There's a wall somewhere for the plastic army men i took to bed with me.

the big detachable hat on top of the Euclidean plastic head

all twisted at the elbow, not begging for the Huey.

I sit on the grass edge of jungles still unknown to man

opening my skin burned arms to the dahlia's pursed and golden

savaged by systole and pulsing

the one I called "the general" the Indian in his head-dress barefooted

Black Foot, would raise their dead on platforms so they could live freely

with the spirit of birds; both hoverfly and trachea opens up

with it's elegant wings collapsing: we tried to sing thru the business end

of water hoses and dogs barking us to be gone again and

yet again, I hid and tried to bleach my skin as the world started to sing blue

nooses. Sometimes I found the secret place of dreams tucked neatly

in the inventory of the names of the lost I chiseled carefully in granite

for others to come, some pushed along in wheelchairs

others still wearing their half lit dreams above the row of metals

(I supposed mistakenly) as blank paper was impregnated with the names

of the lost under my covers, as if capturing the host of birds as they

themselves contemplated the cold.

now, with all the charm captivated, all the engines roaring into one giant gas

of burden and consequences, cousin. to betake one's self, that same self

that resembles the dahlia  not in spring but in early September, when you walk

and wank it's dead stalks loose with the edging tool kept dormant

all winter in the hallows of the plastic shed. 

Reviews

[barleygirl]

There's so much here that smacks my brain, I can't hope to embrace it all. My brother used to draw war images incessantly in his youth & he was always killing "the Japs" (20 yrs after WWII) . . . which reminds me how very young we absorb our prejudices from whatever propaganda is out there to justify the strife. I'd forgotten about bleaching skin . . . that image alone says so much & your reviewers bring out a host of impressions about this & so much more of your poignant powerful imagery. This is one of the most powerful ones of yours I've read & I applaud you for conveying your disgust without ranting or disavowing . . . but simply painting a series of real-life pictures & letting the harshness of that sink in without fanfare (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest...I've been away for a few, working on the get out the vote campaign of Bernie Sanders; forsaking promise with purpose, which poetry rightly is...dana

[barleygirl]

Good for you about "get out the vote"!

[Beccy]

We build walls, we tear them down, From Babylon, to Jericho to Berlin, they never last; but sadly, it seems our prejudices are more permanent than even the mightiest of walls.

We are oft times, a most foolish species.

Such grand writing.

Beccy.

[h d e rushin]

yes, we are the most foolish of species especially when arrogance looks so much like patriotism that our affection for both signifies neither....thank you my friend...dana

[Einstein Noodle]

whew .. lots of imaging .. powerful .. i remember flash points of the 50s and 60s .. mostly the 60s ... the March, the Watts Riot, the murders of those social activists James Earl Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Henry Schwerner in Mississippi ... the horrible pictures of the hangings ... the young lady walking into school at the U. of Alabama ... we have come so very far in my opinion ... granted the ignorance of some individuals and some organizations persist and astound me ... and i don't mean to use "ignorance" as a slur ... i mean it as it is .. a mis-taught place that needs the light of education to break through .. i was in College in the 70s and got to talking about one of the maintenance guys as he was sitting on a mower taking a bit of a break ... we talked about Jesus and personal commitment to our Faith .. and out of nowhere he expressed his belief that "black people's blood can not be given to white people" .. it surprised me as it seemed to come from nowhere .. and as much as i assured him that blood is A, B, O etc etc no matter who it comes from .. he simply could not accept it .. i challenged him to ask his Dr. the next time he visited but that's where the conversation drifted into space somewhere ... to this day i still feel my astonishment at such lack of knowledge and persistent prejudice because of color .. Euclid, the Hueys (of Viet Nam?) unknown jungles .. the vivid contrasting Dahlia ... all in V1 .. angst and shaming as one goes to extremes to attempt bleaching of ones skin ... i am a freckled Irishman who, as a teen would have given anything to be able to tan dark ... all i every could accomplish is more freckles and the pain of sunburn ;) if we could truly accept ourselves ... we can love one another .. its sad as it seems it could be so easy ;( strong use of poetry ... strong voice ma'am!

[h d e rushin]

ACTS:17 26 "God has made all nations of one blood. We are all equal at the foot of the cross". My mother mentions this scripture to me concerning current affairs. She, 89 and from small town Georgia, who didn't even have a birth certificate. Most of poetry "today" is remuneratory in that Frack Ohara kind of way where his "invincibility" was actually a poem about inspiration. in fact, poetry and battle fields are the only two places I can think of where prejudice has no logical footing. Thanks brother for reminding me to keep going even when on some days I tell myself to stop.....dana

[Einstein Noodle]

love ya Dana .. you are a wonderful creative writer in my mind .. i think you share meaningful and important poetry ..yes .. all nations .. one blood ;) all the time! ..oh... my mom was born on the farm and never had a birth certificate either ..i helped her get one but it was not easy ;)

[roarke]

Fine imagery and nuance here. I enjoy the lyrical quality of your verse.

[h d e rushin]

thank you for stopping by roake and for those kind remarks...dana

[redzone]

Dana, you amaze me with your poetry... my mind wanders through your words and I find myself on sensory overload as well as roaming through my past.... now I say this not as a critique, but as tribute to your ability to bring alive in words history, personal as well as national... I remember those plastic army men and playing "war" (now there is an ugly truth of Americana, part of the American dream to become war heroes) with my brother....

but you mention the way some black folks would attempt to "pass" in white society and the desire to bleach black skin "lighter" in order to avoid the dogs and terror, another ugly truth of America and its debasement of a whole people that remains strong today... ironically, I wanted to lose my skin as well when I came to realize and understand just what it meant to be a white American... it wasn't so much I wanted to be black, just that I didn't want to be white.... it took some further understanding that while we had no choice in how we came into the world, but we did have a choice on how we wanted to live and who we wanted to be.... and it was the struggle of black folks as well as others breaking out of the "walls" that confined them that lead me to this understanding.... while a personal journey, I think this was true of many white folks back then as well as a journey for today....

there is an irony in that movie Glory with Denzel Washington and that scene where his character Trip is asked to carry the American flag and he righteously and correctly declines saying that the flag was not his flag, but in a twist of "fate" at a decisive point in the battle (which was lost) he picks up the flag and leads the charge.... ironic because it was the only banner available, but also cause part of the American culture and image is to be the only "good force" in the world even though this is furthest from the truth... I think this relates to your "half lit dreams above the row of metals".....

this is what I mean by sensory overload as I could continue on about what I found delightful in your poem and how it made me think and feel.... it's just that your poem deserves more than just a "good write" or "nicely done" in my opinion.... you take the reader on a journey, and for this reader, leaves breathless...

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dear friend...I had a friend who, with the constant use of Natanola ( the skin bleaching cream of the 70's and 80's and still available in the black hair care section at Walmart (if you can believe such a section exists) . my grandmother use to refer to her as "the sleeping' girl since sleep is the natural periodic suspension of consciousness. It was and is styling condition of human deceitfulness BUT considered as "the way to fortune and fame' for so many darker skinned folk. Disregard the black consciousness section of the last 50 years of American human evolution. I remember "Glory" as a more accurate account of the civil war with black troops ; not the civil war without them. And I remember the part of the movie that your referencing. But symbolism in the 19th century are the referenced symbols of totalitarian rule. That is, whatever flag you carried and in whatever uniform you were still either a slave or an x slave.

I agree with you red. I agree with you in that the blues of the Mississippi delta and the Folk songs of Appalacia are both the wails of a people trying to break free.