Wednesday, 15 February 2012

This Belief

This belief that lies upon my skin like a winter sun burn kiss.

My consciousness
an idealist seeking beacon
searches through an overcast evening.
I curse the cloud cover and
street lights
that hide the the mystery of
the Northern Lights,
as I look for the illumination of reason
and the majesty of chance
amongst conflict shadows
and my continuous disbelief
dancing dying starlight
across the Aurora Borealis
of my brain.

I take a series of deep breathes,
Like rescue divers
Recovering drowned tourists
From the bottom of the Italian coastline.
Khaki wearing passengers
who bought last minute tickets
and ended up
on the wrong all inclusive cruise.
Unbeknownst to them that it
was going to be their last trip
to the all you can eat buffet.

While in Syrian side streets
Children collect bullet casings
In between democracy classes
As fathers clash draped in flags
And mothers cry inside
burning hot burkas
And tanning salons in Castricum, Chicago, and Cardiff
Are having half price winter sales.

Meanwhile in a
small town suburban Dutch market,
skeletons from a forgotten graveyard
are uncovered where
city council voted upon and approved
underground garbage containers
were to have been placed
to help promote recycling.

While an ocean away
God hovers over
southern Florida
wondering what sort of blunder
his clinging conservative followers
will make next.
Cause we shouldn't be
surprised when a guy named Newt
turns out be another self serving
christian political chameleon
in sheep's clothing.

And tomorrow I will awake and
Senegal will still be clamped down
under a dictators gold tooth
and Youssou N'Dour won't be singing
and I won't be too shocked by the report of
another stabbing
outside of a  bar in Amsterdam, New York
or London
after all the weekend warriors
have settled their bar tabs
been set loose and sent home.

While I sit here at 2:30 in the morning
Djing in a hard rock cafe in
Haarlemtown Holland,
spinning what freedom has given me
and pondering if the next track will
finally get these fuckers dancing.

© Joshua Baumgarten

Romney and Gingrich attacks get personal ahead of Florida vote

Senegal Elections: President Cleared To Run For 3rd Term, Pop Star Not On Ballot

17th body removed from cruise shipwreck

Editor's note: This poem covers several issues and, although it was submitted last week, it is a fine example of a poet finding inspiration in the different aspects of the news.
Joshua Baumgarten is an ex-pat New Yorker living in Holland. He organises the Irrational Library evenings - nights of poetry, rock n roll and casual chaos, and performs as a Standup Spoken Word artist.