Michael Grover

 

Naïve

Were we better off not knowing
The secrets of the World
When we didn’t see the unseen
When we just walked blindly
The way they told us to walk
We had no idea there was another way

____________

 

A Poem For Faith

I remember the day
You calmly told me
No shaking in your voice
That she needed a ride to the hospital
On the way I asked why
You were packed for a long stay
You said you were checking into the psych ward
You were hearing voices in your room
Seeing things in the hall
Things that could not be real

I tried to tell you it was the Poet in you
Your intuition, the truth
You disappeared into that hospital
When you came out I saw you once to
Load every thing you owned into my car
And drive you’re to her grandmother’s small house
On the East Side
Where you would hide from the World outside

Michael Grover

 

Love Poem For Junkie

 

She had the kindest eyes
& most disarming smile
In desperation
This was dangerous

She swayed her hips
Like she was on the prowl
Trail of tobacco smoke
Always following

She left her son
At her mom’s in the country
So he didn’t have to see
Her falling like this

Found her fallen
In a hospital bed
After disappearing for a week
Failed kidneys and a broken nose

She cashed her check
Bought more dope
She shot up
In the hospital bathroom

I watched her fade
Walk into nothing
Walk into that
Anonymous house
Where she would party and buy drugs
I knew she was leaving this world
Walking into the underworld

Last week someone suggested
That we go in there and get her
I told her we can’t save her
Only she can walk out of there

two poems by michael grover

Social Media Killed The Poet

 

There are people too gentle
To live amongst wolves
Social media brought them to the door
They killed the fucking Poet
Crucified him to his own sins against society
Was last seen ranting with a crazed marketing mind
Trying to protect his brand
Wolves brought back from the high school hallway
Bully, desperate, lying through the teeth of their smile
They killed him, and he still wrote
Just to prove that he’s alive
to prove there was something still alive
The pack of wolves they sat outside waiting outside his door
Wolves always waiting

Social media killed the Poet
Or the wolves killed the Poet
The point is the Poet was dead
Just a matter of how you look at it
Few noticed or even cared
This Poetry game is a game of egos
You stay loyal to the boss
Or the boss puts a hit on you
Then you become invisible

Social media killed the Poet
& how ironic would it be
To post this Poem on social media
When the Poem is done with me
Cold Florida Winter nights
Scribbling Poems in sweatshirts
Rituals repeated in the dark of night
Conjuring the Muse to come out and play
Without expending too much energy
Life with cancer on the fly
Where pen runs until page runs out
It killed him with technology
Poetry takes a lot of patience now
But feels good as it flows

 

____________

 

Someone Turned Up The Heat In Hell

 

The voice of the people
Talked over by some loud talker in a suit
Looks just the way a guy reporting the news
Should look, snake oil salesman of corporate agendas
Then come the commercials

 

Does it ever feel it has all become scripted
Even right down to the president, even trump
Keeps bragging about how much better everything is
When all he does is turn up the heat in hell
& we just keep dying in it
We the poor & deceived
Distracted by whatever living hell
We might be walking through

When it comes to private hells
The imagination is boundless
Without borders or walls
If Washington is truly so corrupt
Then this is the virus we should be eradicating
Safe from the threat of uncivil wars
Or other people’s opinions

Two poems by Michael Grover

Killing Time

Morning coffee shop buzzing with Miles
Stop & wait between scan & doctor
People working on their computers
Woman checks her phone
Workers working
All buzzing like Miles buzzing
I’ve got a backpack full of words
& nothing but time to kill

____________

 

Long Drive Home After Surgery

Mad faces in the sky
Tellin’ me everythings gonna be alright
Floating in the trees & clouds
Floating home

MLK Day Poem 2018 by Michael Grover

 

(Every Poem is Illegal)

Did you ever think
It would be 2018
& we’d experience whitelash
From our first black president
& everything that went wrong
Would be blamed on him

Did you ever think
It would be 2018
& people would be from
Shithole countries that should be
On the other side of the wall
Yet to be built

It is two thousand eighteen
& people are beaten down
By the flagrant racism coming from the whitehouse
By the economic polices coming from the whitehouse
By the tweets coming from the whitehouse
By the endless perpetual Orwellian war coming from the whitehouse
By environmental polices coming from the whitehouse
By capitalism on crack coming from the whitehouse

Yet here we are
The times they are a changin’
Doin’ a backward goosestep
Doin’ a backward slow dance off a cliff
& we’re never gonna be the same again
We might not recognize ourselves tomorrow
Perfect for a Hollywood screen
Save the dramatic happy ending
Martin it’s been fifty years since you’ve gone
I know it like the year I was born
You and d.a. levy
Who just wanted a just World
It feels like the truth is illegal
That makes Poetry illegal
Some still do the dance
Talk real loud & say nothing
It’s all just talk these days
& those of us that do walk the walk
Walk slowly to our grave
I have cancer Martin
I’m not much of a fighter anymore
Too busy fighting to stay alive
I don’t even write that much anymore
You probably wouldn’t think we’ve made much progress
People are still people
All the racist people
All the anti-racist people
It’s still divide & conquer
It’s still law & order
It’s still real

A Message To Donald Trump #3 by Michael Grover

 

The neighbors across the street
Two men, I assume they’re together
Never really asked
Haven’t talked to them much,
But they’re always pleasant
Early evening they are usually
Drinking on the front porch
I haven’t seen them since the election
Only an american flag flying upside down
Next to Buddhist prayer flags

A Message For President Trump #2 by Michael Grover

 

Some of us are old enough to remember
What it’s like to have an actor as president
You must all say it’s gonna trickle down
Some of us are old enough to remember
In the trickle down reality gravity is reversed

A Message For President Trump by Michael Grover

---

Stayed up late last night
To watch fascism stroll in the door
I always knew it would get here some day
So I guess we have to live together for a minute
I’m quite sure the time will be short
There’s just one thing I want you to know
I have a dog, it’s half chihuahua
Neon yellow peace signs on his collar
He could be confused for a bad hombre
Ignore the hate behind your eyes
Set off by those psychedelic peace signs
Just treat us with love as you fuck us
As america has always done

Four Poems by Michael Grover

I Have Walked Through Wars & Never Seen A Thing
We are a culture of great wars
Seen nothing but war
For a very long time
Vietnam when I was born
We have never seen war
It is a far off place
& those that do go off to see it
Never come back the same
I don’t see much use for this war
Except to rally the troops at home
But what do I know
I am just a Poet in Toledo, Ohio
Insignificant
Watchin’ as the World burns
There’s a war on tv
But that’s not the real war
The real war he’s a tough son of bitch
Cold & hard as stone & steel
Too hard to show the real war
& the sacrifice it demands
I’ll be honest, I hope I never know war
I’ll be honest, war terrifies me
Like cops with lasers on their guns
That’s right, I am scared of war
I am scared of war
Like I am scared of cancer
Like I am scared of dying alone
Like I am scared of things that I cannot control
Things that control me
Like war
But I think it’s time I face these fears

_____________

All Of These Things Are Nothing

There are some days when cancer kicks my ass
There are no days when I kick cancers ass
Everyone tells me to fight cancer
What does that even mean
These days it’s a struggle to stay active
Little things like walk the dog
Or those dirty dishes are still in the sink
There are days I must push myself over the smallest hills
There are days that writing would be hard to pull off
This can last for days sometimes
I can go crazy going days without writing
Waiting for some kind of release
I am learning to be patient wait for it come back
I am learning to deal with cancer on the fly
It’s something I’ve never dealt with before
As is most of life I guess
Chewing you up & spitting you out
That cold, hard march toward death
& all around you your friends dying
Everybody dies
You start to see the truth
That it doesn’t matter
That purpose you were given by someone else
All of those purposes
That tug of pride you felt on nine-eleven
Or was that fear
Just watchin’ the tv
Thinkin’ it could be down the street
It was all nothing
Now it can’t be changed

____________

Cancer

Silent killer
Ticket to the death lottery
Slow painful death
You stir, you kill
Don’t need a reason
There is no reason
Unluck of the draw
Years of good poor livin’
Like we had a choice
Maybe the places we’ve seen
Things we could never unsee
Building up like a ball of negativity
Cancer
I have seen too many eyes lost
There is no reason
Eyes that know you
Distant eyes
Every time I look in the mirror
Those eyes
At the treatment center
When I go in for a shot
So many lost eyes
There is no reason
I hear this god would never give you anything
That you cannot carry
I would like to have a talk with him
I don’t think he’s listening
He’s got an army of snake oil salesmen
He must just not care anymore

____________

For The Outlaws
(For Doug Draime)

These modern outlaws
Busy patting themselves on the back
For that Poem they wrote years ago
Still rocks the crowd when they read it
Got nothin’ remotely controversial to say
But they’re oh so edgy
In fact they will tell you as quick as Laura Bush
as quick as the government
That there is no place for political Poetry
That there is no place for us Doug
I thought I watched you die unheard
Which would be an outrage
But I read your words tonight
It lit a spark
Which became this wildfire of a Poem
I know your fire will forever burn
I know we will keep that fire alive
Spread your name like wildfire
We will pass it on to the next generation
A message to the outlaws
We are an army
We will not be quiet
We will say what we want
When we want to say it
As Poets we are bound to the truth
No matter how dark that may be

Where Have The Outlaws Gone by Michael Grover

(An eulogy for Doug Draime)

These modern outlaws
They run in packs of followers
They walk a hipster walk
Talk in smooth hipster code
Don’t need anything new
You’ve got the same old shit to stand on
Don’t need to say anything
When walking on eggshells not to offend
Don’t need fresh energy
Don’t need anything when it all means no thing

Meanwhile way out west
An old Wordslinger
Puts down his last Poem
He was humble & kind
He was crazy from genius & capitalism
He just let his words do the talking
& a tree fell in the forest
I heard it, I know people heard

I am sitting here getting older
Watching all of my friends die
I might be watching myself die
I have seen the best minds of my generation
Rotting in trailer parks
What have we done to ourselves
I have seen too much

I heard it over the outlaw chatter
They wonder if their deaths will be publicized
Terrified that few people will notice
Or even care