Excerpt for Drumming for the Sentient Being by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Drumming for the

Sentient Being

By Wild Rose Cherry

Copyright © 2017 by Wild Rose Cherry

Smashwords Edition

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Also in poetry by Wild Rose Cherry

Bound

Fantasy

The Trance of Living

Women in Love


You can find these titles at fine Ebook retailers everywhere, as well as my light erotic stories (lesbian-themed.) To view my Smashwords profile, interview and complete catalogue, simply use this link:

Wild Rose Cherry at Smashwords

Table of Contents

Also by Wild Rose Cherry

Climbing Hills in a Flat Land

Pruning Queers

The Sanguine Travellers

Wrestling with Reality

Terrorism

The Heart of the Lotus


Climbing Hills in a Flat Land

Floating in a sea it did not make,

The detritus of humanity claims a world as its own;

Into every nook and niche to be found,

It yields no shelter for the creatures it encounters.

Drowned, ensnared, shackled in odious plastic traps,

Creatures flail as though in silence for mercy – for the stop;

No stop in the carnage will come,

For the way of this world is that wealth rules,

And none may stand before that and not feel awe

And terror.

The garbage accumulates, and the rotting stench of failed experiments

Fills the world,

Staining the snow, the flowers, bees and crows with a choking red dust.

The exertions of the scattered living can do no more -

Nobody listens in this world;

They adore the garbage makers -

He who stands atop the biggest pile,

Is king of the world;

Those who claim to be of a religion of peace,

Stomping a world into submission,

All in the name of spreading their filthy word,

And news of the end to come.

Pruning Queers

Parallelograms have the virtue of being simple;

So it is plain to see that their god is none other than the government.

They are pruned of their flowering buds;

Knotted, deformed they grow,

Not knowing that others also live

And seek to live well;

The rage of the blind is upon the world,

And they have grown so, in order to force others to submit to the shears -

To obey wicked commands to destroy.

They will love the survivors, those they spare the axe,

Those they believe to be like themselves.

Their god loves the blood spilled by armies;

Woman is evil if empowered; Nature is an impediment to civilization.

Can't we reach out for peace,

Without the limb being slapped, or cut off?

Now I am being told, that god-government will punish us all,

For I am free to love my true partner -

For I am the queer apple on the branch,

And there's nothing god-government hates more than free queers.

My vengeful irony is to burn the bibles,

And watch their god disappear whence he came -

Back into the void of non-existence;

And I hope that enough will see, in time,

That any government that speaks of gods,

Cannot but lead people to destroy what is good and free.

The Sanguine Travellers

To live the good life,

I want only my sight -

To see what is there,

And what is truly nought.

I want to fly away,

On to the Red Planet, I say,

And I hope those colonies, near yet far,

Of people filled with hopes,

Live the good life,

On an unconquerable world -

And keep it so.

The illusions, the mirrors, the distorting lenses,

Of this crowded earth,

Could be shattered,

If we had the tools to smash away at lies;

To live good lives,

In love, and in one with Nature,

Take this brimming world,

And teach us to live in the calm, egalitarian ways

Of the world uncontested by rival tribes;

Let a true democracy take hold -

There I go again, a sour taste issues from my tongue.

Rightly put:

If only true democracies had taken root in the earth,

We might have found answers in time;

Let's hope the Martians get it right,

For they will have the peace,

And the opportunity that the magicians of earth can't conjure.

To the Martians:

You will be leaving a world of illusions behind;

See with clarity, and steer true.

Wrestling with Reality

Feel the rage, flying down the highway;

Waiting in line for coffee;

In the words of polite society;

Stirring in the bowels of each and every body,

The rage is incomplete,

For it has not been given vent.

Leaders jab, joust, hammer each other in debate;

They turn to us serenely,

Pleading for our understanding,

As they turn off the faucets,

Make homes grow cold,

Send others out in the winter;

Grappling with us, always wearing us down,

Making more of us desperate,

Eager for submission,

So that our struggling can stop.

Death wish is the last hope of the powerless.

Terrorism

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down and broke his crown,

And Jill came tumbling after him.

They made their choice.

You can die of this or that,

You can live well or badly,

It's all a matter of choices.

You could still die young while living well,

But you won't thrive doing badly.

You can be a clogged artery,

A broken pancreas,

A failed liver.

Your mind? Let's not even speak of the damage possible there.

The way of life, you see, is constructed cleverly,

So that very few, in fact, thrive.

Most cells in the body are damaged quite severely,

And spend much of their lives regretting.

What choice do we have,

But to live in a world with too many choices,

And too few rewards for good behaviour?

So toss away that kale salad,

Jump on a burger and fries -

After all, the endless pursuit of something that would be good,

Is how money is made in this world.

The Heart of the Lotus

Tapping on my shoulder, shoes scuffling behind me,

Don't I know you?

We went to high school together.

Glasses clink, ale sparkles, wit drowns out the endless din

Of people just relaxing.

Good days they were,

Full of hope,

Unimaginable possibilities.

Before long, the glasses cry out for another pitcher of beer.

I tried, I said – we all try to be straight.

Didn't work out. None of them worked out.

He's married now, throbbing with regrets for having been so.

What would it have been like, to be freer,

Or queerer?

Whatever happened to – our bravery?

It's taken from us, on the road to choosing conformity.

You pay in bravery, you grab the rope,

Get hauled along the career path,

The family way,

The trail less travelled is now, what – an institution?

Crazy we all are to think it could work.

Giving up our freedom,

And the courage to be free,

All for a star on the walk of fame.


The End

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