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5 Poems - Bob McNeil

8/3/2014

18 Comments

 
Picture


Dinner on the Orb

I witnessed the anonymous populace
   Enter The Third Orb Restaurant.
   Upon gathering,
   Their words,
   The eruptions from assassins,
   Assailed our oxygen.
   Upon gathering,
   Diplomacy stumbled
   Over War’s pummeled leg.
I witnessed them
   When rapport
   Joined the floor.
   These patrons from Satan's matrons
   Sate their bellies’ weight
   On altercations.
I witnessed them
   Gnaw each other to slaw.
   They chewed open grief
   And experienced brutish relief.
I witnessed them
   Act wolfish
   About their favorite dish--
   Broiled anguish.
   They chomped on violence,
   Eating any marrow's pittance.
   Bloodstains were ample
   At their tables.
   A truce was never favored.
   A truce was never savored.




The Brood Combat Begat

Lobbyists, politicians
And green lawn automatons
Thirst for one beverage.
The beverage is unaverage.
The beverage requires carnage.
It appeals to these profitable savages.
To drink a zillion oil-filled buckets,
They use despotic rockets.

War and Greed’s bond
Begat this profitable spawn.
War and Greed’s bond
Begat this profitable spawn.

Tabloid, internet
And television’s taloned scavengers
Pulp the atrocity to the point
They can gulp the atrocity.
Disinformation will always manifest
Out of whatever they ingest.
The disinformation they often expel
Helps oily dollars swell and swell.

War and Greed’s bond
Begat this profitable spawn.
War and Greed’s bond
Begat this profitable spawn.




Billfold Souls

Suppose those Billfold Souls,
   Who tow their boats of green notes,
   Had stocks that knocked into sewage
   Under Wall Street’s block,
Suppose those Billfold Souls
   Scoped the Dow Jones
   Go under gravestones,
Suppose those Billfold Souls
   Scoped the NASDAQ
   Slap some bird crap
   Over a broker’s jacket,
Suppose those Billfold Souls
   Scoped a certain magazine’s five hundred
   Hunger to wed a loaf of bread,
Suppose those Billfold Souls
   Scoped their bank accounts’ mass
   Wind up a fumbled pass,
Would those Billfold Souls
   Find the emotion known as despair
   For a human who stares
   At a pocket
   That has no money in the fabric’s lair,
Would those Billfold Souls
   Find the emotion known as despair
   For a human who stares
   At a plate
   That has no sustenance there,
Would those Billfold Souls despair,
Would those Billfold Souls despair
   For anything besides
   Their beaten schemes for moolah reams?




Blessed Meals During Cursed Times

Holding the same Biblical urge
To end barbarity's scourge,
My antebellum ancestors
Wanted a rescuer to emerge.

Left beside their regrets,
They sought manna for their palates.
And there was a seasoned trove
All over some ebony mama’s stove.

Provided you had their edibles,
Existence felt palatable.
Punches were munched apart.
Mamas fried, sautéed or baked,
And sent another ache astray.

Their recipes sent servitude’s hurts
Past tyranny’s outskirts.
Mamas’ food helped sorrow get hauled
And it allowed love to be installed.

Watching gladness protrude,
Mamas gave nutrition to various broods.
Considering the fortifiers they served,
I hope them mamas heard,
I hope them mamas heard
Thank you.




America’s Unconstitutional Grill

Near the counter,
    One seat away from a guy named Uncle Sam,
    I sat in America’s Unconstitutional Grill,
    Notorious for its discrimination special.
    Recollections took my psyche traveling
    Throughout gripped and whipped generations.
    I remembered Sam’s culture-ramming family
    Capturing my kin
    And reducing them to abused horses
    In a round pen.
My temper went from a semiautomatic pistol
    To a ballistic missile.
    Around then
    My anger could have leveled
    America’s Unconstitutional Grill.
Right before my left was going to punch Sam
    So his teeth would meet a dirt heap
    Beneath some table’s feet,
    Noncaucasian children came in.
    They ordered cheeseburgers.
     A sour-cream-demeanoured waitress,
     Wearing a hairnet,
     Said, “The Grill did not get
    The School Budget Tomato Sauce yet.”
Judging from the way
     Their liveliness took a graveyard turn,
     Noncaucasian children did learn
     Unconcern made their meals burn.
According to other Noncaucasian patrons,
    There was not much pepper
    In the House and Senate stew.
    Noncaucasian patrons spat discontent
    Over the cop-frisked pork biscuits
    Accompanying assorted penal-smelly vittles.
Seconds from leaving America’s Unconstitutional Grill,
    Despite my refusal to select a speck,
    The waitress tossed me a check.
    After I tabulated
    Subjugation's cost,
    I told the ashy cashier,
    “Get the damn owners to atone
    And reimburse for every year
    My people spent here.”
18 Comments
Chyna Dahl
8/3/2014 11:57:27 am

Wonderful Bob! I enjoyed your works tremendously.

Reply
Lennee Reid
8/3/2014 06:12:20 pm

Deep words eloquently put !

Reply
Rex Mayor Ubini link
8/4/2014 06:48:33 am

Wow, my mind's eye read these beautiful works of my master Bob McNeil, I just want to keep reading as I was drown in the pleasure of this art. Bob, the time is now, America, the time is now, Africa the time is now, to open the portals for Bob's work to walkk free into our world.

Reply
Tope Lawrence Stol
8/4/2014 08:54:30 am

Good Job there!

Reply
elizabet burbside
8/4/2014 03:52:48 pm

Very well versed. Makes my mind ponder in picture stew...I see the words whence came of history. Time capsule of marinated events lived..much respect n love dearest brotha. Bob...now put me down !!! Lol

Reply
Marjorie Desinor
8/4/2014 05:34:04 pm

Awesome description of segregation of America. Not enough "pepper " in today's society anymore. Residents only love the picture. Thank you, Bob McNeil for these beautiful pieces of artful words.

Reply
Isabella George link
8/5/2014 05:49:15 am

Wonderful, I love a good poetic rant...the poems are gutsy politically and socially searing!...Let's be aware of the Bilderberg chip that is coming!

Reply
John Squire
8/6/2014 09:32:40 pm

Righteous rants!

Reply
Poetess Mimi T
8/7/2014 07:03:01 pm

Fabulous

Reply
Lydia Elizabeth link
8/7/2014 09:47:39 pm

One word badassical

Reply
Edna Garcia
8/12/2014 10:18:13 am

“America‘s Unconstitutional Grill” stirs up memories and emotions of a time when minorities were treated like second-class citizens. The poem is McNeil’s rebellious outcry towards the injustices he read about and witnessed.

“Dinner on the Orb,” The mood in this Bob McNeil’s poem, is a reminder of a violent reality. People are so easily prone to use force instead of being civil.
Mr. McNeil, once again, you have taken us out of our comfort zones to remind us that violence is everywhere. Therefore, we must be vigilant at all times and protect ourselves.


Reply
Fred Simpson
8/12/2014 01:07:41 pm

Five on the grill...

Similar themes diversely expressed.
Food and its prep -- metaphor for love, survival,
revolution when the cook is a chef, adept.

Bob, nice work!

Reply
Liza Jenkins
8/17/2014 01:41:01 am

Thank you for giving me a place to unwind and enjoy life, you see what I see, and feel what I feel. That's what makes us able to deal.

Reply
Bruce George, Co-Founder of Def Poetry Jam link
8/19/2014 11:29:28 am

Bob's use of personification and metaphor, muckrakes the status quo into a defensive posture; his words of agitation sets the right tone, for other things to come.

Reply
Markey
10/24/2014 07:59:02 pm

a historic poetic papercut of to awaken us from literary drudgery

Reply
Shane
12/1/2014 01:09:23 am

Brilliant choice of words. Refreshing work, poetry with a powerful message. Keep it up!

Reply
Prince A McNally
2/18/2015 06:33:14 pm

Bob, That was a most splendid crafting of metaphoric artistry... weaving a political masterpiece!

Thank you for sharing your gift.
Prince

Reply
Prince A McNally
2/18/2015 06:33:51 pm

Bob, That was a most splendid crafting of metaphoric artistry... weaving a political masterpiece!

Thank you for sharing your gift.
Prince

Reply



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