American News

“Look at the nations and watch – and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.”   Habakkuk 1:5

Will not all of them taunt him with ridicule and scorn saying, “Woe to him who piles up stolen goods and makes himself wealthy by extortion! How long must this go on?” Will not your debtors suddenly arise? Will they not wake up and make you tremble? Then you will become their victim. Because you have plundered many nations, the people who are left will plunder you. For you have shed man’s blood, you have destroyed lands and cities and everyone in them. “Woe to him who builds his realm by unjust gain to set his nest on high, to escape the clutches of ruin! You have plotted the ruin of many peoples, shaming your own house and forfeiting your life. The stones of the wall will cry out, and the beams of the woodwork will echo it. Woe to him who builds a city with bloodshed and establishes a town by crime!”   Habakkuk 2:6-12

American News – proof that in today's age of sophisticated mass communications, if you say something often enough and loud enough, eventually it becomes truth to many, whether there is any factual basis for it or not.   W.F. Rhoads

America,

land of mindless sheep,

led by corrupt shepherds

and hidden agendas,

blindly running to and fro,

searching for the latest ‘miracle’ cure,

spending time and money,

listening to anyone offering answers,

speaking lies disguised as truth,

slaves to their greatest fears;

a land beyond promise or hope;

seeking shelter from the gathering storm,

not willing to accept the consequences,

unable to confess the guilt,

killing in the name of justice,

denying the greed and self-preservation,

turning a blind eye to the haves

against the have-nots,

deciding who is right and who is wrong,

who lives and who dies,

a land of hypocrisy and dry bones,

dying before they are dead;

trapped within chains

of their own making.

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Desperation

now the end begins,

lost in this swirling

world of never,

eyes dressed incognito,

egos disguised by humility,

enemies in the shape of friends,

make for the worst

of them all,

you never see them coming,

until they have passed you by;

and by then,

it’s always too late;

the movement continues,

like liquid wildfire,

consuming all there is,

right or wrong hanging within

a delicate balance,

fools following forsaken

roads of folly,

on their way to this or that,

innocence never the issue,

something for nothing,

one for all,

everything for anybody,

some things for nobody;

this garden no longer grows,

fruit lies dying on the vine,

hope has no future here,

fertility fails,

fixations no longer provide a thrill,

sinking deep into the

oblivion below,

sink or swim,

desperation makes a strong argument

for justification,

survival separates the living

from the dead;

words once spoken,

can never be returned.

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Wept (Omega)

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”  Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,

I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,

I weep for the loss,

I weep for the waste,

I weep for the hopelessness;

I weep for the children,

I weep for the tragedy,

I weep for the sorrow,

I weep for the suffering;

I weep for the inevitability;

what now

America?

Sand Creek remembers

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Babylon Fallen

standing on the edge;

if you listen hard,

you can hear

the last dying gasps

of dreams gone bad,

betrayed by their lusts,

abandoned by their principles,

strangled by their self-righteousness,

drowning in their hypocrisy;

destroyed by their greed;

the children shake with fear,

burned out shells,

well-preserved corpses,

waiting to collapse

into the beckoning grave,

of their man-made utopia,

trapped within the walls

of their self-made

wisdom;

Babylon fallen

forever.

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.

A Midday Dream

on a bright blue morning,

I saw the end,

as the city went up

in flames,

you turned to me

with panic in your eyes,

screaming “WHY?! WHY?!

I said we must not

cry,

so when it is all over

we can face the truth

and say

we remained

human beings.

…..be still,

my tired,

beating,

savage,

heart,

your day of rest

will come

all to soon.

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Babylon

After this I saw another angel coming down from heaven. He had great authority, and the earth was illuminated by his splendor. With a mighty voice he shouted: “Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great! She has become a home for demons and a haunt for every unclean and detestable bird. For all the nations have drunk the maddening wine of her adulteries. The kings of earth committed adultery with her, and the merchants of earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries.” Then I heard another voice from heaven say: Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues, for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes. Give back to her as she has given; pay her back double for what she has done. Mix her a double portion from her own cup. Give her as much torture and grief as the glory and luxury she gave herself. In her heart she boasts, ‘I sit as a queen; I am not a widow, and I will never mourn.’ Therefore in one day her plagues will overtake her: death, mourning and famine. She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord God who judges her. “When the kings of the earth who committed adultery with her and shared her luxury see the smoke of her burning, they will weep and mourn over her. Terrified at her torment, they will stand far off and cry: ‘Woe! Woe, O great city, O Babylon, city of power! In one hour your doom has come!’   Revelations 18:1-10

O Babylon;

land of opulence and luxury,

kingdom of self-indulgence and lust,

home of instant gratification and decadence,

you use until there is nothing left to use,

you take until there is nothing left to take,

you lie dying in the filth of your own greed,

where is your pleasure now?

O Babylon;

trampling on the backs of those who have less,

stealing from those without the resources to fight back,

killing under the guise of righteousness and the greater good,

how long can the hypocrisy  remain hidden?

how long can you pretend

the misery and suffering doesn’t exist?

how long O Babylon?

O Babylon;

surrounded by wealth and excess,

your children grow restless and bored,

turning to technology and machines,

ashamed of a legacy stained with innocent blood,

unable to reconcile the truth

in the name of liberty and justice for all.

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Frenzy

the storm clouds gather,

rising on the distant horizon;

this new place,

this other reality,

this far off land where

nightfall never ends;

what is left?

what more can be said?

does no one listen?

does no one hear?

does the madness never end?

today I would have given

you everything,

yet nothing is all you took,

tomorrow’s troubles

brings fresh sorrows

all their own,

as freshly killed bodies

float like chum on the surface,

being devoured by ravenous lizards,

frantically joining in the

morning frenzy;

I wish it were not so;

this life is no life,

it changes and rearranges,

ebbing and flowing,

never coming to completion,

creations of a creator,

children of light,

trapped within the darkness,

temporary, transient

and conciliatory,

blinded to the truth hidden

before our eyes;

the great illusion

we choose to believe;

deceiving and being deceived,

wounding and being wounded,

hurting and being hurt,

feeding off the leftovers,

running for the scraps;

hiding within the cracks.

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The Great American Dream

the great American dream;

open roads,

rest stops,

all night diners,

cb radios,

tractor trailers,

unlimited gasoline,

Harley Davidson motorcycles;

freedom;

when the reality is 15 year old RVs,

cruising the open road two weeks

out of every year,

maxed out credit cards,

dressing up like outlaw bikers

in Daytona and Myrtle Beach,

playing the slots in Las Vegas;

pretending the hypocrisy

and compromise

doesn’t exist;

the great American dream is a myth,

an urban legend,

a fantasy existing within the minds

of Madison Avenue ad executives,

a pipe dream bought and paid for by Nike,

the great American dream is a nightmare,

designed to trap its victims

into a new kind of slavery,

the modern poor,

the new third world,

the great American dream belongs

to hedge fund managers,

and the Bank of America,

the great American dream died before

it ever had a chance to live,

dying in 1980 when big money

bought a president they could control,

an actor who knew how to

play the part;

the great American dream

is a lie.

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The New Massahs

America has always been about color;

not black,

not white,

not brown,

not yellow;

America has always been about color;

slavery was never about race or

white supremacy,

slavery has always been about economics,

pure and simple,

using black men just made it feasible,

gave it a sort of justified nobility,

did skin color matter to the Romans,

when they enslaved conquered nations?

did it matter to African chiefs and sultans, who

enslaved their own people,

then sold them to white slave traders?

do you really think plantation owners cared

about the skin color of their cheap,

disposable, work force?

don’t you think they would have used

poor, uneducated whites, and saved

all those costs of traveling half-way

around the world, if they could have

gotten away with it?

but the truth is they couldn't

so they justified it with black men,

brought from the dark continent of Africa;

after all, they weren't real men

were they?

slavery has never been about race

or the color of skin,

it has always been about something

much deeper,

it has always been about those who have,

taking from those who have not,

fear of homelessness and starvation

has replaced bullwhips and chains,

fear of losing what little one has

provides the new slaves of choice,

who patiently wait for crumbs

from the Massah’s table;

the new Massahs come in all colors,

but they all have one color

in common;

green is the color of true power

and domination,

green is the color of the new Massah;

America has always been about color.

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Where Now America?

where now

America?

your playgrounds and sandlots

lie empty,

as your youth

grow tired and disillusioned,

hanging out at the mall,

gathering in clumps and clusters,

wearing hundred dollar rags,

wrapped up in coolness,

struggling to be ghetto,

jaded with knowledge,

dripping with sarcasm;

nobody’s fool;

ice flowing through their veins,

filth dripping from their lips,

incapable of genuine laughter,

void of dreams,

growing old

before their time;

south jersey farm boys,

full of TV bravado and

James Dean machismo,

daddy’s good little girls,

playing MTV hoes,

busy being

trash talking, lil bitch wannabes,

joking about

giving blowjobs for a dollar;

generation X,

childhood gone,

innocence lost,

forever;

where now

America?

where now?

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Out On The Edge

out on the edge,

people and places are seldom

what they seem,

lines become blurred,

light but a reflection,

faces come out of the night,

moving beyond darkness and death,

winter winds blow cold,

leaving trails of broken bones,

rising into the emptiness beyond;

out here,

all hope has died;

sitting here,

watching the rain fall,

nowhere left to go,

no more room to run,

the voices slowly fade,

the faces silently disappear,

everything passes with time,

nothing lasts forever;

is truth enough,

or does darkness win?

without love,

are you only

fooling yourself?

nothing is hidden,

that will not be revealed,

no debt goes unpaid,

a reckoning for every word

whispered in the night;

an accounting,

for promises made

but never kept.

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Perfect World

in a perfect world,

frightened, young, US Marines,

do not throw grenades,

into unknown Iraqi homes,

killing 2 year old Iraqi babies,

along with their terrified Iraqi mothers,

as they try to shield them

in their arms;

in a perfect world,

true justice does no harm

to the helpless and innocent,

in a perfect world;

heroes are perfect;

when does enough become enough?

when does truth overcome lies?

when do facts matter more than fiction?

when does spin and myths,

give way to reality,

and dead Iraqi babies?

and yes,

there are always two sides to

every story,

there is always more than

meets the eye,

there are always underlying

and mitigating factors,

which cannot be adequately

understood,

unless you were

actually there;

but still;

there are dead Iraqi babies,

along with dead Iraqi mothers,

and young, frightened US Marines,

left holding on to memories

and consciences,

reciting official company lines,

and other man-made truths,

while wondering inside,

how everything became so

twisted and wrong;

in this almost

perfect world.

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This Dream

the moments come and go,

just a different twist,

a fairer fate,

another turn,

a better choice,

life and death,

darkness or light,

nothing and everything,

something else;

we come so close;

83 dead,

the silence shattered,

as the gunman reloads,

Louisville in mourning,

there are things never

forgotten;

who is to say?

who is to know?

does it never end?

the sun rises,

a new day’s heat begins,

suffocating and choking,

flesh melting like

yesterday’s butter,

chard and putrid,

fresh rubber sizzling

like bacon in grease

on the soft asphalt surface,

one more on the road,

out of the frying pan,

and into the fire;

another one tastes the dust;

take it away,

let it be no more,

bring about an end,

take it from my eyes,

take it from my mind,

this whisper,

this hush;

this dream.

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Days Like This/Behind the Crimson Door

desperation breeds invention,

creativity the key to survival,

it’s hard to give, when there’s nothing

left to offer,

even harder to take,

when you’ve taken all there is

to take;

we’re all just holding on;

today was a picture perfect day,

not a cloud in the sky,

not too hot,

not too cold,

cool, gentle breeze blowing

sweet and pure;

days like this are the worse;

the sadness comes seeping to the surface,

the yearning for escape softly whispers,

the need to anesthetize cries out;

days like this, always make me want

to get buzzed,

days like this, always make me

want to forget;

so many traps,

so many snares,

so many one-way roads,

with destinations leading nowhere;

never going down that

path no more;

darkness lives,

just outside this crimson door,

waiting like a stranger in the shadows,

slithering as a snake,

back into its hidden hole,

purpose has no meaning here,

clarity just a slip of the tongue,

silence fills the endless void,

words die like falling leaves on a tree;

days like this

never end;

the obsession grows,

steady and slow,

without beginning or end,

distant clouds on the horizon,

wandering in this wilderness,

the enemy waits for the moment;

the storm is never far away;

outside, there is talk of change,

as some hold on to the hope,

still others grow cold,

either way the sun rises and sets,

with or without our consent;

when the Son of Man returns

will there be any faith

to find?

this moment no longer moves,

out here, among the frozen

wasteland,

dark and endless,

forgotten and alone,

cold to the bitter bone,

old voices fill the air,

cries of the raging beast,

secret sanctuaries,

hiding within the chaos,

butterflies flowing on the wind,

lost somewhere within nighttime shadows,

waiting for something more,

madness my old friend,

I can no longer deny your

sweet touch;

it always begins like this,

it always ends as something else,

like the lead character

in a Fellini film,

wandering through fields

of golden nonsense,

swept away by the growing hush,

traveling a hundred miles

to move an inch;

the crimson door

knows no pity.

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Down on the Rabbit Farm

the American dream is dying;

like some ancient, half-baked myth,

taking one last breath,

it lies there waiting for the end,

still we continue on,

traveling down broken, empty highways,

on the way to bigger pastures,

afraid of the consequences,

but never looking back,

not even once;

on the road to Wyoming

with the fiery rabbit princess,

we ran into a band of

hairy, drunk, Greek sailors;

how could she resist?

leaving me there

high and dry,

somewhere in Iowa,

with visions of wide-open spaces,

and endless rabbit farms,

dancing in my head,

still it lives on;

the fever burns bright,

on this stagnate moonless night,

providing the worlds only light,

in a land of limited, breathless sight;

“who is it for?”

she screams aloud;

standing naked and cold,

shivering uncontrollably in the

morning mist,

surrounded by mighty armies

dressed in black,

but not a sound echoes back.

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Missing

it has been less than a day

and I miss my child already;

I miss the security,

I miss the control;

now there is no margin,

no haven, sitting safely

inside the passing storm,

as if it had a soul

all it’s own,

and it was mine,

a kind of religion,

an almost god,

lost forever to the ravages

of time and reality;

plastic pretenders

inflate the ego,

warm the soul,

bring comfort

in a make-believe world,

fight off the inevitable,

arriving right on schedule,

just as you knew

it always would,

but yet secretly hoped

wouldn't;

hunger feeds the soul,

as the thought

pops into your head,

like a fresh new

piece of toast

(with butter);

I miss my plastic,

I miss my child,

I miss my soul,

I miss my life.

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Simple Dreams

obtainable goals rendered useless,

hopelessly beyond the grasp

of reality,

indecision and

regrettable misgivings,

made in the heat

of a long night passing,

for which the daylight

never came;

simple dreams

are not what they seem,

simple lives,

were never an option,

in a complicated world

where so much is lost,

in-between the battlefields

of a fragmented wasteland,

whose only hope

lies in the fragile freedom

of tomorrow,

and you wonder,

how did it all come

down to this?

this time,

this place,

this moment;

this fear,

as you turn to run,

only to find the wall

erected behind your back,

keeping you exactly where

you are,

and where you always

shall be;

I have never been good

at this hero thing,

but this time

I think I can,

this time

there is no choice,

no turning back,

this time

will be the last,

no matter what the cost;

borrowed time

does not come freely,

it has a price

for which there is no

denial;

complete with long term

payment plans.

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Haves and Have Nots/A Vision

“And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”   Luke 18:7-8

it’s easy to turn your back,

when you’re one of the haves;

have a job,

have a home,

have money,

have food;

have affordable health care;

believing the lies,

giving into the fears,

buying into the stereotypes;

they’re all lazy,

they’re all immoral,

they’re all looking

for a free lunch;

they all get what they

deserve;

so afraid

they might take

something that belongs

to you,

some of your hard earned

treasure,

all the things

you sweated and slaved for,

all the idols you fall down before

and worship,

all the things you sold

your soul for;

the have-nots of the world

are beginning to rise,

they’re not going away quietly

anymore,

they’re tired of the abuse,

they’re no longer content

with the crumbs,

there are things

bigger than themselves;

things worth dying for./

The children of men hold their breath,

a final sigh before the meltdown,

a silent pause within the maelstrom;

hearts fail from fear,

meeting in secret places,

waiting for what is to come;

like a thief in the night,

it sweeps them away;

trees smolder and smoke,

bursting into flames, as

tires begin to steam,

their rubber melting

to the highway surface;

no where to run,

no where to hide;

like abandoned wells,

their water runs dry,

they sit withering in the sun,

wandering through the wilderness,

lost and alone;

the day is here,

the time is now;

Your mercy endures

to the end,

but who shall hear the message?

who shall accept the grace?

when the Son of Man returns,

will he find faith?

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Never Was

out here, in this wasted space

of no-man’s land;

no one hears the silence,

no one knows the loss;

alone and holding on,

waiting for imaginary rescues,

among lost and broken places,

hiding behind enemy lines,

crawling on hands and knees

in-between burned out bunkers,

full of dry, empty words;

never quite reaching the mark;

old debts return,

tears rain down, like

sweet summer sweat,

holding on until

there is nothing left;

without a hope,

without a chance;

beautiful dreams like a river,

flow on their way to the sea,

dancing like butterflies

on the morning wind,

echoing sounds of magic

within the caverns of the soul;

sometimes the greatest love

is that which never was;

one more time,

traveling down this

long and lonesome road,

searching for a home

inside lost and empty ruins,

running from fantasies that never were,

living within upside down dreams

which come and go;

over before it began;

my eyes have seen what others

have not,

my heart has known that

which no heart should.

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Bureaucrats

bureaucrats always think

they are on the side of right,

no matter how wrong or unjust

that side might be,

never seeing themselves

through the eyes

of their victims,

never understanding

the rights of individuals,

over the authority of the system;

despots and tyrants could not exist

without their bureaucrats,

someone to stamp the orders,

file the paperwork,

ensuring the trains run on time

to places like Auschwitz and Treblinka,

providing a well functioning

slave market, to feed

the king cotton industry,

hiding the suffering and misery,

behind walls of official sounding

legal jargon,

vital cogs in the machine;

mindless,

robotic,

the darkness behind

the evil,

good people

just doing their job;

pathetic

little worms.

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Shadows

we sit among these growing shadows,

standing on the brink of an

unknown tomorrow,

hiding somewhere between

the darkness and the light,

safe within this land of

perpetual sorrow;

moments come and moments go

my dear one,

leaving only traces they were

here at all,

this moment we hold alone,

free from a land full of

killers and madness,

a world of defined boundaries

and limits,

designed to imprison all that live

within their deadly gates,

and to you do I say;

that it is better to lie here among these shadows with you,

than to walk among the light with any other,

better to have tasted your love even for a moment;

than spend a lifetime without it.

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Sand Creek

Sand Creek;

the truth dances like a ghost,

a mighty wind whispering

through the silence of the night;

who will hear the voices?

who will right the wrong?

it is hard to love,

when so much injustice abounds,

hard to forgive, when innocent blood

runs across stolen ground,

dirty little secrets hidden in time,

deep dark memories of which

no one speaks;

you can never escape the past;

it follows you like a shadow,

softly surrounding you like a glove,

slowly blending into who you are,

silently determining what you become;

all the treachery and cowardice revealed,

the self-made bravado and

false heroics silently exposed,

sons of murderers,

daughters of liars and thieves,

descendants of swine,

a little lower than dogs,

somewhat less than human;

without honor,

without dignity,

without hope;

their homes built upon

hypocrisy and greed,

their tongues filled with

misconceptions and lies,

their legacy stands like a wavering

deck of cards,

waiting to crash down

upon their guilt-ridden heads;

Sand Creek remembers.

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Floodwaters

the world is dying,

I am dying,

death has become an only friend,

the final sanctuary,

in a life no longer

worth living;

each day begins anew,

each day ends,

the breeze continues to blow,

the rivers continue to flow,

the morning sun arrives

right on time;

for every season there is a purpose,

for every question there is an answer;

I see the ugliness lying

just below the surface,

the self-serving hypocrisy,

the incomplete falsehoods,

the insincere agendas,

they do not fool me;

not even for a moment;

this time begins at last,

the hour at hand,

the children of men are no more,

their monuments of glory

crumble before the wind,

the bitter taste of their demise

lies frozen upon a sea

of silent tongues;

this then is the beginning,

this then is the end;

still they do not listen,

even now their eyes remain blind,

giving in marriage and celebrating

right up to the very end;

surely there is no hope

for ones such as these.

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Wept

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”   Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,

I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,

I weep for the loss,

I weep for the waste,

I weep for the hopelessness;

I weep for the children,

I weep for the tragedy,

I weep for the sorrow,

I weep for the suffering;

I weep for the inevitability.

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