- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes 

Today at archery practice
in the cool with a light breeze

the sun crossing to my south
perfectly lighting the target

at about three in the afternoon
cutting through to the right spot

I brought to bear years of training
and buried many shafts deep into

the center at twenty yards
the arrows flying flawlessly

weighted and powerful 
slicing through the air

fletching whistling through 
the shallow arc falling dead 


Onward 'Christian' Soldiers

- by Linn Barnes

Onward ‘Christian’ Soldiers?
-Linn Barnes 

The 'testament' may be ‘old',
but his hand is rotten to the core,

where neither true nor false 
may leap nor jump, but only ‘prance',

perverted, elf-like, before the praetorians 
assembled to grease his false skid. 

Imperator-falsitorious, a grim joke, 
quaketh none, nor moveth earth,

but rattles mightily the ire of the just, 
sharpened daggars still sheathed, 

And we all saw it on the shinning screen, 
and, come November we will take him down...

The Gates

- by Linn Barnes

The Gates
-Linn Barnes

And now ratchet the shape
of the world you’ve wrought

into the greedy maw of the 
mob you’ve falsely licensed

to shudder and bring about the 
rule of the despicable tyrant

glassy-eyed quickstepping
his ugly horde stumbling

at the edge of the fray 
where the glamour of truth

has been forced to flee
before his sad praetorians

quickstepping galloping down 
the lovely streets of our town

begone thou foul demon
leave before one more drop 

of our sacred blood
greases your pitiless path

for the gates to nowhere
have yawed open and wait

your leaden tread 
to the fires of eternity

Cold Death

- by Linn Barnes

Cold Death

-Linn Barnes

we rot while we wait

for guidance from nowhere

while the blood crashes through

the dams flooding the valleys

the plains fields the ditches

around the fucking corner

up to the front door

where the lock rusted fuck

that it is will not hold back

the shouldered nudge

now come creeping into

the lost locker of cold death

stinking up the pathways

to when things should

no longer matter

but somehow still do


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barners

incoming motherfuckers
duck 50 some shit left

drag the warp to the right
there’s three kinda

shit working the night
when the weasel of death

is creeping into the dawn
and the moon won’t go down

and the sun won’t rise 
into a day not worth it

not worth the trouble
and the patch of green

worries the heart 
while the glimmer of gold

gladdens the heart 
of the sad few who’ve

not noticed the coming blink
flooding the pastures of death

where nothing matters save 
what’s left that can’t be chewed

where a gulp is a sad gag
a swallow a muddled myth

garçon l’addition
I must be gone


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

And, and, well, 
I am emperor
the force, the answer, the solution,

I know, have known, will always know
and I will share this with my people,
who love me, who love me, love me,

because they know all I say is true,
the force, the answer, the solution,
because I am emperor,

the force, the answer, the solution
I will prevail since
I have the answer, the solution,

and all those who defy me
are frauds and fools
wearing and bearing false

knowledge against the 
incontrovertible fact that
I am emperor,

the force, the answer, the solution
and through this and by me will
all be saved or not,

and I could not care less, 
since I am the emperor, 
the force, the solution

until I no longer am 
even a dark smudge of this
bestial horror,

that even when I, 
crashing and tossing
in ruined bedding,

bleed out to the wounded
world the sad truth
that I am nothing.

Where There Are No Lies

- by Linn Barnes

Where there are no Lies
-Linn Barnes

There are no lies
in the greening spring
the rising crops
and speed of Finn
racing round the property
walking the high grass
wet with the dew
fixing a fence post
tuning a lute
humming a tune
smiling at dawn
rising into the 
glory of another 
just day.

But that is 
being threatened
plowed under
by grim realities
by haunted visions
crumbling the rhythm 
with the no count
reality seeping into 
the very pores of things.

Then blink once
and then twice
re-fancy the glade
the hill to the river
the sound of the pileated
swooping through the trees
the raspy cough of the deer
the Spring gobble of the tom
the sweet laughter of someone
near who watches and cares for 
your every move and breath.

Trump's lying

- by Linn Barnes

trump's lying
-Linn Barnes 

trump’s lying
he’s lying
trump’s lying 
he’s lying
trump’s lying
he’s lying




The Waning Moon

- by Linn Barnes

The Waning Moon 
-Linn Barnes

I am cripple dancing
falling into a dead heap

turning again and again 
while the music of the end

creeps into the moment 
where the volume is high

where the light glistens and
illuminates the horror

of the certain end
at the bottom of the

pool where the snakes
have established dominion

and learned to drink the 
putrid blood of the drowned

where no guards are present
where no lives may be saved

where a past shall be worshipped
and an ugly future clad beyond clear

shall shine no mirrors 
leading any where

save the faint reflections 
of the waning moon 

beams cast in fear


- by Linn Barnes

-Linn Barnes

O Donald
whoever you are
you have missed the train 
back to queens
wherever that is
but there is no home
for you here
so you must 
find that train
that will take you 
home to where it
all began to unravel

O Donald
while the foolery had
a moment for some 
then when the curtain 
was lifted and the 
game began to shut down
the disaster screamed
for the dead and ruined
you’d left in the rut
as you ran for cover
over the bodies piled up
while the nation finally
caught on to what 
a fuck up you are

and now even the next 
train will never 
get you home

you are lost Donald
sputtering and gagging
nonsense lyrics 
which finally not a 
sentient soul alive
can compute

and the death rain
tumbles and soaks 
your terminal traces
which will vanish 
in the burning sun
now exploding the horizon

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