know are a different sort That steal from the scum That rob the people Just for sport And wreck the laws With filthy claws And scream “I can because I’ve got the balls” To be a crook To be a thief And broker power Without pity Without prescience Without a clue About right or wrong Or future needs All the matters Is current greed.     An Old Story   Love I once had or so I thought, But that old book of romance Has long turned to rot. The pages have mildewed, Insects have chewed holes. The binding falls apart Should you try to peruse. What was a book once fancied good Now is just another disaster Gossiped of in the neighborhood.     letting go   it may be a tether holding you safely to the sure, keeping you from deep waters where weak swimmers should not go, but in the far reaches where the strong swim alone is found the song of mermaids and the Isles of the Blessed. if we drown we drown if we sink we sink the water calls to us and we must dive in and swim.     Throw Away Lines   There is no future No one to mumble and moan This poem Read it now And then throw it away Add to the trash heap We will leave behind Along with your bones Now there’s something We have created, A group project, That will outlast us all.     Wildflowers   They die as they must, one by one, Flowers of love that smelled so sweet, Petals so bright, yellow and white, Plucked for a picture, Set in a blue vase Die they must, too soon, too sweet, Stolen from meadows To rot at our feet.     A Not So Brave And Not So New World   the song of genes is erratic and impure producing demi-gods who walk among us and those born wounded who can barely crawl to the place of sacrifice. all may rage against a non-existent Fate, and yet these genes go off one by one, tiny time capsules, telling us to grow, to love, to fight, to sicken and die. the alphas laugh at the table, the betas seek to climb, and rest grind their teeth toughening the gristle that they are, sizzling ever sizzling in one frying pan or another.     Shake The Dust From Your Feet   walk away. don’t look back. do not let your sorrow overcome your anger. be strong, you will need to be. keep walking. set one foot down after the other feeling the ground beneath you until you put out your foot and feel nothing.     Something’s Missing   The hand in your pocket may squeeze your balls but it would rather grab your wallet and a small piece of your heart, not that it is needed, just for sentimental purposes. All thieves could be lovers. All lovers are thieves.     Elemental concepts   fire and water, earth and air, a romance of elements not really there gluon and positrons, multiple quarks, energy in matter, matter everywhere all of existence wrapped in a ribbon, a dark glowing edge of a universe haloed in radio and microwaves, we are all dark matter if you look deep enough     Grin and Bear It   keep that smile on your face regardless of the circumstance,. everyone you meet has problems. no one wants or needs to be reminded of yours. smile and the world smiles with you. make a smile your umbrella. let the rains fall and wash away all sorrow as you smile, smile. Smile. endorphins released in your brain trick you into being happy, a mirage you know, but one you and the world can accept until the door is closed and the coat is off and it all weighs down on you as you sink into a chair and sit for hours wearied in heart and mind, wondering how you will ever get that dumb smile off your face.     gospel   I saw the devil And searched for God, But found only demons Wrapped in cloud.     living space   men carry daggers in their eyes. women wield razors with their lashes. all are at odds and ready to draw blood at every spoken word or passing gaze. the furniture of our lives resembles corpses, mangled legs and severed arms. there is no place to sit and contemplate the moon through the window. we must go outside and hazard the world. let the mosquitoes dine on our carcasses as we watch the stars from night painted grasslands, hungry for the distance between them.     Literal symbols   Inaccurate, untrue A red artic goo Suggesting the end Of something you like to do an inverted triangle bordered in red suggest a gentle maybe     the world is going to pot   exhausted from existence we sit in our easy chairs watching decay emanate from the television set. we wish we had a repairman. someone honest and able to fix all these problems before house, nation and planet crash down upon us. we wish, we hope, we may even pray, but no one steps forward who is up to the task though conmen and charlatans cold call us, leave handbills and send us spam. if we are not careful we’ll have to get off our butts. oh well? has it come to that? it will or it won’t, but it will definitely come to something.     Among The Furniture of Existence   May the furniture of your life complete you. May you spend your days deciding The location of a divan or sideboard. May your rugs be ever clean, And may no thought more substantive Than polished wood and slick upholstery Fill your waking mind. Let no termites of regret, No discount advertisers, No urchins with dirty shoes Interrupt the peace you have achieved, And may, at the end of your appointed span Your body slump upon the sofa In gentle, innocuous, repose.     Life, death and marriage   Hang on! You can survive! You only need to do it Until you die. Victory is safe And assured When you keel over Stiff as a board. They’ll take you to The house of god Where bodies are stacked Like sacks of sod. If you praise the lord You will grow Ten budding fingers And ten flowering toes.     New Year’s Eve On Broad Street   It’s cold on the corner As the limousines roll by Filled with laughing couples Headed to the black tie ball At the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, But the lone partier Has a bottle of apple wine And a steam vent that could kill Or keep him alive And shall equally toast The changing of the year Before crapping his pants And passing out until morning.     Catholic School   My son was surprised to learn That monasteries once had dungeons And that torturer's art was practiced By men and women of God. When we finished our discussion It was time for him to get back To doing his homework. The screams of anguish began, And then my son began to understand.     yet another funeral                                     they keep going, the people I know,                                   one after the other. slits in the ground should be dug in advance                                   rectangles of equal size                                   and depth, rows and rows, covered by thin cloth                                   a punch card meadow                                   of punctures and pain. soon all the land will be filled with engraved stones, no place to stand or plant corn                                   perhaps we should chain together                                   these boxes and tubes                                   in which we stuff                                   our loved ones,                                   cover them with concrete                                   and sink them in the sea,                                   build a new island                                   with beaches and palm trees we can walk while we last along the sand and swim in the lagoon, remembering those who have gone and on whose bones we tread.                                   the island will grow each day.                                   hotels built from unused headstones                                   will checker the landscape,                                   four star and economy,                                   a place for each of us to stay. and there could be an all faiths chapel where we can pray                                   open at one end to the sky,                                   within sound and sight                                   of blue waves breaking                                   over the coral reefs                                   growing from the dead.     Bait and Switch   I saw into your soul and found it was filled with worms. I filled an old can and went fishing. bits of you wriggled on the hook when the catfish came to nibble at the line but what else could I do? I no longer had any other use for you.     them   the kennedys are not kings. the bosses are not gods. the bankers do not rule, but the men with the guns, well, you still have to look out for them.     no false alarm   a sudden shock of cold water splashed in your face and you wake, no longer in the pleasant dream that was your life for many years. open your eyes and look about at all the rocks and skeletons. you recognize a barren land that once was thought a paradise. the many eyes that you saw circling around your life’s center were not filled with affection. you now see their cruel feathers as hook beaks hack at your remains.