Tuesday morning, February 27, 2024 at 9: 36 a.m.; poem finished and published at 11: 33 p.m.
"It is the duty of the poet to suffer the things of this world, and to speak them and himself out."
—George Oppen, American poet (1908-1984) , author of Primitive, Seascape: Needle's Eye, Of Being Numerous, This In Which, The Materials, and Discrete Series
I write poems in my struggle for survival—
to survive police atrocities directed at me,
my family members, others, this, and to better
understand myself, my emerging self, as things
happen: police murders, physical attacks directed
against me and family members—our heads targeted—
our pet cats maimed and killed—Zena and Fiona—
eight of our family cars destroyed by third-party drivers—
our son Shawn Michael Ryan suffering a serious spinal
injury at the hands of Joshua Robert Davidson in Raleigh,
at the Buck Jones Rd. and Farm Gate Rd. intersection,
just a few blocks up from our Westcreek Place home.
(I have seen two friends secretly murdered, one in Storm
Lake, Iowa, the other in nearby Durham, North Carolina—
both closely connected to Storm Lake and Durham Police crimes committed, targeting my family; and a third person,
Centre County Pennsylvania D.A. Ray F. Gricar disappeared
by Pennsylvania State Police; a police coverup followed.)
I have suffered greatly, still am, borne enormous losses,
yet remain steadfast of purpose—i.e. to root out Kenneth
Schweller and Sandra Madsen, formerly of Buena Vista
University in Storm Lake, Iowa, the criminal instigators—
having been witness to it all, giving true testimony here,
and duly reporting it back to you, my dubious readers.
Excellent way to kill our time....specially when we are going thru rough phase
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You blame everyone for what is your fault And feign surprise when it ends in assault All this vitriol comes at a cost. Secrets found, sanctuary LOST