New Earth (Haiku)

New Earth

It was something new

Earth being separate from

The expansive Sky

Earth had been warm there

Cocooned in eternal stars

Her cosmic playthings

But suddenly Earth

Found herself gazing upward

Far from her old friends

Nursing at the sky 

The Milky Way's breast, Earth smiled

But no smile came back.

For the Sky, knowing,
Gazed back with apprehension

Like parents might do

Looking at a child

Recently crippled, sensing 

What might lie ahead.

For others would come
Earth was not to be alone.
There would be Dwellers.

At first, they would love.

They would reverence the Earth

The Sky, and all Life.

But then they would change.

Sky had seen it countless times.

The Dwellers would change.

Ideas like more

And less would infect them all

They would conclude that

By taking from earth
The Dwellers could make themselves
Manufacture peace

Sky would see it all 

She would see the infection
As it began anew

And she would be sad.
For the Dwellers would wander
Would fight the Earth's ways

Instead of waiting

For instance, for season's change

They would break her skin

To plant even more

Than what they needed; more than

What freely grew there. 

The Dwellers would trade

And greed - unknown to nature
Would change everything.

The waters would die.
Animals, once abundant
Would vanish for good.

Mutated products
Garbage, war, disease would come...
And the Earth would die.

It had always been;
Had happened on many Earths
The Sky hoped, maybe...

Just maybe, this time
The Dwellers' souls would have learned...
Learned the way of peace

For hope rises East
And the Sky loves the Dwellers
Hopes for our growth

That's why Sky birthed Earth;
To give our riotous souls
Our old, restless souls

Yet another chance
To learn, to grow, to feel love
In the cold expanse.

So Earth gazed upwards
At the bright Sky gazing back
With great, grave, stillness.

--Eric Marley
April 2013

The Disaffected Revolutionaries (Poem/bitchfest)

The Disaffected Revolutionaries

The tattoo on his neck

Doesn’t look to me
Like anything but
A boot print

Don’t talk to me about

Choices
What “they” deserve

You were not born in their wet skin

You are not yet disaffected

You are not a smoker
So tax the smokers

You are not a gay man

So ban gay marriage

You are not a Muslim

So establish a base there

You are not a drug addict
So discern the drug addict
From a loftier perch

You are not evil
So punish the evil
Ban it-
Mandate its expulsion
So the Great You
The Rising Right
The Promised Nation
Can manifest its destiny
Otherwise
Who knows
What He will do
But...

Wasn't that the Biblical Satan's plan?
How is it now your Biblical God's plan?

While you consider this
If you choose to do so

Those who do not recognize
Your sovereignty
As their Judge
Will exit the coliseum

You built to honor your false selves

Encircle your box office*
They now make themselves ready
For the moment
That you too are disaffected
And walk slowly with them
Down those slippery stairs
Wet with blood and urine
Staring into the faces
That at once harbor
Aspects of
Violence
Anger
Love
Peace
Frustration
Misunderstanding
(For they also judge)
And await
Your decision
To join and fight
Or fight those that join

 --Eric Marley

April 2013

*Lifted from Saul Williams' poem, "Bloodletting" 

Gary Wolnez - (Slam Poem/Story)

Gary Wolnez was one of those guys that was always around but never quite there.  He was in but not quite inside. He played football but he didn’t start. He was kinda handsome but his hair stood on end like antennae that brought in the thoughts of us all.  

Gary Wolnez, he had dark eyes.  Eyes that looked like owl’s eyes; eyes that see in the dark, soft pools that, if you were to throw a rock in one, it wouldn’t have gone “splat” but rather, “ker-plunk”; eyes that might have been drawn by Mensa artists. Eyes that seemed to have just one too many layers. Just one too many layers.

People with eyes like that don’t stay here long. It's too much information. Everyone talks at once. They see in all dimensions, see the Reasons. They see your words turned on end. They can feel your smiles from inside your teeth, and he knows what you mean. Their skin reaches into anyone with whom they are speaking, probing their motives, mining their meaning, feeling the tingle of everyone’s skin. You didn't notice the probing because of the eyes.

Feeling it all is hard work. Doors are ultimately no good to people like Gary. They disregard them. The protection they offer is unavailable, unknowable, really, to someone like him. So Gary Wolnez could never sleep. His radio was tuned to all stations simultaneously. There was no "off" button. The sheep he counted never shut up. They just smiled back at him with his own eyes and kept talking. Gary would walk down the school hall, feeling it all. The sparks from our teenaged forest fires were always in his eyes, blinding him. Ultimately we were responsible for destroying his night vision. He could no longer see in the dark even when the sparks went cold. All the world was 100 fathoms deep. Dark glasses were too late coming.  

The last time I saw Gary he was wearing black. I worked in a grocery store. He watched me from the second floor. He looked like an ink spot. Sun photo negative. Melted Crayola on beat black construction paper. Spark blind now, Gary wasn’t smiling, looked like he hadn't slept since fire. Wait right there, Gary, and I’ll be right up. When I looked back, he was gone.  He’s still gone. He still watches me from above. He still has the same eyes. The sparks are gone. He lives in the dark.