Poem from Minister of Poetry Wordslanger

Unwritten- (From the collection INK)
by WordSlanger on Sunday, April 17, 2011 at 8:58am

unless you can write food on a plate

words on paper have little to do

with empty bellies

bloated as if hunger were a being growing in the vacuum

drawing flies to eyes

puckering brows

painting

something that has no translation in eyes

needs to be seen to overstand

such profanity has little to do with shades of indigo slanted

or so one would think

words on paper

can not cut through flesh

sever arteries

causing you to bleed out

in a sandstorm of depleted uranium

that will kill your killers

unconceived children

an irony unwritten

into the law books and treaties deleted from

history manicured to fit the agenda of the storyteller

not all tragedies are staged for appreciation

some are footnotes in unsung operas

that don’t make the page

no manual for humanity

nothing written connects

your brother’s homelessness

to the depths of your callousness

no strict correlation between his lack and your greed

no concordance

that translates your hunger in soul to

his children’s emaciated bodies

in need of milk and human kindness

where is the bible

that starts with an English youth

who learns to

leverage and rationalize

his right to a future

against the existence of the

children of the Longhouse

where is the sequel that solves the riddles

plaguing Bobby Johnson’s sons

who after being sold down countless rivers

overstand their desperate need

to decipher

midnight polytrix

the fall of Mubarak

& all the faces of Gaddafi

along with lies about a post race era

offered by a café au lait Harvard boy

wearing a skull & bones tattoo

w/ handcuffs

I am creating a global coloring book

to teach manners to nappy headed heretics

warning them about the danger

of harboring assumptions

that have been spoon fed

& of the folly of

playing with knives

in close quarter & shared circumstance

that cross

borders

cultures

& realities

clashing like zombies in tanks

leaving little room for allegiance

multiplying chaos

in this thin fratricidal air

we sipping

like it’s the final call