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Birth of the Coup-well: War House Hoets

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    by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner

    War House hoets shamelessly

    Raise golden goblets

    Of fracking fluid, toast

    Eternal war, war profiteers

     

    Birth of the Coup-well: War House Hoets

    by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner

     

    Onomatopoeia of sucking,

    Briefings in a bathroom

    Off the Offal Office,

    Secure location for

    Speaking truth to power,

    Performing teleprompter

    Poems, dangling on the

    Warhead of their hero—

    War House hoets

    Hold his feat to the

    Fire of their flaming

    Tongues…

     

    Like Chihuahuas on

    Red, white and blue leashes,

     

    Hoets see, hear, no evil—

    Vote vinegary tears

    To orphans; charred roll call

    Of bones, bullet-riddled

    Bodies, two-headed babies

    Deformed by depleted

    Uranium, to mothers…

     

    War House hoets shamelessly

    Raise golden goblets

    Of fracking fluid, toast

    Eternal war, war profiteers,

    Craft spy poems,

    Surveillance poems,

    Recite Psy-Op odes

    In imperialist pentameter,

    Manufacture metaphors

    Too big to fail in

    Stanzas populated by

    Boots on the ground…

     

    Meanwhile, Brutus, Brecht,

    Neruda, Claude Mc Kay,

    Garcia Lorca, Adrienne Rich-

    Types— third eyes piercing

    The corporate veil

    Like Wikileak lasers—

    Win invites, compound sentences to

    Black sites, specifying business casual:

    Pumpkin orange jumpsuits, shackles,

    Manacles, mittens, noise-canceling

    Headphones, blackened goggles—

    For the visionary ones…

     

    Raymond Nat Turner © 2013 All Rights Reserved

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