I look across the horizon of America
Finding a label called L, branding me.
Why must Freedom Democracy conform?
They call it a Patriot Act, to follow its leader.
I call it cloning of their segregated minds.
They warned me that poetry was now banned,
Inside my own home of social independence.
That any poetry on the Internet was t-reason
To terminate my employment, so “At Will”,
In Alabama, terminated for writing poetry.
They told me, I did not have to broadcast a
Reason, for they would recommend me highly.
I stated I had no real problem, with the truth,
For in America, it is the salvation of humanity.
I did not tell them that, as they stood stunned.
Society uses labels in bigotry ‘n repression.
Memories of an N label rebound in segregation.
Yet those labeled will pass on the tradition.
Oh America, why must it separate for others,
Cannot humanity blossom in its Artmosphere?
I search across a fog of uncertainty of California,
Trains rolling by scraping the rails of reality.
My heartbeats view a land of diversity ‘n culture,
But I must leave returning to artistic strangulation,
While I sell everything, to again be, free spirited.
So in a daily fix of words, wanting to get high,
I sometimes wish I could have stayed straight,
To become a ghost writer of those southern ways.
But they said one had to promise to end its love,
Execution style, yet this heart could not abort the words.
Note: In America, there are those that always try to put you into a place, by using your words against you. The English language is a diversity of artistry of word play, everything being interpreted freely by independent minds, art never has one distinct definition. Those that see filth in every syllable will always condemn and judge others, trying to ban their independence into submission. Others, who view the love and Freedom of the art, will see the beauty of self-expression. I say the true Judge of ones actions should reside in the Supreme Court of the Heavens, not buried alive in a shell of humanity, for we must blossom upon the winds of the divine gifts of released spirits.
In reality, I do not use drugs but drink alcohol. I am a breeder seeking a soul mate to cuddle with my body and mind. Have I lied and committed sins? Yes, I have, for I am a poet that feels their heart inside their imperfection. One thing I will not do is lie, for once, I do, then I have lost my soul, my integrity, and my faith.
I just want a secluded corner of America, where one can live in the Constitutional right to do whatever in their own home without people, corporations or a government invading its privacy. I want a small room bursting in Freedom and Democracy, having enough money to die in the wealth of his heart, and the poverty to be buried with the dignity of my own dwindling funds.
Will writing this solve anything? No, for people just do not have voices any more, they are afraid to speak out and question things. What this does do, is provide me with therapy and just maybe by showing a poets imperfection, others will get poetic voices that will never be banned or terminated in their own homes. Maybe someone can tell me about a one-room mansion with country club views and a homeless budget. Or maybe one can float across America to find its streets voices, something politicians have forgotten to do, finding heartbeats of American culture alive and well done in artistic pride. Blessings from the L poet that will never be a W advocate.
D.Lester 02/10/06 ©
Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time.
davelyoung1.hotmail.com poem for the ride upon America’s spirit