by E.A. Bowen
Crumbling dirt from shaken earths
Shatters dirty prisoners minds
Sleek black horses roar,
Roar to escape this fear.
Cries of victory bellow
A now ruined city, crushed so
We- free of this violence
Free of cruelties grief
Aged men scamper into
Saltwater filled holes,
Alcohol burning the edge
We cannot see the other side
Men swim among freckled dead
Prison rags soak skin red
Scorched corona, cannot see
The echoes that freedom lost.
In Vain
Onslaught seaweed covered planks
With slime bucket in blistered hands,
He sweeps until his master wakes
To lash his sorrowful brand.
Rawhide smacks his rosy ass
Again to slash his skin
Blood trickles to numbed grass,
He blocks out a cruel world's sin.
Triumphs are flattened wins
Now disbelieving a true life,
Why like-blooded are villains
Of their own laws and human strife!
Not today he doubts his reign
In the schemes of life created,
He just swallows pain in vain
Because death could not have waited.
Chu'a
Life smoked its tobacco pipe
Drank beside wooden track's dung
Adieu to the alien strangers when
it coughed their plague and bit its tongue.
Chained to My Matadi:
My Curse
My feet don't hurt any more
'Cause slices are sewn
By evil's magicsword,
His face pale, I don't ask
Why is he cloaked in leaves
With silver bullets poured?
I lay in bed and listen
From London says he is
Which part I do not know
Free us from our human chains?
I cannot understand his pains.
I am chained to my Matadi,
My life that I breathe, lies
Where family grows and dies,
I cannot leave father's bones
To green snakes who'll break
My Mother Earth ties.
Blood taker reveals his sword,
A pair of rifles set to fire,
And with shaking hands
I aim to take him...
Solitary American Eagle
Secrets crept baleful moors,
Discreet yet circling near,
Channels drifted along
Sodden banks of blood
American Eagles shined
From trickling reflections,
Flocking to one destination,
Thriving in others' shadows
Seeking a beginning unfound,
Singing sorrowful melodies,
Solitary birds seek pure life
And flee deep underground
If successful in their journey
Only one tribe will live on to tell,
There were no American Eagles here
Just human flesh we saw before us.
Now driven from southern land,
Difficulty laid steeply ahead,
Challenges started unbuckling,
Leashes broke from swollen necks
All worn, all chaotic, all beautiful,
All tired, all graceful, all free,
Past had died and future birthed,
Th Civil War was over.
Court of Corruption
Sleeve encrusted red; locket
Silver, of late dead, dangling
By his late reach, twisting
From bloodless pauper palms,
Lips gagged, blinded eyes, shut
To midnight's slaying cries,
Heartless dagger arching over
His wretched murdered corpse,
Black queen veiled in sin
Vying her vile grin, staggering
Thirteen coiled steps
Into cold earth's hollow pit,
Dirt lumping, now a mound,
Jeweled in rubies round,
Spade smoothing 'bout the crown
Of her vengeful royal flush.
Ironclad Rustics
Trapped like ashes in an urn
A ruined kingdom lay; breathless
Ironclads forted golden ramparts
Circling the almighty Lord,
Jousting at heinous dragon flames
Balls of the inferno swung into air
Making crisp unseen boys and girls,
Shielded by hiding metal men
As royalty laid sodden behind drapes,
The Lord shivered warmly in sweat
Beading down his slivered throat,
Fatal wounds engraved broken walls
Piles of putrid corpses, hosts and foes;
Swords lowered, time forgotten,
The Lord trapped in his golden urn.
Il banchetto di Bacchus
Shades of plum and ruby wine
Drenched in milky sliced skin
Sprawl betwixt the silver ladles
Dipped into tender chagrin
Tempered temptress seduces
With sugar-laced pink veils
Enticing breath whispers softly
Into balmy drunken devils
Mortals unsheathe golden blades
Sinners wound in deepened red
Sweet nectar steals life away
Betwixt plum and ruby dead.
Under the Rye Sycamore Tree
The woman did not laugh anymore
Under the rye sycamore tree
Her teeth sharpened inside her gums
Muteness became her only friend.
Locks, twisted and tightened, fell gently
Along her narrowed cheeks
But did not nearly hide her face
Changed by misery's quaint company
She hunches over into a lotus position
Thick mud cementing her painful howls
What happened to the prancing leaves
That used to tickle beneath her delicate, human feet?
They became brittle and dark, blood orange,
Burgundy and ruby stains of hunger,
Gnarled roots jabbed
Beneath her curled frailty
A painless sensation numbed
By the humming wind, she changed.
As she sucked in puffs of chilled air,
Her lungs pressed hard against growing ribs.
Heckling coughs, gnawing sensations, followed
By undead silence,
Giving her new melodies,
To a undying wind.
And as the leaves started to fall
Greens and browns in imperfect curves
Spiraled downward onto the lumped soil
She awoke
Bedlam of the Moguls:
Kingdom of the Dead
His fingers cracked.
Bending toward his body,
Curling into a reddened edges
And plumping along the joints.
Glass dug into his tender skin,
Slicing paper-thin cuts
Into his already swollen flesh.
Yellow Submarine jingled
In crackled echoes from outside
Dancing from the two speakers
Wired against graffiti cement walls.
Thumping. pulsating blood flowing
Out his wound throbbed charmingly
Against the Beatles' melody.
As the rocking floor beneath him
Began to pull away,
He locked his right elbow
A rusted, silver locket clung
Dangling from his aching neck.
He touched it, regained his focus o
Of the swirling world around him
; Blocked by three inch plastic.
His six foot trench coat dragged
Into the puddle of wet blood
Swarming beside his feet, shifting
His weight to the left,
he found himself pressed against the scratched glass,
Stretching his left arm and unstitching his ligaments.
The pain from his fingers were gone.
Strumming from an untuned guitar
Drumming into the subway train.
Glass doors disappeared into the sides,
Releasing his coal-dusted eyes
He faded beneath the shadows of the moguls.
Men, suited with Armani and briefed with Klein,
Stomped his leather-coated soles
Amongst the business breeders.
His shackled eyes,
Rimmed in black monocles,
Stared deaf at red pixels swarming left to right
From the hovering technological sign.
27: Belvedere 28: Anneslie 29: Towson
His beady brows darted toward the metro cars
Chained in oil clogged metal.
As the tin of soulless providers dragged
Itself forward
Once again,
A hoard of preying vultures,
Feathered in buttoned couture,
Flocked toward the gates of bedlam.
Pompous entrepreneurs trampled frail
Vices as suitcases hammered against the blood-lined railing.
Crawling from the tin can
And into the hungry pack,
The man found his trench coat torn along the edges.
Fur lining the bottom.
Gently, he removed the tattered rag,
Letting the silk clothe tickle his new flesh as it fell
The pounding mogul feet strengthened his nerves
And underneath their weight
A twisted clock, letters green,
Glimmered between the blocks and naked ceiling.
Seven thirty eight.
He waited
Pounding feet of vile beings
Pounded, waiting
Hunger baited
Pounded.
Catacomb
An autumn funeral
Sang somberly its melody while
A pyre stained the sky
Blackening the air with coldness
A child, hidden amongst the mourners,
Splintered himself against the fire wood
As he stared, fascinated at the blaze
Blanketing the air with luscious ash,
He reached his penny frail arms
Toward a red spark flickering away
But it disappeared into the darkness
And tears flushed the child's face,
"There, there," cried a woman,
"It's good to let it out."
The child stopped and stared blankly
Then looked again for the spark.
Hundreds of red fireflies sparkled
And the child stretched for them all,
His arms flailed about,
Swaying toward the smoldering body
"Oh dear, she's can't wave back,"
cried the mourning woman,
"But if you call for her,
I'm sure she can hear you.”
The child stared blankly,
His eyes, two glossy pearls,
Gaping at the wooden coffin,
Innocent of what death meant,
That the creatures took her in the night,
As the mourners wept and moaned
He waved again at the fiery sparks,
And the woman cried to another,
"He's saying goodbye to his mother."
Practice of Euboea's Lords
It is a time again of shielded respect,
Intolerance of being tolerant
And blockading windows of the mind
With iron barriers of mistrust.
However many men it took to forge
The beginning of this blinding war
Is a fraction of those that now
Try to end it with kind words.
Despite political attacks upon preying campaigns
Murmuring the slogans of serenity,
Renegade citizens stab their words
A joust to the war's gut,
Spilling evermore hatred across the field.
While women lie on crusted streets
Shouting their verses of profanity
At the foreign marching arms
Men bow their heads back
And tilt their chins as if giving a sign.
Each good soldier, branded
With the symbol of saintly loyalty and justice,
Kick their legs before them and pound
Their pigskin boots in sequential thuds.
Leading the pack, all-mighty alpha wolf,
Silver peace tags outnumbering beta brothers,
And a cluster of scout badges lining his sleeves
Commanding his troops by a whistle of his voice.
Commander to those who follow
And foe to the brother banshees
Edging the high road in grief
But neither life, adequate,
To the man behind the silver bullet.
Arches etched beneath two coals,
A line of black stitches sewn
Down the center of the streets, shaven
By swollen eyes, marks of the new human race.
No badges won by wrinkled trees
Not by fancy whistling guns, branded
By government pigeon coups,
Not for a few lucky pennies
They waver in front of the pack
Turn the corner of women battered
And boys beamed from smiles shone
Sweaty palms hover over the phones
Engulfing piranha protestors, now block
Off the tail
Pressing bodies against one another
Barricades, air heavy, mold reeks out
Of the crowd's unkempt mouths, teeth rotten
From words unkind nor sound,
A signal flare bursts out flames
A half-moon line of glaring hearts
Stretching over the lands,
Into the seas, foreign grounds unleashed.
And the kings and queens embrace
The practice of Euboea's Lords,
Throwing down their spears once again
Like neighbors, mimicking some ancient war,
Wolves gathers 'round the hill
Awaiting the clouds lined red
Affection for their kin
Driving them to the end.
Penalty of the Human Life
Don't run off from me now.
I ain't gonna lie,
I'll hunt you down
Before you take one more step-
Oh no, don't you smirk back at me,
You're just tempting new waters.
He tightened his shackles
Wrists plumped, resurfacing dead scars
He sighed.
Where oh where am I supposed to run to?
You got my life now, you killed him,
You got everything, now, except my heart.
Why would you say that?
You got that pretty face for a poor trade
That now you gonna have to live with-
A dead shame, but you'll serve your time.
You ain't gonna need that heart now.
You ain't gonna need anything
But mercy.
I don't want this.. but you
can't control me- that's the irony of it.
That's why you're gonna run away scared now,
Get away from your mind-
Forget that you found me.
Forget you?
Step into the light!
We knew they were reunited at last.
You think you're
free, but you can't do nothing, nothing,
Without paying first, can you?
All for the demon's call.
I'm free, locked away inside this skin
And I am still your son.
One more blasphemous word
And I will-
I will find my heart. You hear me?
I don't listen to you no more
You need to step into my light
Bloody Land: Creatures
Beware casket-covered lands
Where man's hand has been today,
It reeks of hatred kept unclean,
Of putrid flesh decay.
It is a time of mourning birds
Watching demise with bloodshot eyes
Who flock Heaven's gates in torture
And bawl to their family's cries.
Ironclad nobles torment your home
Severing minds from others,
Chain your soul from life,
Slaughter your sister and brothers,
Time will come again when Death
Comes banging at your door in red,
He'll promise you golden caskets
And in return, you'll be undead,
Do not conquer immortal men
Destroying their shackles of sin,
These demons cannot die by Death
As you succumb within...
Now I implore you to listen
Disappear from this bloody land
Before they rot your soul and heart
And sell you to the Devil's hand.
Pretty Ballerina
Her gnarled feet twist slightly
Clutching the wooden floor
As her thick, chiseled toenails
Bleed from her swelling sore
Two perfectly pink slippers mask
A coiled beauty rarely seen
That only she, a dancing queen,
Could sweetly hide away
Her blind audience cheer, clap,
Whisper to her grace and form,
Worship her goddess splendor
And dare to ask for more
She smiles her pale grin,
Softly bows,
Awaits the curtains
Falling down,
As darkness shadows,
She lies still,
And weeps her shattered dancing crown.
Feel the Strange Heart Beating
Oh, the horror! The horror!
Ringing through the rusty cell
A mate dark with little lies
Stroking palm 'gainst the mortar
Sweet remembrance of blood & locks
Curls and blonde twisted red
The glitter of her little jewels, plastic pearls
Cascading memories onto the wooden floor
One by one rolling away