Eastern Bloc Television

A poem I wrote in 2015

Before 'the fall' - before the invasions -

We were not yet stricken.

The slab still upright.

Trapdoor knots tease and delve -

Dropping blood to thinned out,
Bruised painted, bottle-necked,
Blue-faced death.
Ligatures smile and wink,
Telling the mask, the scar it burns
Is killing all others but me.

Bent sickle, triple hammer. hooks -
Thumping and slicing
Their way through gangs of little helpers -
Those who want us
To go.
Shooing away fumes -
Those clever little dots that glow and warn -
'You cannot die.'
Lead sinks into skin as a child
To poison myself, to black out my eyes.
The lead is not lead, another trick.
Some hood, hooded, quiet, with a switchblade,
Hanging tough to annihilate all life.
I sail by, open, daring, afraid.
Nothing happens. Just a pale kid on the block

Listening to Radio Free Europe -

They are afraid of me.

A Trabant clumps up, decapitates,

Severed links. Naked sweethearts,
Extremists who drive and bleed.
The roadside smirks at concrete checkpoints, like poppies
That once more shroud the blind sharp corner.
Me, the passenger emerges scratched,
Strapped into absorption -
Lashed - but alive.

Love for my close ones rips my throat,
A tang of almond
Glues up, then yakked out in a
Slag of dead yolk.
Splattered,
I am living.
I could be a red sloe,
Left to putrefy,
To fester in fur ball
Loveliness -
Snuggled to the cherries and the limes -
Or a barren witch,
I could pass out quietly,
Without mourning,
My stone uterus engraved -
I could be vermin, a sort of freedom,
Hunted
My death wished, my blood lapped.

Or lame in thirties Berlin,
My hooked bones
Useless to the masses,
Buried under Supermen.

After 'The Fall' - after the invasion, their ideas of freedom.

Brick by brick. Closedown.

A wall of white noise. 'Die Wende.'

A McDonald's in the Balkans

A Starbucks in Moscow and the Cold War melts. 

A crescent moon. a collection of enemies,

A red star rising through the Eastern twilight -

Mother is coming home.

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

McDonald's in the Balkans.

Good grasp of sounds. I like this poem.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you so much -
-x-

[jacob erin-cilberto]

it's bad enough how capitalistic we have become...and then to see it spread everywhere...

i remember when Mac's had burgers, fries and shakes...pretty soon taco bell will have hamburgers...
places used to have a theme---now it is a potpourri of everything everywhere...a battle to be the one place everyone goes ----the diverse menu...or most diverse...

a great statement here and such a true one...not sure how i missed this first time around...

j.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you J -
-x-

[Corset]

it is incredible how the media shapes and forms our bones, addles our minds with super hero and false hope, but you darlin' are ever the voice in which i'm reading, no "mommy brain" going on in here, brilliant as ever if not even more so. Have you come to rescue me in my black eyed attire, lilacs and butterflys, my mind has gone soft beneath this heart is ever shining, how is beautiful Scarlet?

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you love! I sent you a message!

-x-

[Corset]

I got it! :P

[Dr. Wood ?]

you are too good for this place and far too clever for me..I loved this and when I read it again I am sure that I'll find summat else to love...Ha...the REM song got me

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks so much Doc - I hope you are doing well.

-x-

[Dr. Wood ?]

keeping my head above whatever it is that tries to drag me down....Ha...doing fine, hope that Motherhood is still suiting you

[Rosalind Gale]

It does! :) x-x-

[AaronFreitas]

I love the imagery in this write... very powerful! Great work :)

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you!

-x-

[Leslie Philibert]

Modern capitalism gets rightly a good hammering here, this a blizzard of strong imagery, packed in a quality poem. This is excellent. Read this !

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Leslie -

-x-

[h d e rushin]

I cannot but argue that the investment, the feoffment of modern poetry made by those who
can reason thru the wonder and the 'teeth of the wild beast" of it, is a fee you have to want
to pay. What I mean is that, no one gets rich (reviewed) anymore writing with such brutal idealism.
And Plath is richer now in death than she ever was in her tortured, imaginary life.

You know how much I love you Rosalind. Don't make me tell you again.......dana

[Rosalind Gale]

Much love to you Dana, as always -

-xxx-

[Coyote Poetry]

I like the poetry that make you think. This poem did.
"A wall of white noise. 'Die Wende.'
A McDonald's in the Balkans
A Starbucks in Moscow and a dollar in Somalia.
A crescent moon, extremist stars, rising in the
Middle East."
Above lines create places and something to ponder. Thank you for sharing the outstanding poetry.
Coyote

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you Coyote, I do appreciate your words.

-x-

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome.