THE MAN WHO THREW TANTRUMS
Catsup bleeding down the wall,
shattered lunch plate on the rug…
The old man’s angry.
Sometimes he throws glassware.
Sometimes, yanks a tablecloth.
Meals spiral to the floor--
a sodden mess of fries and gravy,
cracked cups, pasta-coated flowers,
and one lone ice cube rolling to a halt.
Take that, you wimps!
That old man’s anger is fierce.
Smash! Crush! Crucify!
Call my lawyers! Sue the bastards!
Get revenge.
Like a child, he can be distracted,
but he holds a smoldering grudge.
Barr, the Attorney General
who hushed up Muller’s report
won’t knuckle under this time.
Finds no evidence of election fraud,
and tells the world on prime time.
Damn the man! You’re fired!
Firing’s not enough—
flings crockery
while minions cower.
This angry man refuses to lose.
Calls a mob to D.C.,
winds them up with lies,
ignites them with his thirst for revenge.
But the crowd’s not big enough,
not yet bragging-sized.
So he tells Secret Service to ditch weapons-
detectors, let everyone in.
“They’re not here to hurt me.”
The volatile man unleashes his mob,
says he’ll join them at the Capitol.
Plans a speech on the steps,
or perhaps in Congressional chambers
where Pence is receiving electoral votes.
But the Secret Service driver has orders.
Can’t guarantee safety amid an armed riot.
So the angry man lunges.
One hand grabs the steering wheel;
the other, the driver’s throat.
Furious. Desperate.
He needs to be there at the Capitol
to browbeat Pence, threaten Senators,
make them all submit to his army of thugs.
They need to see his power.
Driven home instead, he sends an angry text
naming Pence as enemy.
Rioters broadcast the text,
erect a scaffold,
go hunting.
Aides send many panicked phone calls.
Says the angry man, “Maybe he deserves it.”
This is the man with a nuclear button.
Hey—
that would yank the rug out from under those
traitors!
Then they’d be sorry.
This man is ready to explode.
Crazy-angry.
CARTOON OF THE WEEK
Behind the barricade, a crowd heats up;
seethes with fury, eager to lash out.
The young suit on the safe side feels their vibes:
tense—like an aimed bow, ready to fire.
Walking towards the Capitol doors,
he raises high a fist--a sign: I’m with you.
You’re Trump’s army, but you’re also mine.
And our side has the power. We will win.
The mob responds with shouts, and starts to push.
The doors, now closed and locked, hide dire
change—
a nation’s ballots have deposed their idol.
This cannot be allowed. Trump says he won,
and he speaks as a man chosen by God,
a golden man who favors billionaires,
is praised by evangelicals, and those
who trust his words and never ask for proof.
The outraged crowd becomes a forward surge—
smashing windows, clubbing cops, a rout…
They swarm inside, checking floorplan maps,
looking for Pence and Pelosi, armed and grim.
Congressmen who gathered to do their job
fear and flee. But look—down one long hall,
a suited figure sprints, hell-bent for safety.
Now they’re not his mates. They lust for blood.
The man who raised his fist to these rough troops
is running for his life. A video clip
preserves his panic for posterity--
with sound track. Lilting music cheers him on.
looping
sun swallow tailpipe imagine
if
you will (dis)engage
enough the
wheel had inspired
then blanched
waves thrust (had to)
(could not once
have) you still
if hollow
then
(mis)applied spot checking
wings to beating lids
overwhelm sun
swallow
numb & flickering combos
friction
fumes
ghosts casting plumage
trouble catching spores
of magazine dramedy
merging ratio cynic
worm hello empty
verbal plights fringe
an inherited zebra
transformational
anytime
think
free
feet
plain zapping wrapper
doubled
etc.
smoke
& smell
& confab
& twigs
son
thought
sorrow
slob
leveled
digging
doubt
that larval tongue
disposed
sharpened
in
come
heavier sword
yorn pencil
adverbs
twitch
damp
pitch
pretense
making coral slump
thin invested dowel
swear an elbow swoon
rubble
rabble
fading pretense align
dewy rolled naps
left cigarette soaked
hurry
fit a
bowl.
archive mint
gone long
femur flush
fresh park
trenched symptom
overwhelmed
chief | portal |
joke store evangelical
conversation
piece,
stiff upper
bridge,
insulin
gap [tape
me
aghast spun
]. beam
tower [change
of l,i,f,e
function
, crumbs ,
lust , calendar
. finish bu
z z e s
a w ,
link meta
Jaw [sold
enough recent
verbiage in
toward t
o o k
]. bolt blister
s a haste
.
Busted Structures
Repossessive nomenclatures
; The Machine
That Kills
Bad Breath
; (restless on the verge of
sickening zero gravity /
windswept gym
floating like
a NaKeD
trash isLAND).
Frontier
plastic
umbilical skin
; TaG , You
’ Re
It. Ooooooh
, had
met amphibious
un,
plumed (tidal
germinating
asphyxiation
cross
roads).
Taught crossing
angelic STRUM
, BoMb , tonnage
s
ew
er housing complex
romance.
Joshua Martin is a Philadelphia based writer and filmmaker, who currently works in a library. He is the author of the books automatic message (Free Lines Press), combustible panoramic twists (Trainwreck Press), Pointillistic Venetian Blinds (Alien Buddha Press) and Vagabond fragments of a hole (Schism Neuronics). He has had numerous pieces published in various journals including Otoliths, Synchronized Chaos, M58, Don’t Submit!, BlazeVOX, RASPUTIN, Ink Pantry, Nauseated Drive, and experiential-experimental-literature. You can find links to his published work at joshuamartinwriting.blogspot.com
POEM | WOLVES ON MY LAND
Panic days and nights,
As fear roams and rumbles my land,
Causing tough tears from helpless eyes,
Grieved groans from thirsty gullets
And craving clamour from hungry stomachs,
When all is embattled,
Of the infestation of cruel creatures ---- Wolves.
Black wolves.
They everywhere parade in packs,
With styles of superiority;of proclaiming leadership,
And desperate hunts towards the weak.
While the dreads of their detrimental feet,
Tremble and torment the land into disharmony.
Wicked wolves.
During dawns and dusks do they appear,
With their lowered noses to perceive preys,
And the enraging echoes
Of their howls shred the hearts,
And the wailing woofs of their barkings
Shudder away the dwellers' glimmers of hope.
All ears too weary
To persevere the grumblings of their growlings.
'Joint hands lift the load better',
Asserted our asleep ancestors.
So arise,my lands,all together!
In bind,in bundle,in bunch,
Let your souls awoken,
With tied and tightened spirit of repulsion,
Against the arbitrariness of their invasions,
And tender your voices in consolidation,
To silence their ascending crescendos.
For my land is vast for promising plants to sprout,
And not for wildness to tear into dismantlement.
AFTER PRAYER
24434.
in my motherland,
there is no silence after salaam—
synchronized throes of supplicative frenzy. beads—rattling from invoking fingers & dropping from calloused foreheads;
and behind you, there's always a hum from someone who missed God's call.
Clubbed clubbing
A chick band dance-
mix of "If You Could
Read My Mind" slaps
my face as I enter. De-
sensitized, sanitized,
stripped to the bone &
machine polished to the
point where the body
the skeleton belongs to
is barely recognizable.
What would chaos do?
Counter-
productive. He
held out his hand
to entropy &
had his fingers
bitten off. Now
he can no longer
hold out his
begging bowl,
& the ground's
too unstable to
rest it there.
Sometimes the results are pleasing
A Swedish botanist found
a cardigan amongst
some neglected fruit trees.
Trimmed in black, it bore
a skull & crossbones
insignia, & was buttoned
up on the wrong side. She
theorized this latter aspect
might present a unique
approach to a timeless prob-
lem, how to fit round
poems into square books.
Your / expressions of / interest are most welcome
That water festival is almost
here. The property is known
to contain pigeon lofts & new
electoral reforms, a World War
II flu vaccination campaign,
& several 1800s stables. It's ex-
pected some temperature records
will almost certainly be broken.
SANCTUARY FOR A SOUL
The world evaporates as a calm comes from within me.
God’s embrace comes in the stillness of my thoughts.
Kneeling at the altar of my heart seeking deliverance.
My partition reflects my resolution for reconciliation.
Tears of clarity flow for the presence of Jesus.
Jesus’s presence is a reminder of eternal life.
My transformation delivers redemption to my soul.
God’s sanctuary welcomes me to partake at the table.
It is this compassion of Jesus in which fills my cup everlasting
Now my life is of clarity given by Jesus's life for me.
A moment of liberation brings essence to my existence.
Life eternal has been given from the birth of the first star.
Graciously, I developed the attitude and habit for listening to various radio #media organizations such as BBC, CVC, VOA, RCI, RFI just to mention a few. However, all occurred due to the enthusiasm for the short-wave of international transmissions. To be precise, whilst growing up as young curious teenager with eagerness to be a mimic of any elocution broadcaster I hear the accent-cadence on the airwaves. Incredibly, it’s rather an opportune moment when one preacher-man realized the potentials and capabilities in me after completion of second cycle school education. Therefore, he asked me to join his program on a particular radio station in the city of Takoradi where in actual fact my up-bringing began as young boy on the suburban street of Amanful West. It was additional value to unearth the other talent in me when I sung alongside a co-equal lady to record signature-tune for that memorable Christian program dubbed Power Word of Jesus on Radio Maxx 105.1 FM. These were all moments of discovery to establish myself from local to global level in terms of radio broadcasting which has definitely continued as passion and routine of daily lifestyle. It’s another enthusiastic and joyous moment as my presence in the broadcasting studio brought about regular decision as live introducer of the program on-air courtesy Radio Maxx 105.1 FM in the first locale in Takoradi, Western Region of Ghana. I quite remember, having the pleasure to say “It’s time for the Power Word of Jesus broadcast with Reverend Nyameyeke Wireku”. That’s really the first time of being behind a radio microphone which I never panicked but by His divine motivation I was able to deliver by speaking to the listening audience. That’s over fifteen (15) years ago!
Unfortunately, the program had a stoppage due to lack of sponsorship to continue airing. Well, it was yet another fantastic breakthrough moment as I became a time-keeper and chosen among others as producer of a Quiz program on different radio station i.e. (Kyzz 89.7 FM) located within the same metropolis of the Western Region, Ghana. Unto Him is all the glory as I ably coped with most acts of the program. Having, established and exhibited many technicalities in the broadcast studio of Kyzz 89.7 FM. Well later on, I was given another worthwhile opportunity as a panelist on rather quite debatable program dubbed Born To Win with its feminine host being cordial and professional. This went on for about five weeks, thus on Sundays when the Scripture-based quiz program entitled Radio Bible Quiz #RBQ comes to an end. Amongst other things, within the same locality or neighborhood where I domicile another radio station was established so often-times I went to the studio to assist during phone-in segment of a lunch-time program. Although, that station collapsed at the time, I never gave-up to become professional journal fellow. Thus, be it on-air or on-line! Much admiration have been absorbed within because I’ve had times of being a producer on diverse programs ranging from social to spiritual on numerous local radio stations. Aside, it’s been worthwhile experience and exposure to various media networks.
Remarkably, it’s through writing by post and typing on the internet that impressively opened the doors of opportunity for me to become abreast with most of the widely listened to global media power-houses. Obviously, some still appreciate the daily, weekly and even monthly contributions I make to their programs. In reminiscence, the launch of an affiliate international radio station in the Western Region of Ghana also rekindled my participation on interactive and debatable topic to mark International Women’s Day on 8th March, 2011. So, just imagine the feeling when your submission is short-listed or selected on top of various contributions for airing on a highly recognized radio stations around the globe. It’s yet another achievement of a sort to be admirable about! An impact-making moment of having the tendency to read my own composed poems for recording together with written articles was also a move on higher pedestal. Aside, to express views on some topical issues centered on African perspective. No doubt, that also paved the way in terms of familiarization and recognition among discerning listeners of radio with international appeal.
Currently, in relation to the new television concept as virtual #online TV show dubbed Time With Ike Boat #TWIB which commenced on the aftermath of brief audition at the Morrash Media House #MMH at Kasoa, Central Region of Ghana. It’s another quick move to ensure that the television dream becomes a reality, hence there’s pre-production led by the Manager and Producer, Sir Perry Adams. He’s such a gifted and talented media figure with insightful knowledge about music respectively. On the first ever live streaming on Facebook, graciously I hosted Madam Anna Cole an Entrepreneurial woman and Fashion Designer as well an expatriate of the United Kingdom. Moving on, the second episode had me alone in studio unfolding the ordeal I faced being hospitalized for weeks due to ailment, thus leading to various medical checks. It’s also time to express my heart of gratitude to all virtual and actual friends who helped the medical cost involved. However, the third Episode resonated with the personalized mantra Local To Global when I had the distinguished Director of MVLogos Hope in the personality of Mr. Randy Grebe (Missionary with Operation Mobilization-OM). This pre-recording and production was done at Tema Port onboard the vessels at VIP lounge. The web-link to watch, comment, Like, subscribe on YouTube via: https://youtu.be/oExbhBFrlY8
Last but not least, I can say with certainty and no shadow of doubt that many systematic approach to life and diversity people always makes it appropriate to share when the least opportunity is given. Factually, the first three paragraphs of this Arti-Blog had original concept written on paper 7th March, 2012 and completed as well re-written on 10th March, 2012 at 2:10pm. Indeed, it’s initially recorded as real-life radio documentary in a hood studio operated by Mr. Emmanuel Famiyeh at Amanful West in Takoradi, Western Region of Ghana, West Africa. Yes, it’s radio documentary centered on how my contribution and participation to local broadcasting led to the connection with some global journal minds, thus from country to country and continent to continent. Well, by virtue of on-air and on-line mediums of communication.
