ORANGE
silence is not orange
it is the putrid colour of menacing collusion.
Cowardice.
sometimes a poor man
sometimes a rich man
i wonder what gender i stand in, where my skin touches air; what skin means
holding this humanity in form like phyllo pastry....
the translucence of my white privilege
barely creates a shadow,
cleverly hidden behind clear cut trees
what gender has been programmed in me
i see the stars again, eventually; from the gutter where I fall
broken, dirty, a chipped tooth and a found dime give me false hope
i had a loony once so dirty you couldn't see it was money
blood and oil on all our hands
blood and oil on all our hands
we wash it out with sterilized gels
poison the world
water circles around
pretending our shores aren't yours, aren't ours
it is all pretend
we have blood on our hands
sometimes a rich man
sometimes a poor man
i am a woman turned her back on motherhood, or is it motherhood stabbed me in the back?
forced into barren-hood
hope raped by greed
i was a rich man once, now just a poor man, i wait.
i wait.
i wait, we wait; for bloodstained hands to open in a compassionate turn they've never known
to hold my newborn babe to my naked breast, the milk of human kindness,
human kindness as dry as my middle aged tit
i lay weary and disgusted in humankind
no gender no colour no winner
we are all lost. Killers. Guilty.
with oil and blood on our withering greedy hands
N. Hoeppner
05/2015
silence is not orange
it is the putrid colour of menacing collusion.
Cowardice.
sometimes a poor man
sometimes a rich man
i wonder what gender i stand in, where my skin touches air; what skin means
holding this humanity in form like phyllo pastry....
the translucence of my white privilege
barely creates a shadow,
cleverly hidden behind clear cut trees
what gender has been programmed in me
i see the stars again, eventually; from the gutter where I fall
broken, dirty, a chipped tooth and a found dime give me false hope
i had a loony once so dirty you couldn't see it was money
blood and oil on all our hands
blood and oil on all our hands
we wash it out with sterilized gels
poison the world
water circles around
pretending our shores aren't yours, aren't ours
it is all pretend
we have blood on our hands
sometimes a rich man
sometimes a poor man
i am a woman turned her back on motherhood, or is it motherhood stabbed me in the back?
forced into barren-hood
hope raped by greed
i was a rich man once, now just a poor man, i wait.
i wait.
i wait, we wait; for bloodstained hands to open in a compassionate turn they've never known
to hold my newborn babe to my naked breast, the milk of human kindness,
human kindness as dry as my middle aged tit
i lay weary and disgusted in humankind
no gender no colour no winner
we are all lost. Killers. Guilty.
with oil and blood on our withering greedy hands
N. Hoeppner
05/2015
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