America,

Your rotten core,

Built of blood and tears,

And a veneer of good intentions.

America,

You came up from nothing,

A bunch of religious runways,

Yet now you scorn the other runaways.

America,

Your blood is boiling,

Polluted with plastic and grease

America,

Your heart is breaking,

Smashed to bits by rioters waving flags.

America,

Your throat is tightening,

Knelt on by your own people.

America,

Your skin is peeling,

From the sunburn of progress.

America,

Your cancer is growing,

Fed by the flesh of

Childhood obesity.

America,

Your Miss America Models are crying

Because they're starving

For the love they can't give themselves.

America,

Is this what you wanted?

America,

I think you need to sit back.

Restart.

Let your body heal itself

From these self inflicted wounds.

America, you are more than this.

America, don't drown in this.

America,

If you want us to heal,

You need to start with yourself.

. . .Chickens were very common in early Plymouth and quite probably were brought on the Mayflower. The Dorking breed, still around today as a historic breed, actually originates from the home parish of Mayflower passengers William Mullins and Peter Browne. . .

– www.mayflowerhistory.com

the chickens roamed

the open land and fed

till grandma reached

neath nestled hens

to draw them out,

those eggs,

speckled and warm -

i’ve never tasted better,

and i’ve searched for them,

o beautiful, for spacious skies,

for years-gone eggs,

always and never real,

golden yolk and nostalgia to

scramble in my skillet

clinging to sanity

we sink like the USS Arizona

and grasp at foggy memories:

"America is great, right?"

bloodied grounds

burnt down in tyranny

and stupidity as we set our sky ablaze

(chugging economy like the whisky that lingers in the bellies of dead friends).

raging whispers of conspiracy

and debauchery

coming from under our beds

into our heads

while we forget we are supposed to sleep.

guns in our grip

slipping from greasy fingers

and lost purposes,

triggers are pulled,

innocents are hurt

and lies spread their wings like the eagle.

face to face matches

of black and white punches

each side tugging

and falling

and clueless to the hole forming in the battlground beneath.

we keep screaming

not realizing everyone has grown up

with deaf ears

not realizing we need to slow down

and write down words to better cooperate

to reveal the middle ground of truths.

America is a large, separated and segregated country of humans,

that hold past grudges

and future false promises...

human,

just like you and me,

so please open your eyes and see

a nation below your own feet slowly

c r u m b l i n g.

(There was just too much inside me

when I wrote this to even consider writing a poem.

I get like this at times.)

This land is opportunity.

This country, founded on priciples, and from the sweat and blood of others who forged out a nation our ancestors would hope we would be proud of.

In the beginning the people who filled this land came from all walks of life, bringing their talent, their hopes and dreams to build upon and create something we could all be proud of—freedom.

There were wars and blood shed to have that freedom. And from that, we opened up a new world of ideals with the promise of success.

We became a country to be both respected and feared by the enemies that encroached our

sensibilities.

Are we a perect nation? Far from it. Those before us made mistakes, just as mistakes are made today. Some of those mistakes, I would like to believe if we had a second chance at, we would change. The taking away lands and subjugating the American Indian. That in itself is a part of our history that leaves a huge black mark in our gaining freedom and equality. In order to do so, certain officials such as Andrew Jackson, saw fit to take away their equality and freedom and nearly decimate thousands of American Natives.

But over the course of decades, right or wrong, we became better in many respects. We built, created, devised houses, tall skyscrapers, better businesses, multiplied in the millions and found ways to live the american dream.

From Boston to LA, from Seattle to Miami and all points north, east, south and west, we found a way to live without being subjected to a Hitler, Mussolini, Tōjō Hideki, or a Stalin.

We still had our share of problems with people and that is to be expected as no two people are the same, but we are improving. There was a time when a Black person was a slave. Today, many hold high public offices. Others still, have their own business.

Yes, we are getting better, but more has yet to be accomplished. After all, for a country as powerful as ours, if you go by the history of other countries, we are still, in many ways, in our infancy.

But as a nation, we have endured tragedies caused by Mother Nature and come back from it. We suffered a Great Depression and came back from that. We have been hit with diseses no man or woman should ever have to endure, but we bounced back to become a little better and a lot stronger.

And now, we are faced with with a new disease, one that has no mercy on human lives, be it on our ground or around the world. But given time, patience, and understanding, we too, can defeat this purging mess.

America, the land of the free for all people near and far. America, the home of the brave, where no man or woman is afraid to face the challenges before them,

We are not perfect and perhaps never will be, but I for one see no better place to hang my hat, call it a day and be proud of where I live.

And the nice part about all this? The way you dress or speak, the language you use regardless of nationality,color, or heritage, doesn't matter. Why? Because you are in America, the only true diverse nation in the world.

And where I come from—that’s special.

If only I could hear with Whitman’s ears

But for me, there is no singing

There is no pride in work that is undervalued and underpaid

No humanity in a CEO who squirrels away billions

For yachts or private islands or whatever that much money can buy

While his workers starve and his fellow citizens die from a virus

That’s only served to further line his designer pants pockets

He profits from our collective misery

If only I could hear with Whitman’s ears

But when I listen all I hear are the cries

Cries from the souls whose backs are broken

From the weight of this nation's foundation

From the mothers whose babies were stolen from their arms

Whose bodies were torn apart to make way for more stealing

Of half-white children and dignity and spirit

From the mothers whose babies are still being stolen

In the streets, in their homes, in their cars

It doesn’t really matter where when its here

In America

Sometimes I do hear tones

As I loafe and stare at those summer blades of grass

But they’re so dissonant

Carols of sorrow in a minor key at best

A cacophony of rage with no melody at worst

Where everyone is singing different lyrics

And half the people don’t know how to read music

They hate genres they’ve never really listened to

They don’t know that good music lifts you up

The more I think about it

I'm sure I never liked that Whitman song anyway

It sounds like the kind of mass-produced pop

That’s catchy at first, but then you can’t get it out of your head

It burrows into the back of your brain and you find yourself humming

When you’re in the shower, or driving your car or trying to sleep

You can’t seem to escape it

You know the kind of song I’m talking about

The backing track is the din of the machine

Droning on and on and on

Sure, there’s pride to be had in creation

But the pride is in the way it makes you feel

Not the way it fills your wallet

You don’t have to monetize every hobby you have

For it to have value

Its value is intrinsic

Made by you for you

Whitman sang another song, a song of himself

And if it was still a chart topper

Maybe everyone wouldn't have missed the part where

He implored us to live for ourselves

Instead of being told what to feel or like or think

Chances are the world will unfurl before you

Like a flower in that summer sun

If you let it

For now, all I know is

I can’t live without music

So how do I go on living here?

I languish and get lost in my dreams

Where the pipes are callin’

Not for my death, but my rebirth

Across the Wild Atlantic

Where those blades of grass are literally greener

They say home is where the heart is

And my heart’s not in it anymore

I'm sorry Walt

My throat's too sore to sing, and

I need a cup of tea

-----

Note: Prior to this challenge, I wrote some other poems inspired by America. If you'd like to read them, you can find them at:

https://theprose.com/post/399067/a-slam-poem-for-america https://theprose.com/post/404355/this-is-america

https://theprose.com/post/405400/cave-screaming

when benjamin lit up the sky

with an electric rod and patriotism -

we became americans.

the changing seasons and the

tides of politics

all tie up in an apple pie

so tart it goes straight to TikTok.

the history of the people

is its own majesty,

like from

across the pond -

where we came from.

but so many of us

came into existence

in the depths of blood,

a tide of remorse we can’t

seem to see through

this side of the moon.

this is america,

once untouched, now a melting pot

that hears millions of voices

that sees so many stories -

this is us

and it's about time

we reclaimed ourselves.

At the end of the road keep walking

Left, Right, Turn around, Climb down

Do you see Pvt. Joe pretending to sleep?

Count the time by years, not hours

He hasn't been there all that long, has he?

"Homeless? Me? Nah. Just a rough patch

Things have a way of workin out now, don't they,

so don't you go worrying yourself 'bout me."

An Amazon box holds his head for the night.

The last one said only Made in America

All four sides, no matter which way he flipped it,

He didn't have to wonder what was inside

Maybe bow ties, or baby shoes or scented trash bags.

The cops don't bother him anymore.

They look away when they see him.

He is just a lamppost, or a street sign

or a weed shriveled up by the sun.

Yet some of them are kind enough to offer

doughnuts holes, a tuna sub, pizza, buttered rolls,

and purified bottled water or a Coke if he's lucky.

They know where to leave his rations.

Up on the concrete ledge where the dogs can't get it

but Pvt. Joe always shares with the strays.

Some of them help keep him warm at night.

And when he gets up to piss in the quiet hour,

like a gentleman he makes sure to walk away

way down to the darkest end of the tunnel,

streaming out his business against the wall

sprayed over with graffiti so many times

he couldn't know about the original written sin.

"God Bless America"

’Twas gelid,

And the ships did sway to & fro.

All pangs of guilt seemed not to gnaw,

And the gods were full of so much rage.

“Beware the ships that roll in from the sea, my son!

The artillery that fire, the men that ire!

Beware the sheqels of silver, and sist The Fraudulent Behavior!”

Take time to put in more acts of good Service; Long moments of battles need To remain in the past & a need to Seek~Something else, a way of living And start with a new way of Thriving.

And, as only time will surely tell,

How things will go from here, there And in all communities of this nation

With folks having hope for a brighter & better present, tomorrow and future!

This way! That way! All working Together peacefully!

Sharing new ideas, thoughts and inventions.

“And what about the cry of voices Calling out every night & day?

Listen to the sound of people crying Out. O, Justice! Love! Unity!” Exclaimed in all communities.

’Twas gelid,

And the ships did sway to & fro.

All pangs of guilt seemed not to gnaw,

And the gods were full of so much rage.

#MEMORANDUM (c)

9th Feb., 2021.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=b99r48grKGI

What would the first fathers say if they could see,

The twisted end of their great beliefs.

A nation built for freedom falls,

To ruin, control, and internal wars.

Our blindness binds us to a social norm,

Media screaming to conform.

They say, “be yourself!” “speak your mind!”

This current mantra is a lie.

Step a foot out of their line,

Your voice is choked, your hands are tied.

While ignorant masses lead their clashes, fighting for a cause that’s blind,

Our country crumbles into chaos, not looking forward nor behind.

Too focused on our pointing fingers, starting fights, and casting stones,

we will cry for peace for justice, but in the end we eat our own.

All I can see from up here

is the fanatics with their waving flags

shouting out about their freedom

patriotism pouring like vomit or tears

All I can see from up here

is the headlines full of shot-up schools

or people broke by hospital bills

or choked by the police

All I can see from up here

is the shiny, glossed bubble

of red, white, and blue like a shield

for the rich, white masses grinning

But really, what do I know?

I won't pretend to be an expert when

the news is oh so good at telling it

not like it is

Still, I can't help but raise an eyebrow

when people talk about how great it is

in the USA