The Hypocrisy of This Democracy

You can bomb the world to pieces,
but you can't bomb it into peace.

As history repeats
corruption secretes
through this hypocrisy
of a bureaucracy.

All talk, no action
no satisfaction.
Democrats, Republicans
doesn't matter who wins.

You can bomb the world to pieces,
but you can't bomb it into peace.

Broken promises
fixation on the processes.
Forget freedom of the press,
we need the freedom to express.

War, torture, interrogation
Discrimination
Manipulation
of the masses.

You can bomb the world to pieces,
but you can't bomb it into peace.

I'm lost in this lack
of participation.
Fuck the media,
Fuck Congress and the House!
I want real representation!

I want truth,
I want justice,
for the men and women
who died for their causes.

You can bomb the world to pieces,
but you can't bomb it into peace.


* Italicized lyrics from "Bomb the World" by Michael Franti and Spearhead.

Confinement: Part I

These white walls reflect
the shimmering light
that would otherwise
be warm and inviting.
Instead the concrete blocks
are apprehensive, cold
and disconcerting.
They mimic the sentinels
that roam the halls
in white coats
distributing medication
while the doctors
pretend to care
as they busily scribble
their notes
on the hospital paper
half listening,
and half thinking
about which category
of disorders you belong in.

Weeping Willow

With its gentle, weeping branches
the sighing willow rests
among the tranquil, jade meadow
in a field of blissful pleasure.

The branches hang limp, but graceful,
sweeping, while barely touching the ground.
Its beauty is steeped in an unforgiving sadness,
as the branches long for the warmth
that summer brings.

The moist ground comforts
the heavily burdened trunk,
while the intricately woven roots
tangle through the ground,
in search of a drink.

Pestilence (working draft)

Moonlight reflects like silver shards of shredded scrap metal.
The unforgiving waters lap defiantly in the distance.
I can feel my lover's presence with me,
it is sinister and tempestuous.

The unforgiving waters lap defiantly in the distance
while the eerie wails of gulls echo;
it is sinister and tempestuous.
The sound is like the plague beneath my fingertips.

The eerie wails of gulls echo,
I cringe, my body shudders.
The sound is like the plague beneath my fingertips,
it is persistent and unnerved.

I cringe, my body shudders.
I watch the scenery, but in my mind there is no connection.
It is persistent and unnerved,
the emptiness that fills the air, as the grey skies mourn.

*Just a note, I'm not completely finished with this poem. I need to add another stanza or two.

Afternoon in Lima

The midday summer sun
sends traces of sweat
along his burnt sienna skin.
His curly, black hair
glistens slightly
as we walk across the lawn.

We sit on the ground
in the park across from the Pentagonito,
despite the fact there are benches,
and watch the "just married" couples
get out of their rented limos.
They come here to get their pictures taken
by the fountains and in the gazebo.

I look up at his smiling face as he talks.
He speaks slowly, looking up into the sky,
as he tries to translate his thoughts
from Spanish to English
so that I can understand.

He looks down, takes my hand in his,
and with the other
gently caresses my cheek.
I wait patiently as he tries
to explain the way he feels.

But in this moment I realize:
words are not always necessary
and language is not always a barrier.
So I rest my head on his shoulder
and enjoy the site of the newlyweds
who are seemingly unaffected by the calescent heat.

*Pentogonito is what the locals call the military base in the district of San Borja in Lima, Peru. It means "Little Pentagon."

Welcome! ¡Bienvenidos!

Hey everyone! Just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to veiw my blog. I must say, I am not a daily blogger, maybe not even a weekly one, but I promise to update this as often as possible.
If you haven't already done so, check out my profile to find out more about me.
All the best! ¡Todo lo mejor!
Susanne