Poetry

Freja M Lindsjo

 

By

Michael Mulvihill

 

 

Hatred

 

 

I am hated for my ethnicity,

I am hated for being a member of my race,

I am hated for my professed creed,

My people are becoming extinct,

I am a survivor,

I dodge bullets,

Travel through the country,

Learning to get out of the country bit by bit,

Hate me,

Hate my people,

Cut them up,

Put them into your war machine,

At the opposite end throw them out,

Dead, in a cemetery,

My people are not strong enough warriors,

They die,

They try to defy the enemy,

They die,

I flee from the enemy,

I live,

A coward,

 

A man, a woman, a child,

I can not kill any of these people,

Around here soldiers do that,

They rape, pillage, destroy,

Ruin others with the history of depravity,

 

I must not stay here,

I can not sleep,

The country crawls with guns and men,

I am frightened,

 

Dying to live,

I be,

Dying to live,

My people in swarms are dying to live.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Departed Bereaved

 

 

What is the purpose?

Now that you are departed,

I am mewed up to the sky,

Chased by the elephants,

Sorrowed over the insanity of extreme loss,

Sometimes it just feels like God was devoured or lost,

 

Am I devoured or dead as well?

Imprecision hits me like a sword,

 

Dead as molten rock,

Self immolated like my body was burnt in the centre of the earth,

 

Imprecision hits me like a sword,

Grief here knows no bounds,

 

Sorrow in thick inedible doses eats my insides,

 

Has time eclipsed the earth?

 

It brings sorrow here,

It hits me like a sword through my chest,

This grief lights up the skylight like a moronic possession of the self,

 

It fuses into my skin,

Where there it curries favour for this end,

 

Dwells in my psyche,

Cuts through sticks and stones,

 

Dreamt, screaming and even dreaming,

 

Without the sun,

Which went through the night,

It oversteps this Omega,

Me being here is like a parasitical heresy,

I am a clever joke with silence for laughter,

 

A parasite for reality,

Cigarette smoke, Gin and tonic, the paradox is the perfect vehicle for truth,

 

No one could ever love me the way you loved me,

Emptiness kills the definition,

 

Putrid waste, beauteous void, endless nothing,

Caresses indebted to ghosts,

 

Transformed demons,

Over invested bodies,

 

Emptiness kills previous profound definitions,

 

There is no more heaven,

Just a transformation of what was once good into demons,

 

Demons raise themselves like skyscrapers,

 

Emptiness kills all reason,

 

This is smoke,

Smoke that burns no fire,

A carcass and a corpse,

A meander for a point,

A time both loveless and consumed by the giant monster that is time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

michael mulvihill

Michael Mulvihill

Michael Mulvihill, mulvihillp@ymail.com, of Dublin, “Bombing Basra” Indian Periodical (Feb 8 2017), Ireland, wrote BP #77’s “Drop” and “Lupine Savagery” (+ BP #76’s “The Watchers”; BP #68’s”The Toasters’ Tragedy” and “Ziggy’s Afterlife Analysis”; “Homeless” & “Why the Hell Siberia?” for BP #67; was featured author for BP #65’s “Ethagorian Evidence, Parts 1 & 2” & “Uninsured Assurance”; VAMPIRE HORDE, Ch.1… for BP #63; BP #61’s poems, A Love Story Beautiful, Capitalism’s Modern Architecture of Love, Red Brick, The Securocrats, and Toxic Addiction; the poems, “Fatigued,” “O Mother,” & “Spike-Inverted Hearts” for BP #58; “The Cleaner and the Collector” & all 6 BP #56 poems; BP #50’s “The Soul Scrubber” and was featured vampire poet with A Vampire’s Dilemma: Love, Becoming a Vampire, Vampire Insomnia, and Vampiric War in The Kodori Valley; wrote BP #49’s poems—I, the Vampire, The Reluctant Vampire of Tbilisi, Vampire Observations, and Vampire Psychoanalysis). The  author published a short story, “Ethagoria Nebsonia,” in BP in ’98 and had a poem, “The Bombing,” in The Kingdom News about a domestic tragedy in Ireland. He has written the horror novels, DIABOLIS OF DUBLIN & SIBERIAN HELLHOLE.

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