NOT about Osama

wrote this in response to all the madness about Osama Bin Laden's death....

This poem will not be about Osama bin Laden

It will not be about waving banners

Or shedding of blood

It will not chant speeches at no cost,

Patriotism on layaway,

Or the all-American way of celebrating this day.

No, this poem is about everything BUT that…

That fire that beckons bones for penance

That Old Testament payment of an eye for an eye,

A soul for a soul

…Or souls

That deep urge to run the streets,

naked,

arrogant,

and open.

Like Trump’s shameful thoughts,

Birthing blasphemous excuses for open disrespect of authority

In a land your children will lead

Or follow

to the steps of the whitest house on the block.

Throwing parades bigger than British matrimony,

deeper than waves of Japanese that still haven’t been mopped up.

This poem will not be about them, either.

 

This poem will not be a bully

It will not sign a peace treaty

Treating us to desserts

Candies

And oil

in other countries

It will not save the third world

Second world

Or first world problems.

It will not birth new problems.

This poem will not be a retaliation.

It will not bomb churches,

Or towers,

Or land planes in green pastures.

This poem will make no heroes.

This poem will not be a symbol;

It will not be a corpse.

This poem will not consider southern tornado-shredded homes

And missing persons.

This poem will not put things into perspective.

This poem will not be short.

This poem will not shout on church street,

will not throw bodies into dead seas.

This poem will not be about perfectly timed conspiracies,

Campaign momentum,

Or about 20-04 or 20-12.

This poem will not take the attention

Giving ammo to the media masses

Passing the same information around like it’s new.

This poem will not be new.

 

It will not be politically correct

It will not care about your feelings,

Religion,

Or racist habits.

It will not pretend to be fair

It will not Rush you with Limbaugh’s

It will not wrap hate in red and blue and sprinkle white star glitter to make it shine

It will not bling or gleam

It will not sing: my country tis of thee;

O’er the land of the free;

And the home of the homeless brave ones;

Or God bless America;

Land that I lust;

In God we’ve lost our trust,

Or, rather, displaced it.

This poem will not be about being lost

Or the end of the world.

The Mayan toilet flush swirl right around the corner

It will not be a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting

It will not be a prophet or a pope

Or a dope dealer

Making you high to believe the lie

It will not talk about the lie

The lies

It will not lie to you.

This poem will not agree to disagree

This poem will not take your path

It will not take your hand

No No NO

This poem will not pet your dog

Or feed your fish

It will not care about your food stamps

Your dead plants

That you’ve stamped on in celebration

It will not resurrect him

Revive him

Who this is NOT about

Nuh-Uh,

It will not bring him back for us to laugh at

Taunt and tease

Shoot in the knees

Water board, tickle or surf the net to find him

Or pics of him

Are you listening?

This poem is not about him.

It’s not about anything

Not anything green

Or black and grimy

Striking and shooting higher than trees from familiar ground

Only to our military

It’s not about anything right

Or wrong

No freedom song

No Dr. King

No Osama

No Obama

No Hussein

This is not about the game

No cat no mouse

No conscience

No sub-conscious metaphor

This is not about anything popular

This is not about death

This is not about wickedness

This is not about Bush or McCain

This is not about tomorrow or yesterday

This poem is far from being over

This poem is near its end

This poem has reached a point of starting over again

This poem wants to remind you

It’s not about him

It’s never Bin

This poem is waiting for a way in

To talk to you

It’s about you

This poem is you

Look in the mirror

What do you see?

This poem sees a poem staring back at me

This poem is tired

This poem is laying its head to rest

This perpendicular poem wants to cry itself to sleep

This peculiar poem wants to wake up

This pressing perplexing poem wants to wake you

It wants to wake you

It wants to shake you

Take you

Make you

Wake you up

 

Before it’s

Too late

Don’t underestimate the fate

Don’t overestimate the wait

This poem is here ß

Where are you,

In all this hate?

 

Reviews

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Tinasha,

Bravo, Dear Lady! This is brilliant and a triumph! You have rightfully scolded the world and the masses for thinking they know what is important, when really all they are doing is following the mass hysteria. They do not look for themselves, weigh the issues, think about things. They are more interested in being included in the pack. They want to belong and say the right things--you know, what their friends are saying. They would never say anything else, even if it was right. That would be too painful and too much of an up-hill fight. No, lets be with the pack. Let's be in it's center. Even a small deviation from the center view is too dangerous.

For me this was a magical piece. You said something that needs to be said. You said something that should be screamed from the mountains. We are becoming too complacent.

My hat's off to you. I am honored to have read this piece. My friends know what you have to do to get a 98% rating from me. You have to be one of the most exceptional pieces I have read on WC. I've never read finer, and I've never given a higher rating. 100% is impossible, since no poem is perfect. I have yet to see a 99%, and I'm sure I'll go instantly blind if I ever do. Your piece has me strongly squinting from its brilliance.

Deepest congratulations and respect,

Rick

[EMMIE]

JUST READING THIS, IT SOUNDS SO SO SO POWERFUL...I CAN'T IMAGINE IF YOU WERE TO RECITE IT! YOU SHOULD MAKE A YOUTUBE VID. AND POST IT ON HERE =). THIS POEM IS NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH. YOU ARE AN AWESOME WRITER.

[Tubaab]

I wanna hear this out loud

[hopelessromantic]

i love it its so true

[Ken Yen]

-> dreaming of the day i wake...

love your passion. i, too, watched that dance upon the grave from the woods. i could care less about obl, but i was somewhat saddened by the euphoria around the bonfire.

i don't believe it was too long.

[Tate Morgan]

You know you were right t think it too long it is While the content is fine I agree i is too ,l,ong