December 12, 2016 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Rodrigo Abd/AP



David Susswein



It Appears…Monsters are Gods and Gods Are Monsters



I hope you die forever


                                                                           I hope you never die


I was in a boat you sonvabitch, my wife drowned


                       – I was in a palace, I wore a white shirt that shone so bright

                                                        in the moonlight, it reflected for half a mile

                                                                      sunk down deep in glories of casinos,

                                    three whores, cubanesque I took to my bed each night.


                                                                  – I flung out dreams of meeting America

                                  they were cast in nets like acid when I found your shore.


Batista spat his eyes on my grandpa; he ended his days in

Holguín, prison and torture-rack.


I broke-worked as a donkey, cutting in Las Tunas,

Sugarcane, burning the field, smoke blinding my sight,

my cane-knife stuck to my hand, my callouses matching

the wood’s imperfection like a wife to husband

-till Fidel came, freed me from that slave-pit.




“Fidel was a father for everyone in my generation, he saved us…”



“to see him die, just the symbolism alone, the redemption that it gave to 100,000 people that have suffered, just is incredible.”





A President Offers this:


“We offer condolences to Fidel Castro’s family, and our thoughts and prayers are with the Cuban people. In the days ahead, they will recall the past and also look to the future. As they do, the Cuban people must know that they have a friend and partner in the United States of America.”


A President-Elect Offers This:


“Today, the world marks the passing of a brutal dictator who oppressed his own people for nearly six decades. Fidel Castro’s legacy is one of firing squads, theft, unimaginable suffering, poverty and the denial of fundamental human rights.”



And I Say This:


we pass from light to dark

the sun has eclipsed itself,

and the darkness at noon

has become our will.








An America Becomes Strong



my father taught me hold to hold a gun

            It was a shining 1911 acp, and too heavy

            for my hands.

            he taught me the safety, how to look long down the barrel

            and I shot at fluffy bears, tigers and dolphins,

                  toys too old for me.

I tried my best, his hand holding mine-up

            to shoot at benny, pat, lampkins-fishy

            I missed every shot, though I tried.


he was angry. from out, my room, hugging myself at my door

I listened my mother holding him I thought and spoke quietly

[I could tell this when rows started, pattern like

a rhythmic beating of a drum. SHOUT. calm beat voice. SHOUT

calm unheard voice. a predictable patter of voice and noise

muffling to things down, that then I didn’t understand.]


            this time I would not be sent, out—

            another chance to prove my manhood, would come.


I grew up. I got out.

            this stinking apartment is nothing,

            soon I’ll meet guys

            we’ll making a big score

            we’ve already planned it


and they’ll come with guns that they are strong enough to hold

and they can point












David Susswein

I live in England, at the bottom, near the sea. What I do there is my business, but it’s not too cold.

Actually, I try and write; write well. I often fail, sometimes though I don’t. That makes me happy-ish.

I’m at: DreamCatcher, Envoi, Morphrog.com, ShotGlass Journal and others too..


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