Mulligan!

This is actually poorly written, but I thought I should be relevant for once.

Mulligan!
JCD Kerwin

Gas masks and bullet stings;
surrounded by police raids,
24-hour protests in the streets.
But stop for a break
so we
can sing an Olympic song,
full of World Peace and cheer.
(Your throat gets cut
the moment
you turn your back.)

Cry-me-a-river for
YouKnowWhere and
OverThere, and
don’t forget
Egypt and Syria,
and do you remember North Korea?
(Are they making boys cut their hair,
or was that a plot twist on Reality TV?
Well,
just don’t tell Old Ringo and Paul.)
And let’s give Africa a break
now that
the greatest man
who ever gave a damn
is dead.

We can’t seem to lose
this greedy weight,
in the west;
yet others can’t get skin
to stick to bones
with the mud from homes,
in deserts.

Wave hello, tell a joke,
to this company; to this corporation—
It’s a person, just like you!
(It’s got a heart and can feel pain!)
So let it loose from the Accountability Noose.

Silicon Valley’s a fancy place
for all the techy kids who want
to hide out in the future,
pretending it’s somehow better
where the grass is deader.
(But you can’t have Tomorrow, kids,
without fixing up Today.)

Watch out!
There’s a drone overhead;
it can read the pizza order on your cell phone.

Make no excuses for the abuses
to the freedoms of our brethren.
Recite the data we’ve memorized when we close our eyes:
“Inside we’re all the same color, but
on the outside I don’t like
the way you say ‘hi,’ and
I don’t like how you tan;
the fact you love another man.
And by the way,
fuck your religion.”

Hail to this land, this earth,
this world; we are all of us damned.
Wait, I have an idea! Take my hand and I’ll lead you to the stars.
We’ll pretend we never happened.

Hallelujah.

(April, 2014)

Jungle Eyes

Even my poems sometimes turn into fiction stories…

Goodbye Saigon
JCD Kerwin

I see Saigon in her tea cup;
the soggy leaves turn red and
make explosions in my sight.

When I exhale,
I remember how hot it was
in summer when
mosquito nets
couldn’t keep me from
the sweat upon her skin.

Olive thighs
made me smile at stars
through windows while
bombs blew in
the night.

I’m alone in the quiet—
ceiling fan blades and cigarettes
become
my lament for her.
I see Saigon in silver droplets;
she was blood in the water.
Is this love?
(Was it love?)

I exhale jungle fire
from scorched memories.

Sigh, Saigon, sigh.

Nov., 2012

Automatic Rocking Horse


Automatic Rocking Horse
J.C.D. Kerwin

Let’s play hide-and-seek
in the fallout shelters
we built from pick-up sticks
and a barrel of monkeys
we found
buried in the sand.

I have a pocket full
of licorice whips, and
I’ll give you
a penny for your thoughts if
you tell me what it takes
to fill a double-barrel shotgun
full of daisies instead.

I’d rather play jacks
and read the Hardy Boys
in the post-Apocalyptic world
with you than
live a long, long time
in the never-ending peace
I call monotonous depression.

We could be kids again.
It could be our Mad Max movie,
and we could rule the land
with slingshots and bubblegum balls.

I could Marco Polo our way out of here.

Dec., 2011