Traumas Linger

Emotions linger–
Emotions of the dead,
mistreated,
maltreated.
Traumatized Spirits
inhabit
what was meant to cure,
cure people of their traumas.
It lived through The Great War, and The Second,
Vietnam, and The Gulf.
But rather than lay their broken bodies to rest,
they broke their spirits–
causing trauma,
and eternal unrest.
They say there’s no rest for the wicked.
Here we find the victims of the wicked,
restless and victimized,
by those wicked
hired to relieve the burdens
of those already traumatized.
Enter the halls and feel,
the relentless grief, the pain and lingering trauma
caused by our so called “Healers.”
Here victims of victims
live on restlessly,
and all those wicked,
whose job it was to relieve them
of their troubles,
rest quietly in their graves,
marble tombstones,
and inheritance for those they left behind.

Traumas Linger from Boijon Media on Vimeo.

Lingering Bodies

Something unnameable, intangible–
ethereal–fills these halls.
Enter and feel the call of the void.
Lingering spirits, whose bodies misplaced,
seek peace in retribution–vengeance.
Respect for the dead is a long held tradition–
it’s basic human rights–even on the battlefield.
But in a place
where those warriors of life, pain, and suffering
sought refuge, healing, care
were confronted with the deepest disrespect for human life–
their bodies thrown in closets and empty spaces;
disregard for humanity in its most fundamental sense:
the treatment of the dead,
the disrespect for the bodies they inhabited, lived in, called their own–
worked with, made and raised children with,
fought the everyday battle–
something lingers, not just in the air.
something pervades, invades the souls of all who enter,
reminding them:
“Each person fought a battle,
and when that battle’s over
they need to be treated with the warrior’s code–
or the common traditional burial rites–
in which respect is paid to those who fought,
for until they receive this recognition,
they’ll stick around,
reminding those who enter
of the battles they fought,
and the hardships they endured.”
Until they get this recognition–
compensation for their struggles,
even just remembrance–
they’ll share their experiences
with all they can
until one day,
someone understands,
and sets them free.
Respect must be paid to the soldiers of life,
for soldiers all are we
in the everyday struggle,
fighting the forces of the mean–
the average,
your neighbor,
and your best friend down the street.

Lingering Bodies from Boijon Media on Vimeo.

What is Poetry?

Poetry is the infinite world of words.

Poetry is art for the blind, because words are worth more than the painting.

Poetry gives a voice to the mute, to those fearful of what they might say, or skeptical of what they can’t.

Poetry is music for the deaf, because its rhthym can resonate powerful melodies in the mind.

Poetry is politics for the powerless, because not every opinion has been said.

Poetry comforts in times of solitude, because you either learn you aren’t alone, or love to be it.

When I write poetry, I get a better comprehension of the world and myself in ways that make sense to me (and hopefully others). What I love to see in poetry is the way they an artist thinks in a certain situation. I just don’t want a poet to put me in his or her experience; rather, I want them to put me in their mind. I think that is the most interesting type of work anyone could do. I want to know what poets are thinking to refute my solitude with the perfect curse of an imperfect consciousness.