"Slumbering People"

to kill a man and drink his blood from the skull bowl
to search for the soul in between barren mountains
and to eat the world away in pursuit of phantoms
limbs that hold together syndromes, complexions
and fictions.

the argument is over doGs as usual
and the deeper waters are horrifically murderous, call it
business. call it justice. Celebrate
erratic on the steps and
howling with drunkenness
flagging hidden ammunitions
perpetuate your messing around
onto the names of children
spit the saliva of your fellow man
onto the green grass of your own lawn
and call it

enemy
separate
evil.

"4th Horse= the first world war on the 3rd"

the color of night shades
melting into the moon's reflection
ebony scaled
dimensions incomparable
to the earlier this afternoon
the horse is sitting silently
waiting for the tribe
waiting on the wind
tasting all the delicate
ripples composing of the sky
a war horse on board
a peace horse on board
a war for peace
a war on peace
a peace of war on war
war and peace
the warring peace
the warring war
a jumble, jungle
jigsaw puzzle

horses scattered
horse confused
a high horse
a dead horse
a pygmy of a horse
a barking horse of orders
a timid broken legged horse

the voice is hoarse


send the stallions to horse around
the old woman and her children have been
stripped naked of their hidden innocence

"Off the Back Porch of My Memory"

"Off the Back Porch of My Memory"

the large oak stood still
while its leaves quivered ceaselessly
in the hard, hot wind
time passed and the moon rose
to the horizonal edge

good evening my shining friend


 © 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion FItzgerald

"To all you Sorcerer's of Commodities...eat this..."

"To all you Sorcerer's of Commodities...eat this..."


a drifting spire of hegemony in the mists
that is what the wall says to the pauper
who can see through all things in corridors
of grocery stores and rat-race mall markets

"these sorcerers do not blind me!"
 says the enlightened boy
"they are but nightmares within my dreams--
I am their downfall for I am their creator and sustainer
exclaims the pauper boy with the eyes to see

"why should i hate them?" he asks
"Why, if i were to give them such time
as to permit them to be like leeches upon all my days
I would not be able to rise in the morning
or settle at night...all would be hopeless and drawn with danger!"

"they do not care for me. Why should my time care for them?
let them rot to themselves. Only the dirtiest of creatures
would feast on their bones, And I ask, what creature is
even close to being deemable as low as their ashes?"

I find these saints of commerce boring and suckish
they are like children in a sandbox always fighting
about trivial things as small as grains of sand
they have no comprehehnsion for the greatness of a wo/man.
I say we best not listen to their drudgery. it is spell casting
to the blackest degree and takes away from the potential to create
things that are not to the blackest degree but to the highest degree
things not stagnant but moving--kinetic in nature
easily transferable from one pillar to the next.
why take them seriously. yes they kill. yes they disregard the earth
pillage the forest burn the fields.
yes they have no care or concern for the creatures
of places and peoples of all stories. but why feed them with time?
why take them so hard? they are clowns! they like to hide behind fantasies.
do not let them make their fantasy yours.
for if you do, it will doom you for sure.

Yes, says the enlightened pauper
I see their evil. but rest easily
for their eyes are too blind to anything but themselves,
they can not see me, the me that I am
their shadow hiding with a knife.
biting like a viper one fang at a time.



 © 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion Fitzgerald

"Rain: A Looking Glass"

"Rain: A Looking Glass"

hear that, the rain
how it dances on the window
rushing into tempo
along side the frogs
who chitter in the swamp
listen, they are exalted
they are blessed and
wholly blessing, even
when they are cursing
from one perspective to another
there are a million others
scattered on this window
passing by in seasons
moving out debris
bringing in additions
leaving back its traces
forgetting itself;
erasing memory
participant...

time
space
continuum


 © 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion Fitzgerald

"It was early in the morning and..."

"It was early in the morning and..."

there were two great spotted owls
swooping from shadows in the pines
and across the misty field
to the stark stands of birch
jarring the morning sky like
bones poking through the dirt.

The sun was glowing golden.


 © 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion Fitzgerald

"Marijuana on the River Shore"

"Marijuana on the River Shore"


a doorway onto heaven; a hole into paradise
standing near the entry way between the shaking
pines. Walking onward through the blue. clouds
hanging pregnant with the capability of storming.

lined by gnarly snags of wood and groupings of
flat rocks. talking to the windowless
world all before me. History layering onto my
consciousness. taking drags into the whispering
wind and river waves, lapping rhythmically
upon the muddy, boot sucking shore

© 2011 Seamus Kevin Orion Fitzgerald