|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Thich Quang DucMy frayed robe, decaying skin,
muscle, bone, and blood,
layer by layer removed
and turned to charcoal smoke.
Crumbling cloth and withered tissue
scraps fly, flickering in the air
and floating up their nostrils.
Breath deeper, the fetor of my people,
writhing and dying from persecution.
Witness in whisper, I am not crying
as the searing flames turn my humble
human body to ashes.
1932The roads are the color of sawdust,
toughened by uneven wheel ruts,
while the radio plays memories
of the swing-sing flappers and jazz nightingales.
Street corners are clogged
with cardboard soled shoes.
Hand painted signs of first-time beggars,
willing to work for worthless dough.
A weather-worn fedora hangs low
over his tobacco stained face.
His favorite tie over an oil marked shirt.
He lives, a humbled man, consumed
within this city of broken tents.
Men, women lean into the shadows
to disguise the shame of hunger.
Praying, in the American way,
with hands hidden under pocket flags.
Inherited DevotionBehind breath-fogged glass, sinking
in my seat; while sharing an hour's long drive,
my mother's fingers tap the wheel
to rap away a percussion's jive
Like college karaoke, she sings a sour
tune to lyrics I cannot understand.
A '50's daughter, she will never abandon
her crush on her favorite four-man band.
Imagine! These men walking level lined
on crosswalks. Or colored black and white
and jumping high in rusted fields.
Smoking, loving as hard as they write.
In technicolor uniforms, their symbol
of those with famous lonely hearts,
and mellow songs of helpful friends
on top of the American charts.
With these digital tunes and poster plastered
walls, I too celebrate the revolution
when the radio waves of Elvis' raves
went static-still in Rock's evolution.
1793Death sways in fox trot, her dark dress
rippling with the mellow music
of convulsed inhalations.
Spider's silk hair and candle wax skin
reflecting off puddles;
black pools bleeding from gutters and doorsteps.
She waltzes down the wasted city
where the yellow moon doesn't set
and floats in the glaze
of feverish scleras,
a tell tale trait of rotting livers
above bile stained lips.
Ironic pleas for empathy
are born by bound black servants
while Doctors bicker of bloodletting.
She collects in her woven basket
their restless jaded scalpels
and dubious modus curandis.
She stands in awe
of the frost bitten docks
sated with rotten tea
and maturing mosquito eggs,
until the grey dawn.
You created us from dust,
but we are not immune to indifference.
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More