Manifest Restitution

From the four corners they arrive
A few come by air but mostly they drive
The news is exciting and on it they thrive
Yet the mood is most unusually subdued
They first relax, grasp arms and consume food
And give thanks that they’re all alive

The Till-Amook is represented by an aging man
And from the Yuma comes a girl with silent, steady hand
A Seminole whose blood still carries the legacy of his band
They cross burning deserts and once vibrant plains
Where Buffalo once roamed they now honk and change car lanes
And former gold fields where white men once panned

Soon the numbers increase with Blackfoot and Cree
Creek and Cheyenne proceed along with Shawnee
Followed by Mohawk, Iroquois and Comanche
They’ve all come to learn what to do
The Narraganset, the Apache and Sioux
As they mass under sun at the place called Wounded Knee

Natchez and Paiute join Ojibwa and Crow
Erie greets Kickapoo who embrace Miwok and Arapaho
Bannock first saw Muskogee and they all danced with Navajo
And the tribes keep coming for the whole of a week
Speaking in whispers; The Trail of Tears and Sand Creek
And the people soon fall silent as a lone man extends a bow

He would seem a most unlikely warrior, a modern type of brave
Educated by the white man yet his heritage did he crave
His people, one and all, would no longer be the slave
They would regain their birthright, the lost ancestral home
On all lands between the oceans where the waters rise and foam
And a culture, a way of life, he would save

As the tense and anxious crowd listened to his voice
They were told a wondrous story and that they finally had a choice
How they now had a weapon that the white man could not exploit
Yet many in the crowd seemed alarmed and almost shaken
They’d never really, in wildest dreams, believed their soil could be re-taken
But the speaker, on the stage, was quite convincing, was most adroit

He now explained, in measured terms, how he’d harnessed an awesome science
One that would, you could be certain, bring the white man into compliance
For you see, he had discovered, a power of unbeatable reliance
And the throng started throbbing, their skin all a tingle
Chanting and surging as they moved and they mingled
And with their new leader took an oath of defiance

As the ground shook below and the sky echoed thunder
One and all they stood and vowed to avenge their lost plunder
They would right and unite what the white man had torn asunder
And they pledged oaths to gods with terms nearly forgotten
So renouncing modern ways for the old ways, once begotten
Thereby reversing, all agreed, was the White God’s greatest blunder

Now with black skies up above they spoke of courage, they spoke of mettle
Exalting names from the past like Cochise and Black Kettle
Swearing now, and forever, with the white man they would settle
Then the clouds, so dark and close, broke apart in the middle
With the sun bursting through as though an answer to a riddle
And falling down, without a sound, a hundred million flower petals

Then all attention was directed back to the man upon the stage
His name was Worm-of-Book and his lineage was to Osage
And from the power of his voice his fierce commitment was clearly gauged
“From that which science has provided and by the gods’ hands I’m guided.
So if any amongst you still remain undecided….”
His voice trailed off, the air resonating with his rage

Now as the many who stood before him began to tremble, began to shake
The ground beneath them, once again, emulated an earthquake
And Worm-of-Book reassured them it was for their father’s sake
Then modern warriors marched on forward, bearing bow and deadly lance
And the thousands formed many circles and performed the Ghost Dance
With Worm-of-Book, his thirst for vengeance, he had now so slaked

“’The only good Indian is a dead Indian,’ that was once the white man’s words
We bargained fairly and signed treaties but despite this that’s what we heard.
They killed our people, our way of life, beneath blue sky and soaring bird.”
And as Worm-of Book continued speaking his words now shook with power
The flower petals that bathed the people were soon replaced with gentle shower
“For the final battle, the spirits tell me, for that, we must gird.”

Now Worm-of-Book told of a process he’d invented late one night
When the moon was on the rise and the owl had soared in flight
It would restore, to our people, both their land and righteous might
And then he spoke in what amounted to soft, near whispered tones
To reunite the chosen people, with their ancestors and their bones
He would issue an ultimatum and the white man could decide his plight

As the masses gathered forward, their breath was rapid and hearts beat fast
Worm-of Book explained that he had invented a most deadly gas
The time for talk was now over, they would reclaim their honored past
And then, amidst swirling winds, leaders spoke of coming pain
The gas had been so planted from California and on to Maine
Upon the wind, “Manifest Restitution,” would come at last

A proclamation was now issued to the U.S. Government
It demanded a return of the lands the tribes had “lent”
But they laughed in Washington, reminding tribes their day was spent
So Worm-of-Book made good his promise, unleashing death upon the air
And when the final tally tolled, the United States was human bare
As the spirits of Chief Joseph and Sitting Bull wailed in lament

“It was never our intention to destroy the human race
Where the blood of our ancestors seeped into soil that we embraced
But vengeance often is accompanied by a savage/remorseful face.”
And Dull Knife persuaded Crazy Horse, for all the compassion he could muster
They met the spirits of General Sherman and shook the hand of one called Custer
Then one and all escaped the pall into the unknown with quickened pace

A thousand years have now passed, comprising many generations
The Red Man’s spirit dances the plains in his final compensation
But the Ghosts are forever restless haunted by the devastation
Across a sea, so far away, Jew and Palestinian walk hand in hand
A toxic waste, the United States, have taught them blood is not the land
And a world, well versed in war, strives for peace and unification

Feathered Philosophy

Three gallant Pelicans and one aged gull
Stood and viewed the massive destruction
As it swept thru the Gulf without remorse or lull
And one by one they made a deduction

Pelican number one lamented the loss of the rookery
And reminisced about better days gone by
She intoned it amounted to insidious crookery
That the perps would live on while her children would die

Brave lady number two spoke of oil and viscosity
The impenetrable sludge and the hue of the sheen
Why would man commit such a devastating atrocity?
In all her years on the Bayou it was the worst she had seen

The final Pelican to speak was a grand old gent
And his voice choked with emotion as he rested on his cane
He offered condolences then said his time was near spent
But if he could be of assistance then please don’t refrain

Last but not least was the small withered gull
Displaying gray feathers near his temples yet a good attitude
He smiled when he said, “on man’s contamination we mustn’t mull
For at the heart of their ambitions we must admit most are crude”

Sunblock Crock

In the land of the cactus and the “illegal” Mexican
Lives the latest conquistador, the “legal” Ameritan
Residing in Phoenix, in Tucson, Tempe and Scottsdale
Leathered-skinned transplants trying not to look pale

They lie out in the sun to darken their skin
Baking a golden brown to hide the whiteness within
Drinking Margaritas and eating tacos, they bellow out orders
“Bring another round, then get back across the border!”

And when the real brutal labor comes crashing down
They drive out in big pickups and scour the town
The howl of the coyote and the fear of exploitation
Creates for the desperate an inescapable situation

In the early morning dawn on corners, in alleys
They’re picked up to work in towns and the valleys
Paid pennies on the dollar for the work they get done
Pimped in America, in the land of the sun

Meanwhile, back at the pool, the Ameritan applies lotion
To the plight of the Mexican he hasn’t the foggiest notion
“They’ll just have to learn this is the land of the gringo
Then quit their belly aching and learn the English Lingo”

In the land of the free and the home of the brave
Pallid-skinned usurpers take advantage of their slaves
They came from far away where the weak sun left them wan
Then conquered the Southwest - the forever grasping…Ameritan

Silky Romance

I peek at her through my bedroom window
Our silent affair started weeks ago
When she built her house next to mine.
Each day, she would wait patiently
Oh, so patiently
Basking in the golden sun
Hoping
Needing
Waiting
Just to catch a buzz.
One day her house was destroyed
By a savage wind
So she rebuilt it again, then yet again.
She toils very hard
So damned hard.
It saddens me to know the coming autumn chill
Will cut short her life
And she will crumple, becoming one with the earth
Remembered by none, save I.
But that day is not today.
Today is warm
The glorious sun once more bathes her body
With precious life
And I again marvel at the handiwork
Of her architectural masterpiece.
I gaze perhaps for the last time
At her beautiful, sinuous legs
All eight of them.
So, be gone grim forecasts of doom
Today I rejoice in the company of my friend
Soon, too soon
She will be gone

Peace with Honor

“Peace with Honor” that’s what Richard Nixon said
“Peace with Honor” leaving tens of thousands dead
“Peace with Honor” is the way to end a war
“Peace with Honor” is the way up off the floor
“Peace with Honor” is the way we ended ‘Nam
“Peace with Honor” was the title of the scam
“Peace with Honor” is a clever little label
“Peace with Honor” is really nothing but a fable
“Peace with Honor” a most insidious ruse
“Peace with Honor” neatly coded subterfuge
“Peace with Honor” as if it ever could exist
“Peace with Honor” if you hear it something’s amiss
“Peace with Honor” is euphemistic for defeat
“Peace with Honor” is meant to cover our retreat
“Peace with Honor” devised by those removed from battle
“Peace with Honor” designating human beings as cattle
“Peace with Honor” a metaphor for ending war
“Peace with Honor” debated while we kill some more
“Peace with Honor” is now Obama’s own decision
“Peace with Honor” will be viewed with much derision
For “Peace with Honor” is nothing but a lie
There is no honor prolonging war for some to die
While callous men and women take home bags of riches
Creating arms, exporting harm, exploitative sons of bitches
“Peace with Honor” will soon be recycled once again
“Peace with Honor” another “war” we could not win

Sedimentary Sentiment

While walking my dog along a riverbank
I stopped
And picked up a rock
Not just any rock, mind you
I “shopped” for size and weight
It was a throwing rock I sought
One that would fly farthest and straight
I wound up with my former pitcher’s arm
And let it fly
The arm was still sound
The rock flew far and true
Yet something strange happened
The moment it hit the water
I felt almost overwhelming sadness
What had I done?
How long had it taken that rock
To get onto this riverbank?
Was it a remnant of a larger rock?
You know, a “chip off the old block” rock
Or perhaps it had been someone’s pet
In the 1970s
Now I had sentenced it
Arbitrarily, and without a trial,
To a doomed, solitary existence
In my mind, I saw it sinking
In ghastly slow-motion
Its non-existent arms
Desperately reaching for the surface
Its non-existent voice
Screaming in terror
As it settled in the mud and slime
At the bottom
A dark, cold, almost primordial world
Populated by rusting beer cans
And old shopping carts
Their slowly diminishing chrome surfaces
Reflecting faint light at low tide
A world of snagged fishing lures, old tires
And elderly catfish using white canes with red tips
Never again, I thought,
Would that rock feel the warmth
Of a bright September sun
The caress of the rays upon its face
Never more, I pondered,
Would that rock hear the sound of robins’ song
In the spring
Or the merriment of children’s laughter
Exhilarated by the joys of summer
As I turned to go home
To my world of light, and love
I imagined I heard that rock
Calling me
Asking me
In muted, underwater tones,
“Why?”
And I quickened my pace
Trying to outrun it
That night, sleep came late
And when it did come, strange dreams ensued
I now lay on the river bottom
And although I could not see,
I was aware of that rock
My rock
But more than that, many rocks
Thousands, perhaps
And in unison they spoke to me
They spoke of a world once bathed
In the beauty of creation, of life, of death
Where all things, big and small,
Had meaning and purpose
And were indeed celebrated
A world now consumed by the callous indifference
By the insanity of man
They told me, “Do not be sad,
For despite our lowly status,
We are optimistic. We now no longer live
To be trampled by the foot of man
We now rest – here – in the cool, serene,
Enveloping darkness
Free of prying eyes,
Free of a thousand days and more of
The hot burning sun
Free of the vitriol of civilization.
We are free,” they said. “Free.”
And as they continued speaking, I awoke
Their final words echoing in my brain,
“Grieve not, rock thrower,
For one day the earth shall be returned to us,
To all of us
When the waters of chaos recede
Leaving only those with compassion in their hearts
And dreams in their souls.”
And I smiled
Thinking that, perhaps,
Salvation was just a stone’s throw away

Independence from Dependence

Hear ye, hear ye the British are coming
There! Out in the Gulf, you can hear the oil drumming
In the wetlands and the marshes you can feel the ooze scumming
And the end to the madness is not in sight

As the waves of crude roll in, the wildlife is succumbing
Because of greed and carelessness and what’s been labeled faulty plumbing
And to our people and to our government, a corporate giant with noses thumbing
BP officials are just spoiling for a fight

I’m reminded of long ago, when we fought a revolution
Except this time, instead of muskets, we try to skim up the pollution
And there is, I believe, only one distinct solution
That’s to do, what in this case, is only right

We must use all our resources, man the shovels, ply the boats
Defeating tyranny in the form of board room greedy, callous Red Coats
Then ship them back to their Queen and their castles and their moats
And then commit to break this habit, with all our might

For only then can we depend to find a steady type of healing
When ocean waves are free of oil, and the wells they are a’ sealing
For it’s our planet and all its life, and for that we must have feeling
May God forgive us, and redirect us with gracious light

Round Peg in a Square Hole

Circles…we all live in circles
Concentric circles…Expanding, Receding
Colliding, interacting…Demanding, Retracting
Six and one-half billion…times a day
Self-contained…biological spheres
Micro universes…the big bang
On one small…beleaguered planet
We inhabit…our circles
From birth…until death
Using walls…to conceal them
And doors…to protect them
With borders…to surround them
We use…success… to inflate them
Then pride…to satiate them
Finally religion…to justify them
And when…we run afoul
Of…other circles
We use ... ignorance…to deride them
And intolerance…to reject them
With bigotry…to separate them
Then hate…to berate them
Our faith…to condemn them
Ending with…violence…to destroy them
Circles…co-existing… in a Sea of Resistance
Touching…yet frequently…untouched
Buried…in Boxes
Fashioned…with jagged corners

Funeral for a Friend

Now it withers … on the vine
Hanging limply, listlessly
Never having fully bloomed
Yet once, ever so briefly
It seemed possible
That its zenith would be achieved
When the flowers
In a young girl’s hair
Flowing in the San Franciscan breeze
Would take root
And we would not be lamenting
The death of compassion

Under the Covers

Valley fog, blessed comforts
Gray blankets, soothing insulation
Cool clouds of descending mist, extinguishing
Ancient, acrimonious fires
Summer’s endless banality abbreviated
Hot tempers temporarily tranquilized
Society’s defilers momentarily chilled
A tranquil respite from the blazing sun
Where chimney smoke intertwines
With shivering tree branches
And in solitude of thought
I pretend the world’s at peace

Time

He was born on a plateau of unknown origin
Located somewhere between infinity…and eternity
A star-child who considered all beings
Of noble intent and good deed
Members of his fraternity
His mother taught him the value of truth
Whilst his Father warned of deception
They raised him well…between Heaven and Hell
Then bade him farewell…with a warning
“You’ll be an outcast…never fully understood
A destroyer of beauty whom the slothful would kill
An embracer of youth with value unlimited
From henceforth all must submit to your will”
‘Twas so he departed this essence of started
Casting shadows wherever he travelled
He waited for no one… his march was relentless
And stood by as the cosmos unraveled
A file that wears and makes no noise
Whose vision is tomorrow…whose hindsight, yesterday
Creating women from girls and men from boys
The ongoing production…The forever play
He seems so long… to those who long
And short to them… who are dying
He’s heard all word, all verse and song
And weeps not…for the dead and the crying
He is the ultimate healer…yet arbiter too
With a number picked out…especially for you
And if
His Father and Mother committed a crime
When they sent forth their son
This Demon known as Time
We can all rue the day…they made the decision
Then sit back and admire…the deadly precision
Of Time

Fragments

Saw the shadow of a cat
Chasing the shadow of a dog
In the dark
Heard a whisper…from a lisper
During a hurricane
Smelled a rose…on Channel…0
Felt my fingertips…feel my fingerprints
They felt…different?
Tasted 31 varieties of ice cream
In one 30 second dream
Woke up…eyes wide shut

Propheteers

Propheteers

Here they are, ladies and gentlemen
The men who set out to save America
Malicious messengers of hate and intolerance
Pugnacious proselytizers attired in 5th Avenue sackcloth
Freakin’ deacons in long black limousines

Well-heeled descendants of the Scopes trials
Diamond-dripping disciples of the overseer
Arising, vitriolic and venomous from deep within the veil
Pale-skinned and pissed off
Fed up and festering
The fetid odor of burning Jim Crow
Giving rise to their inbred blood

Let me introduce to you
Jerry Falwell
His fingernails fractured from digging in the collection plate
Seeking “the good people of America”
Those ready to drive the Negro from our public schools
And let God back in

A moral majority of red-blooded red-necks
Backwoods bigots and conscienceless Christians
Seeking to affix blame for war, for disease, for debauchery
Onto minorities, onto gays, onto women, onto liberals,
Onto anyone except themselves

Pat Robertson
Anti-Semite par excellence
Issuing forth scathing, scalding denunciations
Of Jewish usury
Whilst himself counting a thousand pieces of silver
In the cozy confines of the Christian Coalition
Or approving asinine assassination attempts of foreign leaders
Divine intervention at the point of a gun

Jim Baker
And wife Tammy Faye
Sanctimonious sentinels of the PTL
Million dollar ministers of misappropriation
He scored a strumpet from Penthouse
She built the poodle and air-conditioned dog house
They got busted for fraud
And took their Bibles to the big house

Jimmy Swaggert
He stole two million from the plate
Built three mansions on the hill
Let “little head” do the thinking
Then begged for faith and forgiveness

Oral Roberts
Who swore he’d drop dead
If pusillanimous parishioners
Didn’t drop a million unto him
They didn’t – and he didn’t …
A failed loan application from “Moral Oral”

The Pope
A coronated Cardinal crusading for Catholics
The pontification of creation and gestation
The denial of contraception,
Fused with the deception about conception

Now, a new crop pollutes the airwaves
They inundate the Internet
And after them, will be another
Then another
Then yet another
All promising the glory of God
False prophets preying on prejudice
Perfidious parsons schooled in scripture

Their pseudo-pious, semi-secular acolytes
Door slamming, righteous ranting,
Privilege purveying buffoons
Like O’Reilley, and Coulter, and Hannity and Rush
Will stand alongside, shaking fingers of indigestible indignation
Deftly wrapping the cross in hues of red, white and blue
With their frantically fallacious, false, fickle and
Frankly fouled up brand of God and country
If America is to survive
Their insidious infection must be exorcised