Douglas Polk- Three Poems

A Cleansing

a religion manipulated to cleanse the believers.

a holy jihad,

protecting them from the unfaithful,

and the unclean,

washed in blood,

innocent and pure,

holiness absent,

the need to cleanse,

seems to grow,

the flood of blood,

a mire,

and a stench,

the innocents finally dead,

only the evil continues to grow,

the taste for blood,

unquenchable.

 

 

Paris

Paris,

the flower of France,

a rose,

full of thorns,

growing in manure,

uncared for,

and ignored,

the debris accumulates,

pile after pile,

until a fire lit,

and the flames grow,

threatening Paris,

the flower of France.

 

 

News

news now,

not about events,

instead reactions and feelings flow,

across the screen,

and across the page,

newscasters more soap opera stars,

their smiles or tears,

in every take,

while print reporters dabble in fiction,

creating stories to explain events,

no questions asked,

only statements read,

influencing reactions,

to events,

no longer news.