February 28, 2015

4 POEMS: "POVERTY, IT CAN BE BETTER, CLEANING HOUSE, CARLTON" BY ERIC HILL

Eric Hill, born in Washington DC, was first photographed among the cherry blossoms. This, no doubt, forms the basis for his colorful politics and a life long pursuit of cherry pie. That his Grandfather was a minister, no doubt explains, his intense desire to find another way to God than Religion. His writing comes from his profound need to get this crazy stuff out of his head.

He has published with Black Wire,  Indiana Voice Journal, Rain/Disaster/Party, Ijagun Poetry Journal and Behhutet.
His photography can be found throughout this issue of IVJ.



POVERTY
 
Poverty is not born of nature, but rather corrupt legislature it is not a human condition words like ambition versus complacency converge and come to play and then words like advantage go on display as well as stalkers and prey we see a pattern a condition emerge a system reveals insider deals players merge create a surge of exploitation that purge what they call a scourge upon the nation of 'haves and have-not's' now held in place by enforcement made with an endorsement by the government drain on the average man made poor to satisfy a few insane with personal gain.
Poverty is a system that holds in place the rich by protection and the poor by suppression. For the rich streets are cleaned, parks are preened, art esteemed; for the poor streets are broken, lots lay open, graffiti the art that’s spoken where the only hope is climbing the beanstalk or playing night hawk hide from the sun look for fun carry a big gun but the deal is done no where to run your hit with a megaton
Let me acquaint you with concealed restraint disguised chains which constrain and drain confidence, dignity, a sense of liberty one gains from owning property - that gives entitlement and a stride full of pride from an easy ride
Life is not just the way you see it  - others have a different point of view.
Those others you dismiss or take the piss with an air kiss -You advise they be thrifty stop being so shifty get new clothes then dismiss as petty woes these little blows – you suggest they take a grateful pose as we rub elbows. The superiors dance to the glitter of champagne with inferiors to clean up – little men who can’t get a word in it’s plain there is no Freedom of speech – When we bring it down to the level ground not that profound to suggest: the rich get what they request and the rest get the hearing of pest.


IT CAN BE BETTER

I mean come on - I know life can be a bummer if it ain't winter it is summer but look at the bright spot don't be a hot shot I tell you what - there's always pot - don't be so lazy or blame some crazy - look for it - I mean one good point is that you don't come off as a whining complaining lame but rather you stand up and fight for what's not up-tight or petty and trite - complain about city blight, civic spite, the contrite that take a swipe - lay on the hype snipe and snipe lets pipe out the sewage like a sage that writes a page of outrage. 
I mean come on - no need to make a scene it really is obscene - you know just what I mean don’t leave me in between just shine some light that will redeem don't get too bright,  just expose the beauty of a shadow deep in the after glow - You know we could all grow if we could show a way to bestow the final blow to sorrow
Blow it off 
Blow it off
And here we go - here we go - nothing to lend and nothing to borrow there is the past but there is tomorrow the important thing is don't get hung up on bummers or that fuckin’ god damn sorrow! No more guilt no more regret
And I’ll bet there is always yet as yet...

CLEANING HOUSE


Dark skinned sad eyed ladies wait at the door
To exit the train having cleaned house
All day
Tired they go home
To abusive Husbands, Street thugs
And Cops that shoot their Children,
What would they do
If they could choose
A life but
Like a dark cloud
Floating in a night blue sky
The cloud does not choose the wind that blows it
They keep going
Raining tears
Losing years
Hoping some silent God will save them
From this Hell or the Other
While men go on talking about nothing

CARLTON

This is the Man, he has discovered the power of love
In his world there are no bad people only people with troubles
He looks out, the sun is shining and the birds sing
And when it storms and the winds blow cold - it is still beautiful
When the people look at him with anger he smiles and wishes them well
Nobody is angry all the time he will see them on a better day –
They will remember he did not fight with them and bring their joys to him
He says the cup is never empty it runneth over
Now
Once he was on the wrong path – went to jail, got in fights hated and did bad
He crawled the streets cold and hungry
As poverty and injustice ate him alive
He hurt people and they hurt him back
Then he realized love changed everything – loved his enemies and his neighbors
And People loved him back!
Sure bad things befell him but he could love them and for this his compassion would grow
For he understood that everyone suffered, not just him and it was a shared burden –a collective  
Thus suffering no longer aggrieved him and life became a joy
He could smile at adversity no longer asking why but loving it all
Enriched by joy

~Eric Hill

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