More Poems By Michael Cornier

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February 1, 2013 · Posted in Miscellany 


Victory, defeat,

Sans hands, sans feet,

Win, lose,

The truth buried in the news,

Overcast or sunny weather,

Who forged these chains to which we’re tethered?


Euphemisms, rhetoric,

The saint reviled as heretic,

Ambition, coalitions,

Beware the man with a mission,

Find the child bloodied beneath the rubble,

What does it take to prick your bubble?


Persuasion, invasion,

Coerced, crippled and cowed by hazing,

Suicide, genocide,

Death preeminent on every side,

Borders, national interests,

What diabolical god did invent us?


Senators, general brigadiers,

Create orchestrations we cannot hear,

Unilateral, bipartisan,

Oceans apart from the hearts of men,

Lives squandered for foreign investnments,

What, finally, is this testament?



My name is Vic,

I used to drive the big rigs from coast to coast,

Retired a few years back,

Been getting on pretty well,

Keeping busy fixing things round the house,

Running errands for the Mrs. when she needs ‘em,

If it’s not too cold, I take a spin up the old Morley Road,

Get a little fishing in,

Friday nights I play gin rummy with some old pals of mine,

We get a little drunk and share a few laughs.  Not too bad.

Been thinking of taking a trip up to Vegas,

Got a cousin who lives there who I haven’t seen in a long time,

Yeah, that might be nice.

Got to admit sometimes the days drag by,

And sitting by the window I get to thinking these strange, funny thoughts like,

“When I’m gone who’s gonna remember me?”


I’m  Tom and I hate this campus,

My professor’s a bore and my roommate’s a jerk,

Leaves his smelly underwear all over the place,

Wants me to disappear everytime he brings back a date,

Well screw him!

Of course I haven’t made any friends,

So what?  Why should I?

They’re all either a bunch of clueless cretins,

Or else stuck up snobs  so constipated they think their own shit don’t smell.

I guess that’s how it’s always going to be.

So what?

It’s all so pointless.

Hell, someday maybe I’ll just jump off a bridge.

Sure, why not,

No one, no one’s going to remember me.


My name is Ida,

Been a house keeper for thirty five years,

Endured a life of sweat and tears,

I raised three kids on my own,

But now I live all alone,

On summer nights I drink cold beer,

Look in the mirror; see the end is near,

And I wonder, “Who will remember,

Who will remember me?”


My name is Sheena,

I have one brother and he’s off at war,

When I was born he was just four,

With that big gun he sure looks funny,

Says he’ll send us lots of money,

But I know he’s not coming back,

And sometimes I just want to burn this shack,

And if I did I wonder, “Who would remember,

Who would remember me?”








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