The World Less Forgot

I wanted to update this site with something new, but my inspiration has run dry and my muse has flown away. So to try and find her again I have decided to post something a bit older and hopefully find some comfort in it.

This piece I wrote way back in October of 2000 while in English Class. It is based off a short story that inspired it. Can you name that Short Story?

"A World Less Forgot"

Tick-Tock, A world lives on borrowed time.
Tick-Tock, A world rushes to be late.
Tick- we rush no more.
Tock. We are all dead.
Drip-Drop, The rain falls on the world less forgot.
Drip-Drop, Oh how Mother Nature does not care for hours.
Drip- The world lives on.
Drop. Even though were dead.

Fields of Fallen

It is so horrifyingly beautiful.
All the rows of frozen dead lined up,
while a single solitary soul stands frostbitten
and shivering alone.

Free perhaps from the sins of the past.
Standing out amongst the fields of fallen,
holdong on to the small part of it's life
that still burns strong.

It is here, that those who survive
will carry on and bring with them
the strength and vitality
needed to win this war with death.

Long time no type

I must say, it has been a while and although this last year was one of the biggest political storms I have ever been alive to experience, I have been warry of writing. Now, though my head is firmly planted on my shoulders and I am ready to commit to writing more poems, but I have also decided to use other politically themed writing that I can get my hands on (copyrights pending of course).

So, If you would also like to see your work here, whether poem or rant, or essay please feel free to e-mail me and I will be more than happy to set you up.

See you soon.

9-11 remembrance

Thousands dead everyday.
Dreams shattered, and hope suddenly lost.
All in a hail of gunfire and bombs, all innocence is lost.

Is it all worth it?
Living in this a false sense of security and freedom?
Is it really worth one life, two lives, thirty lives, even a million lives. Lives that you will never see, never touch, never know.
All lives that would have children and possibly grandchildren.

It’s kind of funny how greed works.
The sacrifice of others lives, just so you can live in your three-bedroom two-bath house with a pool, drive your ozone killing suburban, and consume yourself with products you do not need.

Ah! But you don't see it that way.
Those lost, don't have names, they don't have faces.
They're not even Americans, let alone people.
So why should you care? Why should it even matter to you?

Now they have struck back, angrily and defiantly,
with what they call an act of war.

How could they do such a thing?
You were so appalled at the loss of those around you,
those people you knew, and those you care for.

Yet, you seem to forget of those lost before and after,
because of your greed for the "American dream".

You now sit back just as you did a year ago.
Only now you consume twice as much, and waste the same.
You say, "The terrorists won't ruin my way of life".

You call for them to be taken down, to be tortured, hung, or shot.

It’s sad that, of all the times, of all the chances you had to wake up and see the truth. This time, this monumental chance, you missed it the most.

Wake up America! We are the REAL terrorists.

I wrote this about a year after the attacks on the World Trade Center, and the Pentagon. I mourn for those people who were lost, and I did not write this to take away from the innocence of their death. However, when I was seeing reports of innocent people from Afghanistan (and now Iraq), killed in the name of greed. Civilians, Women and Children. I could not contain my rage for the real reasons we are at war. Oil, and Money. I hope that you take this as statement of outrage and humiliation. We need to stop this war, and we need to take the power back.

W.

W.

Some call him the,
Commander in Chief.
Others the,
Commander in Thief.

We all seem to misunderstand,
Seem to… underestimate the,
Quality of control,
The precision of attack.
In which we suffer through this act.

W.

Wielding his power of,
Status and wealth through
Oil and land.

His true weapon, is us…

We sit and watch as horrors unfold
As if the television were made of gold.

Watching … waiting…
Angry… and quiet.
Consuming us with fear,
And fearing us to consume.

W.

His weapons are his words.

Not just his oil fields
And bomb filled birds.


-Johnny Dale Crow

So many people have a George Bush poem, so this is mine.