Drew Lesso & Dr Mongo @ Pasadena Art Gallery of 911 Exhibition - now in collection @ The Library of Congress in Washington, DC

Iconic Images bl (Poem )

A has been -
no longer what he was,
once, tried and tested
with blazing AK 47's,
rockets launchers
on battlefields,
against Mongols and Tartars.
taking comfort in the cavernous
bowels of Afghanistan
and mighty forces spitting the
tongue of death from superior artillery,
supplied by a future enemy.
A has been -
once a symbol of revolutionary bravado,
an egomaniac steeped in delusions of grandeur,
who breached the homeland of
the Green Lady.
A has been except for
posters: bounty on his head
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE ...

The search, unbeknowest as he was sequestered
in a fortified military complex, in Pakistan,
armed with a remote control,
looking at an bygone age of perpetuation,


news updates and pornographic sites
on Al Jazeera, masturbating and lusting at pictures
of dead bodies sacrificed in the name of martyrdom,


a has been, caught with pants below the knees

Iconic Image 1 (Poem )

Through swollen and blurred vision, I glared at her voluptuous body -
a tempting contour of flesh,
as she swayed back and forth,
arrayed in purple and scarlet;
adorned with gold and precious stones
and pearls to eso-erotic music.
She peeled off garments after garments
meant to entice the lust of an idolatrous king,
webbed in an adulterous commitment;
a promise to deliver the desired wish
of a mother's spite.
She swirled amidst incestuous passion,
kissed my uninvited lips,
once the vehicle of rebuke:
"Adultery is sinful in the eyes of God."
I was targeted - cast dungeon-wise
in dark squalor and bleeding walls
splashed with blood-curdling torture.
droplets of my blood spilled from
the silver platter onto the marbled floor
to the delight of the King's lords
and high Captains.
And, before my eyes expired, puffed and swollen,
the seventh veil revealed her wanton nakedness;
etched on her forehead, the prophetic words:
THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND OF THE
ABOMINATION OF THE EARTH.

To Helen (Poem )

The heavens opened to welcome her,
as she lay reposed on her final earthly bed -
a destined sleep, deserved.
Surrounded by bouquets of love and memories,
rains ceased to pepper the chapel's rooftop,
clouds dispersed to allow a ray of sunshine
to filter through stained glass windows
touching her journeyed face.

Ave Maria! Maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer!
Thou canst hear though from the wild
Thou canst save amid despair
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
though banished, outcast and reviled -
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!

The heavens opened and welcomed her.

Iconic Image 3 (Poem )

I was one of twelve
sitting in the upper room,
secretly seething because I was not the chosen.
Jealousy prepped my narcissistic ego,
bombarded my consciousness and reason
unaware that the penalty of betrayal is death.

We drank and supped
of His body and blood,
A sacrament of high holiness.
As He focused on the depth
of my treachery.

The chief priests and scribes
placed a bounty on His head,
declaring Him PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE -
Wanted dead or alive for crimes: false claims,
corrupting scripture, proclaiming Godhead
and violating the demeanor of the synagogue
and established dogma.
The lure of silver salavied my senses;
and I snitched Him out with a kiss,
to high authority with infallible mien,
who washed their hands of Him.
And my ill-found wealth became my curse.