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David Lester Young

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Motel Monday Blues
by David Lester Young
Monday, March 10, 2008
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by David Lester Young
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It is so easy to change in moods, when you rant and release. I start in one mood and glide into another of hope.

If I have to fear America in my Free Speech, then how much in the Bush White House redefined Freedom and Democracy must I feel now that I must fear you.

When I rant about the abuse I see in this land, it is called "Obscene." Not for the one doing it, but the one reporting it in verse.

I see a lot of obsenity in Washington, where abuse is minimized into silence. Report abuse and Politicians label you a Liberal, become silent, and they will call you a Conservative patriot. I rather be a Patriot Act Liberal patriot traitor and stand up for the Constitution definition of abuse.

Motel Monday Blues

 
Alabama motel Monday termination blues
Quake vibrating bones - cold-chill skeleton.
Shake rattle ‘n roll depressions sad ring,
Gravity banning fingered amputated brain.
 
Crawling shadows weeping hopelessness
Reflections that kick ass like Via Viagra
Growing spirit making one a Young poet,
Procrastinating another fine definition delay.
 
Cracks in the face wrinkled frown’s smile
Keyboard comes to live - despite Alabama.
Where they ban worker Poetry “At Will”
Leaving one so naked on a bleached canvas.
 
Lilly white death lily of cemetery stares.
One needs words nailing the cross within
Heaven gift rants from a Vietnam roar,
Where one cried memories into page’s tears.
 
Oh wail Poet, among shadows venting
Hear those words deep within HeArt
A person crying into their Poetry
Triggering that haunted abuse of a past.
 
Lord, I still hear her dig her nails in me,
What can America do to end this tragedy.
Where people words and actions create pain.
Oh God, what can one do to heal others.
 
Sylvia Platt, in how writing created suicides vein
Crossing lines with emotion furrowing inside.
But so many would say that is so “Obscene”
That living is a Fairy tale propped up smile.
 
Try to help the druggie, you are one.
Try to help the leper, you are one.
Jesus helping the thief, He is not one.
Poet helping the abused, they are one. 
  
Social evils nobody wants to hear about
Pre-abortion vindictive mean mother spirits
Attacking them like a newly Liberated black,
Post-abortion wanting to adopt them in love.
 
Write about someone you are one – Alabama.
You hurt me Alabama - singing pains verse
Banned even the biblical finger verse of healing
Cutting umbilical words - Terminated for Poetry.
 
God given love - in spreading blossoms,
Wilted blight “Do not tell anyone!”
Lord, why should I be ashamed of Poetry?
The Truth is - I was Terminated for Poetry.
 
Alas, the roller coaster of writing emotions
Crawling day to day to pick up the pieces
That reach inside this HeArt of being a Poet
Typing the characters of others onto pages.
 
What character is a quagmire quick sand trap?
Which one will elevate me inside respect?
While another will trash me in Alabama obscenity
That these kind of people, can exist here alive.
 
Walking dead that survive dug in graves,
Forlorn in the dungeons that build pressure
Cookers never venting that bruised feeling
Until a Poet dared to listen and they cried.
 
Did a Poet help, did one create feminine beauty
Inside darkness, where a seed again blossomed?
But alas, thoughts get transplanted and cannot
Be buried, or one becomes a Dead Poet Society.
 
So downcast being branded banned “Obscene,”
One feels like a “L” of today, a “N” of yesterday.
“They Terminated you! They had to be RIGHT!”
It is like White House Iraq WMD Intelligence!
 
So, I am walking added weight of depressions
Gravitating me deeper in my footprints voice,
Hear the pain RIPpling words “grave call.”
Oh cry YEA, the Wail of the Banshee.
 
But a death wish is never a solution to humanity.
Those that would toss a stone to a drowning man.
Most would deny any Katrina - Abu Graith guilt
That bulldozes Washington feelings of compassion.
 
Waterboarding torture in a new political religion.
Yes, today we teach abuse is okay in God’s eyes!
That He would imprison “At Will” without public trials
Oh yes, look in that mirror and see yourself
Cry with that deep down hidden tear,
Then wipe it away and do nothing again!
Let the Poet suffer.
Let the Homeless suffer.
Let America suffer.
Let the words be banned.
Let feelings be censored.
So deep within the mind
The scar grows inside you,
On Monday morning Alabama prayers.
 
Note: With all the love and talent that is in the beautiful state of Alabama, it is strange some want to ban it and use censorship to close minds. That is why creative people in Alabama hide inside homes fearing being called this Liberal Arts Free thinker creator. One does not tell many down here, they are a writer and especially a Poet, unless you are around them. I guess by putting POETS on my Alabama License Plate, it was grounds for Termination in the State of Alabama Corporate Republic.
 
I pray that the people of Alabama gets my former employer to unban me and lift the label “Obscene,” which is worse than the “N” or “J” or “Y” or “C” or “L” label. I hope that they never ban the Liberal Arts of a worker, inside their own home any more. That they Terminate an Alabama employee with a work related reason. Funny, they denied me a peer review for being Terminated for Poetry.
 
This German company used Poets, Songwriters, Writers, Painters, Sculptures, and other Liberal Arts in advertizing their products and designing their cars, so why would they ban their workers, the right to use them 24/7 for a lifetime of working for them?
 
If they will not do this voluntary, maybe the Governor can help, if not the Governor a Constitutional lawyer. This is not about money, it is about being an American, who wants to be a Poet of HeArt living among the American Artmosphere. I want a lawyer, whose fees if any, would go to the children, along with any money I would receive would go to the American Alabama painted and written dreams of its children. I might take a few sessions with a councilor, who is like a Poet and listens. But no money to feel like a Judas.
 
You see it is really, not about money, but pride. If they would approach me, then we can have a divorce settlement, terminating me for a work reason. After this peace of mind, I even have some creative ideas for them, if they want to listen.
 
I want to earn a living, on my own as a Poet, and thinker, which is near impossible. In an American dream, I would make money and distributed to children’s dreams of writing and the creative arts. It is all I have left that I can have as a legacy, the rest was destroyed, I now live in motel rooms searching America for its voice that will reach into my Poetry’s clarity. But I still fear this Bush brand of redefined Freedom and Democracy of waterboarding American family religious values. My Liberal religion does not waterboard the Constitution, maybe that is why they banned me?
 
If the White House condones the abuse of the human soul, then how can we as a nation of God, eliminate it? We can use waterboarding, but we cannot spank our own child. I cannot create Poetry against abuse, when we have sanctioned Abu Graith pictures, mistreatment of human rights in Guantanamo Justice, and have this waterboarding War President that is above the law of decency. Yes, they can ban the Poetic Conscience of the masses, but where does it leave US as a nation under God, with a political God waterboarding? I am sorry this  is "Obscene" of me to say this,.because  Bush is a pillar of religious "Truth."
 
David L. Young 03/10/08© 
De-Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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