Get a Grip

Is there any baggage more heavy?
Any luggage so cumbersome?
As that of regret?
Manacled to your soul
Handcuffed to your psyche
Dragging, forever dragging
You down, and down, and down
Until the weight of injurious hindsight
Oppressive, bulky, unbearable
Settles once and forever upon you
Crushing a human spirit
Wasting the potential of a vibrant heart
Leaving its owner one more bleeding shard
Broken and defeated
In the land of shattered dreams

Doughboy

Coin makes the world go round
Cash emits a propitious sound
Dead…means ‘ya got no bread
Bread…helps ‘ya not be dead
Standing…on a piece of God’s sod
Pondering…if he had a wad
Here’s the thing…might sound funny
But if God created people
How come they don’t all come with money!

Un-Suitable

Mom used to tell me “monsters don’t exist”
Boogeyman’s tale…sheer imagination
I sure knew better…there’s a final twist
Man’s genes provide…moral abdication
The leering, sneering dude…perchance turns lewd
His ancestors blood…rising in his pants
Preys on unsuspecting…a depraved dude
A life shattered he smiles…she had no chance
The true devils live…in marble mansions
Shaking hands, kissing babies…rehearsed moxie
“Politicians”…wanton Charles Mansons
The only difference…murder by proxy
Torture, maim, kill…to indulge empire’s will
Mr. President!...to meet you…a thrill!

Noir Bar

One A.M.
Two finger Louie
Pouring hooch
Three legged stool support
Contemplating…four cornered box
Then, she…walks in
Chassis like a ’37 Duesy
She purrs “Private dick?”
“Public’s always welcome, baby.”
She whispers, “Office upstairs?”
Door closes.
Louie’s neon frames… crimson silhouette
She unzips… then lips…
“Kill my Husband.”
Condemned man’s last meal

Lee On Me

Liquid Lines…Neon Ribbons
Super Sonic Streamers
Trippin’ Sixty Two Million…One Hundred
And Forty Eight Thousand
Eight Hundred and Fifty Seven Laps
Around My Quintessence
Laying a Hex…On my Cerebral Cortex
Supplication…Six String Exultation
In Sublime…Stereo
Traveling “50,000 Miles Beneath My Brain”
Ten Years After…Forty years Later
We’re “Goin' Home”

Descentification

America, allegedly…land of plurality
Reality, admittedly…ambivalent dualities
Conformity, reluctantly…ambiguous personalities
Equality, begrudgingly…inauspicious certainty
Disparity, dismally…ascertained certainly
Charity, regretfully…declining regularity
Aggression, regression…advancing exponentially
Dialectic, acumen…disappearing expeditiously
Political, discourse…intransigent ideologies
Increasingly, obviously…divergent priorities
Unity, woefully…suffers categorically
Apparently, catastrophically…appropriate nationality
Borders on Insanity…or simple Dysfunctionality

Schizo-Frindgia

America, allegedly…land of plurality
Reality, admittedly…ambivalent dualities
Conformity, reluctantly…ambiguous personalities
Equality, begrudgingly…inauspicious certainty
Disparity, dismally…ascertained certainly
Charity, regretfully…declining regularity
Aggression, regression…advancing exponentially
Dialectic, acumen…disappearing expeditiously
Political, discourse…intransigent ideologies
Increasingly, obviously…divergent priorities
Unity, woefully…suffers categorically
Apparently, catastrophically…appropriate nationality
Borders on Insanity…or simple Dysfunctionality

Hope Lives on a Dead-End Street

I’ve been undressed… swam the river of depressed
Where waters are dark…murky depths of blue
Climbed gloomy mountains…that I can attest
At crest of bereaved…another mountain loomed
I’ve walked burning deserts…flames from my brain
Plagued by Siren’s call…wailing in mine ear
Had dismal dreams of doubt…echoes of pain
Oh! doleful nights…I’ve run on winds of fear
I live on yesterdays…dread tomorrow
Dine on wistful wine…gnaw morsels of woe
Inhaled trite clouds…dueled agents of sorrow
Stared moody at moon…fell asleep with Poe
One lone happy day…how I would thank it!
Shivering on low…wrapped in wet blanket

Not Akin to Skin

In 2093…in knee deep burning sand
A water digging nomad…grabbed with blistered hand
Rectangular in shape…it fit within his fist
He’d of traded it right then…for just a breath of mist

As the blazing sun receded…our parched, our dying man
Frantically pushed buttons…hoping for a fan
Instead the tiny device…lit up an ebbing face
If the damn thing could pour water…would be his saving grace

A little slab of miracles…the thing could even think
Sing, play games, take pictures, road maps…yet not a thing to drink
Phone, calculator, computer, appendage… to some an only friend
The withered hand that held it…had one last message to send

I-Phone, I-Tunes, I-Think, Dear …
The glow perished on the dead man’s face
Etched shadows of epitaph…I-God

One Hundred Million Light Years From My Pillow

Andromeda beckons…black night calling
I pass Saturn’s rings…to the vast beyond
Eventide engulfed…shooting star falling
Mind detached from body…away! I’m gone
Alpha Centauri…doth whisk by mine eye
Rigel soon achieved…quasar in my view
An event horizon passed…I ask why?
Time doth stands still…tic toc of cosmic glue
Alnitak looms…Zeta Orionis
Once pinprick of light…hundred billion stars
I sail on solar winds…space Adonis
Dance to dwarf lutes…cosmological guitars
Hitch ride on comet…traveler deluxe
Awaken upside down… my soul in flux

Wings of Renewal

Monarch Butterfly…on cold, foggy day
I dreamt night before…I’d see one next morn’
Awoke to chilled nebula…gloom o’er gray
Prospects seemed dim…amidst climate forlorn
I soon was engulfed…in shrouded, wet brume
Heated vapor breath…adding to the mist
Oaken sentry’s…guard, terra firma tomb
To wee orange fancy…I long to throw kiss
Mile upon mile…I trod on sodden grass
Spirits now dampened…like wet feet below
Then in murky air…something, flittered past
I followed, eyes dripping…hope, now aglow
A Lilliputian rainbow…now, I eye
Shimmering wings…bewitching butterfly

Collateral Damage

No Barbie Dolls…No Shopping Malls
No Blush…No teen-age crush
No High School halls…No skating falls
No Orange sunrise…No Starlight touch
No Car Keys…No, “Dad, oh please!”
No Cotton Candy…No Ice cream
America… is regressing…To primordial scream
Wrong place…Rhetorical Crime
“Collateral Damage”…At the age of nine

Irrationality Nationality

No Barbie dolls…or shopping malls
No cotton candy or ice cream
A bullet hole…a six foot hole
No more childhood dreams
No scraped knees…No, “Dad, oh please!”
Just a box…with earthen locks
No prom dates…No, “Don’t be late”
No future…teen-age schemes
Our politics…Our rhetoric
Have gotten…out of hand
When Red and Blue…Say, “Hey, Fuck You”
In “finger flipping” land
America the beautiful, America the brave?
America increasingly…the land of the depraved
No Pillow fights…or Pizza nights
No being smitten…with a Kitten
Just the taste…of lethal waste
As if foul soul…was bitten
No homework now…or “dress up” time
No “puppy love”…or crush
Just loved ones years of streaming tears
And callous hearts so out of touch
No Birthday wishes…No Doing dishes
No child of her own…or “Darling Dear
Please hold me near”…A graveyard is now home
“Collateral Damage”…in political wars
They die everyday…on distant shores
Propelled by corporate rapacious whores…
How can so many… remain obtusely blind?
Caught in the Crosshairs…At the age of 9

Starcastles of Sand

Pebble of sand…in turbid universe
Mere grain, a speck…amidst eternity
I exist and yet…live in shadow's curse
Hamlet haunts me…”To be or not to be?”
Ambition escaped…when I walked Earth young
I caroused, cavorted…lost track of time
Dreams not aborted…even if far flung
Sleep corresponding…to missed roads sublime
Where, where do I fit?…Eclipse coming soon
Doth man get second chance?…Pinpoints of light
Perchance one million parsecs…beyond moon
Other life waits…in distant cosmic night
Pebble on life’s beach…sand castle today
Tide rushing in…The clock reads half past stay

Cyberserum

Truth to Power…Risky Speak
Poison to Powerful…Meat for the Meek
Sordid Secrets Exposed…Computer Geek
Behind the Curtain…”Our” chance for a Peek
Malodorous Cables…Diplomatic Reek
Assange and Manning…In Truth they Seek
Thucydidian Exile…Obama’s “Hypocrisy” Speak
When the Wheels of Empire…Grind and Squeak
Apply a “Liberal” Portion…Of Wikileaks

Idiomocracy

The Torah…The Koran
The Rig Veda…The Bible
Letters strung together
Inspiring… Libel
Confucianism…Buddhism
Constitution…The Communist Manifesto
French Revolution
Magna Carta…Treaty of Westphalia
95 Theses…Martin Luther’s “posted” regalia
Rosa Parks defiance…King’s letters from a Birmingham jail
Language the sea…upon which we sail
WORDS = Cause and Effect?
I…suspect

Petal to the Metal

Love’s rose blooms amidst inclement weather
Frosted ground doth not inhibit petal
Flower has power…bind hearts together
Forged in fervor’s furnace…soul weld metal
Love’s rose endures…“chilly” conversations
Frigid can turn fiery, at a glance
Fauna finds ardor…all generations
Flora’s sweet fragrance doth oft’ inspire trance
Love’s rose “stems”…not from icy, rigid ground
For seeds of passion flourish in deep earth
Forsake stinging words…winters “out of bounds”
Frozen roses oft’…can result in mirth
Love’s rose grows in every type of soil
Forgetting wintry winds…brings love to boil

Allure's Cure

Young women's beauty…seen through aging eyes
Like viewing Mona Lisa…look, don’t touch
Today’s ogled fancy…once yesterday’s prize
A fool’s errand to…believe it not such
Heart can be restrained…yet what of the eye?
Beholder cannot hold her… but still looks
A withering man’s curse…’til day he die
Found amidst pages of…uncounted books
Crinkled skin creeps…upon formerly young
Hair falls aside…or’s shaded dullish gray
“Young man” trapped inside…must stifle tongue
“Dirty old man”…a price too high to pay
The eye doth not lie…perhaps, prime duty
Worn man shall die…reminiscing beauty

Troy Boy

Face that launched a thousand ships?...alas, no
Yet beauty ethereal...I attest
Helen’s “mythic” history…swirling snow
My confection, Valerie?...surely, jest
Each day I live…sip ambrosia
Serendipity…her hand upon mine
Her “flower” ne’er wilts…ageless “roseia”
Sapphires, her blue eyes…tingles up my spine
How so was I chosen?...’twas luck or fate
I rejoice each time…that I meet her lips
Doth providence provide…fortune so great
To be sheltered inside…an angel’s wing tips
Oh! My little jewel…sparkling and true
I so wish you knew…how I do love you

Scrapscript

Was awakened…late last night
Two cats engaged…enraged in fight
Fur was flying…screeeeeching sound
They spun through air…rolled on ground
Soon was over…Switched on light
Contemplating…Why must we fight?
Insect, Man… lowly Beast
Compulsory…Large to Least
Apparently inherently…Psycho Psyche System
On Delivery’s Eve…Does God say…Twist ‘em?

Raising Cain

Twelve year old Johnny…likes to kill, kill, kill
Playing World of Warcraft…is a thrill, thrill, thrill
Eating Nachos, drinking sodas…that get spilled, spilled, spilled
How many of the enemy…has Johnny killed, killed, killed
Johnny’s mom pokes her head in…”Time to go to bed”
Johnny shoots one more…Just to make sure he’s dead
Johnny’s soon fast asleep…The night air is chill
Voices ring in Johnny’s dreams…yelling kill, kill, kill

Never Been is Ever's Twin

If you’ve never been, ever been
“Too broke to pay Attention”
Never been, ever been
“Too distracted for Retention”
Never been, ever been
“Too obsessed with vanity”
Never been, ever been
“Too supercilious to question sanity”
If you’ve never been, ever been
Look into your eye
A “never been, ever been”
Oft’ pirouettes with Lie

Big Bang to Bang, Bang

Revolvers, Repeaters…Shotguns, Automatics
Designed for a Purpose?...Axiomatic
Sawed off’s and AK’s…Snub Nose of Blue Steel
The Second Amendment?...That, we’ll never Repeal!
An American Tradition…This isn’t a Pun
Don’t “shoot” off your Mouth…Go get a Gun!
The familiar “POP, POP”…Must I Expound?
“Immortal” leaden Bullets…Make a “Grave Sound”

Licentiousness in the Land of the Vegastarian

Prison Population… Now Dwarfs the Planet
Yellowed Constitution…Chiseled in Granite
Perpetual War…A “gun friendly” Nation
Like, Whatever!...An “X-Box” Generation
Forty Six Million…Mired In Dire Poverty
The Richest 2%...Spell Altruism, “ME!”
We’re a “Christian Nation”…Moral Compass Broken…Pity
Wash our hands on Sunday…Then go play in “Sin City”

Plot Trot

The perfidy of man oft’ begs release
So I walk ‘mongst the dead...cold faceless stones
Here where land meets grief I find inner peace
Six feet above a collection of bones
Aged crypts, mossy tombstones lost in time
Once neoteric, chiseled from granite
Why “living” man find a graveyard sublime?
The “lies” here… horizontal to planet
Row upon row muted grave voices greet me
Doth tongue so expire with the final breath?
Perchance soon I’ll come humbly to meet thee
Existence is echo of pending death
When marble orchard calls I’ll flee man’s lust
The living decieve…In the dead…I trust

Flickering Fate

Christmas tree…why must you go so soon?
Ornaments, twinkling lights…fresh, piney smell
Now consigned to scrap…resolutely doomed
With your demise…I await summer’s hell
Tinsel laden signpost of passing years
Time, Earth spin faster, yet I don’t fall off
Spring, Summer, Autumn, bring “untethered fears”
I hang onto Christmas, which I once scoffed
The last day you stand…the first of my grief
Our shimmering display…now taken down
I run fingers o’er prickly needle leaf
Can elfin trees speak? Is that crying sound?
I pray for time, to embrace knotty friend
Little tree so dear, Christmas time again

Thrown Under the Succubus

Peace…”broke out” today
Skies chimera blue
The MIC said “OMG!”
What will we do?
No bombs, No tanks
No guns, No bullets
No body bags, no more?
Making a “living’s” hard
Without perpetual war
The general awoke… haltingly spoke
“Man…what a…scare
Our creed, our need… forever bleed
And many bodies to spare”

Obfuskater

Darkness, blackness, winter’s chill raining down
As sunlight’s neutered rays creep up my lawn
The clock’s arms eternally spinning around
My ebonized ecstasy so soon gone
‘Tis winter I love, bare trees, icy breath
Lengthening shadows terminate the day
Black angels and white owls duel to the death
Safe in the crepuscule…I long to stay
Time knows no margins and soon ‘twill be spring
Roses flushed red, children will be smiling
Yet my heart ‘twill ache with no cause to sing
Twas early night onyx…So beguiling!
Summer’s dawn…Earth’s revealed savage plight
Basked in ugliness…I bleed winter’s night

Snub Flub

Ever been to a party of accreditation?
A “What you got on a plaque, Jack” validation
Soft hands sip sparkling wine from glasses clear
Your calloused palms hold aloft a toiler’s beer
They toast with chalice, you smile in silent malice
A country club, a polite “snub,” or an Ivory palace
They walk and talk with such hoity-toity ease
Manners impeccable, stylishly dressed
No indication of days on their knees
B.A.’s, M.A.’s, M.B.A.’s and P.H.D.’s
You stand alone, envy prone, feeling exposed, in working man’s B.V.D.’s
No Diploma, No Title, No Certificate, No Credentials
You're blue collar, no taller, lower, middle class “residential”
The “friend” who invited you, sometimes, likes to go “slumming”
But white collar soirees are telegraphed resentment coming
You work the corners of the room
Your wife can see the cancerous gloom
An early exit you unceremoniously make from “voucher game”
The final ignominy added to your to “deedless shame”
Your “buddy” of fifteen years, simply can’t…
Remember your name
And you curse yourself, because you know
Who’s to blame

Reflection Introspection

Can you see a shadow in a mirror?
The arc of the sun, the minute hand move
Doth glass just reflect or imitate fear?
Is the “real” Mona Lisa in the Louvre’?

Clouds of sparrows swirl in mornings bright light
Ever seen smile on the man in the moon?
Do blind men hear more than those who have sight?
Is taboo for the deaf to carry a tune?

How many words can a dog understand?
Do fish ever sleep, can they know thirst?
We’re we soul’s from water now upon land?
The chicken or the egg…which one came first?

Puzzles with muzzles keep “barking,” I fear
Answers in shadows…behind the mirror

Super Soul

Super Soul:
You out there Kowalski? Out there telling the Man what he can…do
with his self. Listen. I know you can hear me. They’re out there man! They’re listening and watching brother. I know you out here in that bad ass Challenger but you got to be careful. They got one ear on the road and one eye on everybody. They call themselves “patriots.” Be funny if it wasn’t true. Ride that ghost Challenger brother. Cut across the Man’s line of hype.
You hear me Kowalski?
Kowalski: I hear ya’ brother.

A Kiss ... Never Ages

Our lips, first met pressed, under golden sun
Frivolity spread on the air so fair
You, fetching seventeen, I… twenty one
That first day, I must say, a most…charmed pair
Eyes aroused the kissing…focused ardor
Other voices faded…our world alone
No amount of gold, could compel barter
Cupid’s arrow true…embedding in bone
Many years eclipsed…that initial kiss
When butterflies with twinkling eyes, did meet
Your voice, your face, bring me an inner bliss
My life, your slave…I worship at your feet
Thy breath on my lips each day we’re parted
Nectar sweet…as the first kiss we started

Stage Left

Want to feel older than you’ve ever felt before
Like being punched and stomped, laid out on the floor
Tell a favorite story to your almost thirty “kid”
Then wait to hear her tell you “Dad, you already did!”

The tip off comes like beating drums, her eyes roll back in head
About two/thirds into your line your face turns slightly red
You apologize with aging eyes and ask her to ignore
Then go home look in the mirror and count one gray hair more

Old stories have a way of hanging onto you
You tell when you’re happy…and recite them when you’re blue
Sometimes the mouth goes heading south and you look for lid
Especially, when progeny informs, “you already did!”

Getting older is no picnic and it’s easy to “forget”
I can’t decide if stubborn pride is worthwhile safety net
A mental string, that’s the thing, to avoid an oft’ told story
To spare the air of children fair and save them from “past glory”

A memory can be a fiend or perchance could be a friend
The kind you wrap your psyche around and hang on to the end
Either way you have to say your child doesn’t know
And when encore becomes a bore…perhaps its time to go

Fast Break

Nylon Net…Ten Foot Poles
Cigarette…Compromised Goals
GOP…Applies Duress
The Supremes…Full Court Press
Point Guard For…Perpetual War
Fat Cat Halftime…on the Floor
Realize… Ain’t no Saint
Slam Dunk on Taxes… Missed in the Paint
Hoopholes cum Loopholes
All Kind of Scary
A Day in D.C.
Playing B-Ball…With Barry

Pre-date Fate

Am I enigmatic?...Axiomatic
Soul lost in time…adrift on human sea
I can’t find a place…is this my real face?
Question unanswered…why can’t I find me?
My only “real” peace is when I’m fast asleep
The “true” world appears... alive in my dreams
Through an art deco town…silent heels creep
Wooden floors…transom doors… a bedtime scheme
Some nights it’s a school…with shady elms cool
Ivy, brick and mortar… life simplistic
Am I romantic…fantasizing fool
Or perchance labeled…anachronistic
To truly find answer…I must succumb
I’ll wait beneath tree…darling say you’ll come

Extra-terrestrial Pestials

Problems with the President
Always a big crowd
No matter the dude or the ‘tude
Opposition’s often loud
This time around, got a sound
I ain’t heard before
Leveling with ‘ya now…
It’s gettin’ to be a bore
Still a passel ‘a “patriots”
Clamoring “foreign” birth
Real question is…
Are these “folks” from planet Earth

Tone Death

Civilization Ends…Ignorance ascends
Textbooks out…Texting in
Incivility…Hostility
No such thing as “private”
Like, you got a problem with the tone?
Emily Post has “rolled over twice”
Hey, we “free” ain’t gotta be nice
I-pods…I-Phones
I…know the truth
Lost our way
The very day
They torched the telephone booth

Water's Edge

Love’s waves oft’ break on sullied, craggy shores
Yet love, like water is purifying
Water to cleanse both the body and floor
Inamorato’s tears…mystifying
Foolish actions spoken by the foolish
If so I the fool doth regret words said
Forgive folly’s pawn for sounding ghoulish
Before I ‘twould hurt thee please find me dead
When playing my keys…the harmony sour
Recall my virtuoso…you are queen
My most precious notes, reside in our hour
Our glorious duet…my time serene
An aging, ailing man oft’ makes mistakes
Can an angel acquit me…for God’s sakes?

Resolution Devolution

Stern and unwavering…dedication
A Self-delusional…declaration
They sashay in…with widened hips
Soft sagging bellies…Stiff upper lips
Trying to regain…fading charms
Treadmill temps…flailing flabby arms
They last about…two weeks or more
Then make a beeline…for the door
A short lived waistline…revolution
The annual spectacle…of resolution

Jewel in the Night

‘Twas a chilled and dark December
One most colder than remembered
As my lips mouthed silent nevers
Whilst on my sojourn to…forever

It ‘twas then I saw it there
Standing alone, forlorn and bare
I did deem it ‘twas not fair
‘Twould be saved I did so swear

So, on a starry Christmas Eve
As rich exalt and poor so grieve
I proclaimed “do not bereave”
One arrived…but two would leave

I speak not of cat or tot
The wretched weak so oft’ forgot
‘Twas tiny tree…left to rot
Abandoned on a corner parking lot

Of unsold trees…the world’s unkind
Perchance a sleight of daily grind
Yet, my heart was glad, that I did find
The little tree they left behind

Upon arriving at my humble place
I fashioned garland from old shoelace
‘Twas nearly midnight and now a race
My “friend” would soon have smiling face

I hung a pen that shone like gold
A pair of ticket stubs I’d sold
Some baby’s socks that were most old
Eight strips of tin foil that I rolled

I had no lights to circle stems
But Lifesavers made sparkling gems
No tree in New York or mirrored on Thames
If God was watching…he said Amen

As my clattery clock struck midnight
The windows bathed us both in moonlight
My little orphan was quite a sight
Saved from a lonely, hapless plight

And so I sat ‘til stroke of three
Just the little tree and me
And when Christmas shall come again
I’ll search out another…needy friend

Over-Exposure Closure

1974…2011
Yearbook…Facebook
Memory book…
Nixon Lied…Starry Eyed
Cookbook…
Breast Enhanced…Meth Fried
Signatures…a withered Rose
A million “friends”…God only knows
Private flashbacks…mine to keep
Public voyeurs…Stalking creeps
Aging faces…forever young
Endless faces…pierced tongues
Bound Book…on a dusty shelf
Prying eyes…and a loss of “self”

If Only ... to Laugh

Oh God, why doth mine eye so often cry?
Must men be constructed of steel and bone?
What sounds forth from my lips is mostly sigh
Are men of conscience forsaken alone?
Each day doth elicit rivers of tears
I swoon to dark clouds… their passing embrace
Fibers of being subject to new fears
Tributary etchings lining my face
Do sunshine and rainbows live for other men?
Is frolic saved for the apathetic?
Must each day start with entreaties of when?
Shall I finish life blue…apoplectic?
Weary of teary…I weep when asleep
Can’t dewdrops of joy…into my life seep?

Ivy League in Onyx Fatigues

Rode in like “night” sans “K”… many said “O”
Thin B-ball Harvard grad…from sandy shore
Talked game, blame, shame, man!…how were we to know
Capitulate with reprobates?…no more!!!
Low life denizens on Wall Street…fat…free
Bankrupt the country… do no time in jail
Transparency he said…opaque to me
Unemployed bartered…wait for life...in mail
Middle class tax cut…promise from the start
Yachting class laughing all the way to bank
Makes you wonder…if O man has a heart
Tax relief?…corporate thief!…just plain rank
“Party of Nope?”… “Audacity of Hope”
Truth is we got…”Austerity of Cope”

Roughing the Voter

November 2, 2010, Republicans…Democrats
Played the semi-annual, “mud slinging foray,”
Now known as “Citizens V. United Toilet Bowl.”
A rugged, below-the beltway affair
Attended by predominately white cheering section
The Pachyderms inflicted a “shellacking” on hopelessly divided Asses.
Coach-in-Chief Obama promises two sides will scrimmage,
Before next contest in 2012.

Songette

Tall tree…short hill, lived tiny whippoorwill
Her nest was built strong…her heartbeat was true
Eyed it last year…is it perched up there still?
Does her tune resonache…with warbling blues?
I journeyed to hill, to search for her nest
‘Twas one year… a day, since last I stood here
Straining mine eye I did search out my best
The songstress had gone…the nest too I fear
Hwip-or-will, hwip-or-will, where can you be?
Mine heart’s melancholy…like your sad song
Do not be afraid…for it’s only me
Please sing for me darling…I’ll hum along
Silence abounded…I strode away grieved
Lost song on the wind…falling with the leaves

Seven Thousand Miles ... and Two Feet Apart

It was early summer 1967, I was eleven years old, and, sitting on the edge of a dock, I dipped my legs into the chilly, murky waters of the Calaveras River. I could barely see my feet.
Seven thousand miles away in a Saigon hospital, John Q. Soldier sits on the edge of his hospital bed, his legs hanging over the edge. He has no feet.
I was daydreaming that day of becoming the next Bob Gibson, fastballer extraordinaire for my favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals.
John, had nightmares that night of when he returned home and his favorite girl saw the two stumps where his feet used to be.
I looked out across the river, my skin a golden brown courtesy of the Central California sun, and watched as an Egret poked his beak in the mud searching for a meal.
John looked out of his hospital window, his pallid skin akin to alabaster white, and watched as a little girl, perhaps six, dug thru a garbage can trying to find something to eat.
I soon began to get hot and threw my body into the refreshing water, my legs churning, doing the frog kick, and looking at the world from a waters level view.
John soon began to sweat in the sweltering heat and humidity and was taken to a bath where a nurse placed him into a tepid tub of water. His stumps wriggled. He’d do no more frog kicks.
I crawled back on the dock, that wonderful feeling of being chilled on one side and warm on the other, as my body absorbed the radiating heat off the wooden surface.
John was wheeled back to his bed, already beginning to perspire, where the rapidly diminishing effects of his bath were briefly relieved by the new layer of cool linen recently applied.
I spent the rest of that glorious afternoon luxuriating between dock and water, thinking of baseball and Mom’s fried chicken, momentarily lost in a few passing billowing clouds.
John spent the rest of his day twitching and turning on sweat soaked sheets, thinking about his feet hurting, which he knew weren’t there, temporarily sidetracked by screams of other patients.
I had Mom’s fried chicken that night with mashed potatoes and creamed corn and then sat and watched the news with my Dad. The news guy gave a total of dead and wounded in Vietnam.
John, one of the wounded, didn’t really remember what he ate that night except that it tasted like what he ate the night before. He listened to a radio. Credence Clearwater was doin’ “Run Through The Jungle.”
I now sit, 43 years later, with great pain in my still functioning legs and feet and think often how I’d like to go back to that dock, soaking up sun on that early summer day of 1967.
John, sits in his dilapidated wheelchair out in front of a grocery store, holding a sign that reads “Vietnam Vet needs help.” A chic lady passes him and silently comments that he smells. An older man puts a dollar in John’s can.
I want to go back to 1967. So does John. Just a little bit earlier than me.

Trek Speck

Somewhere out in deep, deep space
Is a planet that grows spores
Providing solace, love and peace
No more violence…no more wars
Money is not minted…we’ll live from day to day
Poverty’s un-hinted…sanity is our days pay
How a flower has this power
I don’t know and I don’t care
Just looking for the one man
I know can take me there
This place exists in cosmic mist
At the outer fringes of my mind
Starlight’s kiss…Chimera bliss
I long to live where hatred’s blind
I’ve seen enough of depraved stuff
No more trips around the block
S.O.S… Please call David
Let’s go home…Mr. Spock

Tanked

I want to be a “fellow” at a think tank institute
Stuffed shirt, starched tie, coke bottom glasses
I’ll act ever so resolute
Opinions will be non-biased…of course
My “employers” need have no fear
I’ll tell them just exactly what they paid for them to hear
Pontificating and prognosticating is just what I do best
Solving the problems of the “real” world
I’ll just leave to the rest

The Eleventh Commandment

Christian values…the politician said
Bread for the needy…Food, roof, bed?
Nah!
How ‘bout a shot to an Afghan head
Pulpit pimps…prime the pumps
Eliciting coinage…from frothing chumps
Keep obscenely wealthy…undertaxed
Everyone else…credit card maxed
Preacher Man say…God want you to be rich
Christian values…Perverted Scripture… Sales Pitch

Always Left ... Holdint the Bag

“Faith” was placed on trial today
“Fact” was the “crusading” prosecuting D.A.
Faith took the stand both defiant yet aloof
Fact demanded the defendant provide an iota of “truth”
Faith replied truth was blessed “belief”
Fact countered he needed something concrete
Faith read three lines of scripture then fell on the floor
Fact knew his fate when the jury cried…no more!
Faith set the decorum with his “Doctrinal Diction”
Fact concluded his statements with a reminder of “Fiction”
Faith was set free by a jury of his peers
Fact was left to confront our superstitious fears

The Summing of Unbecoming

Sanity displayed is madness allayed
One plays like gold lute, gently a’ strumming
It’s “brother” oft’ cries, with voice torn and frayed
A voice described as, most…unbecoming
Emotional distress…canker of eye
Rainbows tilt, flowers wilt…sour and numbing
The bird so disturbed, should take wing and fly
He stains with his touch…most…unbecoming
A smiling countenance…much desired
Whistling, buoyant…perpetually humming
The man who can’t laugh…makes others tired
A millstone round neck…most unbecoming
On distant hill…they’re calling…and drumming
Oh! Barren angst…end…Free me…I’m coming

Little White Lies

In 2010 the Dems took a “shellacking”
Delighting the “folks” who pine for “whipcracking”
A nation in debt had lost all its pride
Especially the White House…with a black man inside
The ultimate irony for those on the right
Who packed guns to rallies to protest the slight
Or, to the “antebellum acolytes” who just got it wrong
Hey, no worries, he was “white” all along

Rupe's Dupes

Fox News chicks … decry bereavage
Coiffed hair … and painted smiles
With requisite cleavage
“Shrimps off the Barbie” … lacking of smarts
High def perfect … with debauched hearts
They report … we decide …and all the while
The world decays … as they vacantly smile
Fox news chicks … looking so hot
With Breasts they’ve bought … and brains they’ve forgot

Flowers on the Hill

Away from town, within the ground, lies the body of Annie Hill
The only sound that stirs the air is a distant re-built lumber mill
Annie drew her last breath at an age too young to die
No one save the shovelers of grave, ‘cept I, pondered why

She was so slight “ain’t she a sight!” her skin a cocoa brown
Orphaned before she turned ten, oh! her mother’s wailing sound
Left alone with God fearing folk her fears would not abate
Then destiny met poor Annie and sealed up her fate

Annie wore a pair of old glasses, with no classes to wear them in
She craved a book that she could read, despite the color of her skin
Accept for admonishments from the “good book” pages were never read
And on a night, in harsh moonlight, little Annie would end up dead

As her masters slept, thin Annie crept, to schoolhouse on a knoll
An open window she shimmied through, her fingers icy cold
She lit a match, and then another, her amazement was profound
For there eyes before, ceiling to floor, were books both cloth and bound

Sweet tears of joy ran down her face, as she abjured rules, as she forgot race
Yet lost in jubilance she didn’t hear, the sound of boots at quickened pace
Two boys burst in on Annie, perhaps they were sixteen, perhaps a year more
And with legs splayed, elation betrayed, slight Annie died on schoolhouse floor

The “boys” were never punished, for Annie was black, when she perished on back
And God fearing folk proclaimed it a sign, as they dumped her body in flour sack
These “brave young men” who committed the crime, grew up to own a lumber mill
Justice came in searing flame, when an ember flared hot on a night that was chill

The flames lit the town as the mill burned down, taking with it a pair wrapped in shame
Their graves are now long forgotten, no immortality, souls defamed
Yet away from town, in arid ground, wildflowers grow and perhaps always will
They thrive in Earth, a patch of mirth…a young “somebody”…the slight Annie Hill

Winging Our Way Home

Wingtip to Wingtip…to eternity
Angels take note of our long blessed flight
We soar in select love fraternity
Meadowlarks singing…on warm summer nights
Rainbows and teardrops so oft’ come into view
Smiles and Kisses, the magic of touch
We huddle together… crisp morning dew
Birds of aging feathers… needing a crutch
Black clouds, foreboding, loom in the distance
We fly unabated love’s fuel supplied
The journey ahead… fraught with resistance
Perched atop Willow, two hearts ‘ever tied
Wingtip to Wingtip…to eternity
We’ll fly into heaven…just you and me

Rewind

Never asked…had no choice
After 36 years… forgetting Dad’s voice
He died…October, ‘74
Tell me Dad…just once more
Anything
Make me a sandwich...put on channel ten
Get a haircut…don’t hit your sister
Ever again
He comes in dreams…voice so clear
When I wake…he isn’t here
I’m sorry Dad

Opaque Crystal Ball

Hear the wheels of empire…squeak
When so greased by Wiki…Leaks
Our government says…Julian
Is portentous, loose-lipped…hooligan
If truth’s the elixir that we…seek
It’s high time that we got a…peek
Diplomatic secrets…swept
Under rug is tyranny…kept
Transparency is a “two way”…mirror
Honest gains or…perpetual fear

Calendar Obsolete

Freshly minted and laundered
House Majority Leader
John Boehner, after two years
In “Minority Party Purgatory”
Elicited thunderous applause today
From fellow Republicans.
Mr. Boehner gleefully announced,
A flask of Q/T exposed in hip pocket,
“The cancellation of tomorrow”
For 98% of the American public.
“Forever” however, was extended indefinitely
For the remaining 2%

Petals in Moonlight

Black flowers grow in pure white snow
Upon a lost and lonely grave
And a name demolished long ago
Belongs to poor forgotten knave

No one cared a whit for him
Save one, he died, alone, in fear
No one recalls what he was called… same one
Who calls on him once each year

Late at night owls wings in flight
A waifish girl with skin of pearl
Lays down faint tracks in pale moonlight
A denizen of the spectral world

They called him knave, ‘twas more like slave
His hands were calloused, morals solid, always there
‘Twas only one thing that he doth crave
A slender girl with flaxen hair

Such a dare, a girl most fair, daughter of mighty King
Yet she knew she loved him too, longing for his roughhewn touch
In stardust chill, he summoned will presented her with paltry ring
They loved as doves cooed above forever the other oh so much

‘Twas one week and a day when deception was uncovered
A King enraged it was decreed that wretched knave would greet death
His darling, dearest condemned herself for stealth discovered
‘Til, aged in flesh… his name upon, her final breath

‘Tis once a year in crescent’s shine a waifish girl with flaxen hair
Tip-toes on silvery carpet’s glow
To place crossed roses, crimson red…a matching pair
That turn to black…in falling flakes of pure white snow

Little Big Man

A “big’ man they said of huge, enormous girth
His voice ring’s out… bombastic bellowing
Knowing not nuance nor much needed mirth
Red, irate…internally yellowing
He towers above all those he doth chide
Sharing with pint-sized…chip on the shoulder
Both long to belittle and to deride
Yet the “heat” from their stare feels doth colder
A man is measured by most various ways
His land, progeny, the size of his purse
But a man who’s biased fills out his days
A brash speaking coward kissed by a curse
‘Tis not height or weight that makes a man small
But ideas and heart…render him tall

Sonnet Anew

A writer doth spend much time all alone
Consumed with deep thought…a lonely calling
He ‘oft neglects love...which he must atone
Love offers no net to anyone falling
Alienation of her affection
A price we must pay for words written down
Cautious I’ll be, invoke circumspection
For her voice doth truly keep me flame bound
Years of blind waste have left me most bitter
Now with my words I doth have a desire
I’ll match my time so as to befit her
The flame still burns hot that heats our love fire
A writer is a solitary soul
It’s Love’s complications that make him whole

Tender Vine

Hope was a grape that lived on a long vine
And it needed tending from time to time
Water, soil, pruning away broken lines
To produce a fruit that tasted sublime
Many invested hard work…pieces of soul
A vision of better, days down the road
It appeared we had won, achieved our goal
Now the onus returns…an unjust load
We declared victory not knowing the score
Sold down the river…the choppy wave blues
Expecting so much…we should have got more
Than the barge “Sellout” and calls for more dues
Our “grape” is now sour, ‘tis raisined…withered
Hope left rotting, whilst Democrats dithered

Hell at the End of the Rainbow

They smelled it first in Flint, Michigan
A whiff, a cloud, of caustic, frenzied longing
Sagging like exhausted wishes above aged power lines
Across the Midwest it swept, blinding, smothering
Spreading like plague it covered the nation, pungent…stinging
It absorbed fear and grew, ‘til skies blazed red on the horizon
Altruism and Bluism receding into mouse holes of mendacity
Vagaries floating in menacing fashion above an intellectual vacuum
Flags flayed in acid rain, children choking on broken promises
And high above, on carpets of pristine blue, they fly
Gold plated eagles with lush interiors and lost ideals
Billowing forth more and more acrid, patrician pollution
Until one day, for an instant, the sun breaks through
Leaving the masses gasping at the flames of hell
Ignited, illuminated, incandescent…burning
At the end of a rainbow

Exit Wounds

I walk barefoot on broken glass
I hear the Owl call out past midnight
I am bound in invisible strait-jacket
I await the Raven at my door
Evermore
I gently caress rose petals
I tickle my cat’s whiskers
I cry knowing I can’t remember
the sound of my Dad’s voice
I am forever on the precipice
of spitting or swearing
And each night
I pull jagged shards of regret
From feet that never climbed a mountain
Forgive me…I love you

Elaffront Park

“Happy days are here again, ain’t had such fun since I don’t know when
can’t wait to come back once again, happy days are here again”
Step right up folks and get your tickets for the new GOP ( God’s own People) Theme Park
There’s something for young and old alike, so get out that credit card and get ready to smile
We got: Water Boarding and Money Hoarding
Nature Thashin’ and Immigrant Bashin’
There’s chills and thrills for everyone
Take a scary walk through our own White House with a real live “spook” inside
Or, test your throwing arm with a gen-u-ine West Virginia “coal drop” by dunking a “climate change egghead” into a vat of oil
Walk by the serene waters of our “Social Security Privatization Pool” and toss in penny for luck
The older folks will get a kick out of the three legged “Hedge Fund Hop” and the “Greenback Sack” race
Back by popular demand is the “Mosque Toss”
Grab a Muslim by the toe, if he hollers let him go
Grab him by the head like so, drown him with some H2O It’s Hella fun!
Or, always popular with Southwestern folks, “The Frantic Hispanic”
Shoot a real life Mexican.
With a special pellet gun.
If you hit his old knapsack,
We’ll deport his butt and send him back!
This is a fan favorite so get your tickets early.
And, as always, when you want to sit a spell, maybe grab a bite to eat, you can relax.
All those “inferior breeds” will be serving the food. Not eating it alongside you.
Of course, “prayer booths” are located throughout the park for your convenience
The always popular “Palin Oracle” is back dispensing wisdom “real folks” can use
And House leader John Boehner will give a special performance to kick off the festivities, on our main stage, doing his version of the old Roy Orbison hit “Crying”
We’re open at 12:00 every day till 10:00 o’clock at night
Come one, come all and see the sights, but only if you’re White

Ambiglunity

Looking for memories
Didn’t want to find
So I… left ‘em behind
Now, I can go back
Sometime
When I don’t want to find them
In the meantime
Know right where I “hid” them
Reminds me of telling Mom
“I don’t like milk, cause if I liked it
I’d drink it…and I’d hate it.”

Where Dem Dems?

Lost: The Democratic Party
Description: Spineless vertebrates, weak kneed, cowering, crouching
blue hued, crimson tinged asses prone to intense sweating. Legislative pipe stem
arms attached to forever shaking hands.
Former champions of: Equality, justice, environment, education, women, minorities,
the sick, aged and poor.
Identifying marks: The letters FDR, LBJ or JFK somewhere on the body.
Caution: Three inverted sixes indicate code for GOP.
Where to look: Anyplace Fox News is showing latest poll results.
If Found: Invoke the late Malcolm X.
“A man (or a woman) who stands for nothing, will fall for anything.”

C-Notes Growin' on a Joshua Tree

Mexican drugs…American guns
Fix, fix, fix…bang,bang,bang
Decapitated heads…Hopheads
Smack slaves…Desert graves
Body bags…Toe tags
A “tat” on the back
A “prick” on the skin
Border disorder
Let this court…come to order
Norteno hustlers…Coyote rustlers
Stash, stash, stash…cash, cash, cash
Arizona…racial profiling
NRA…always smiling

Tyrant's Boots

Tyrant’s boots, laced in darkness, on predatory “soulless” feet
They conspire with underlings in swinish bid to acquire
Your heart, your country, your life…complete
In their bid to rule the world, they must first set it on fire

To glide on smooth lies you might surmise
Requires a skill the masses do lack
And when truth does win out it does oft’ surprise
Treachery has always had this vile knack

Deception can be a dangerous game
‘Tis not a sport for the faint hearted
Yet a despot’s soul it knows no shame
He and true courage having long since parted

Ambition becomes rapaciously contagious
It never weeps or knows moral borders
The tyrant foresees with visions outrageous
To issue forth most foul marching orders

Mankind has had its share of Martinets
‘Tis man’s eternal plague that we’ve had any
For violent aspiration often so begets
The few, the insidious, the hoodwinking of many

In these modern times the avaricious autocrats
Wax duplicitous in the guise of “your friend”
He wants your fealty, She’ll “help you with that”
And once so fooled, you’re cast off the deep end

Our oppressor’s temerity is not something they lack
They perjure routinely in shadow of cross
And instead of utopian “getting their country back”
Millions will learn…that the country’s been lost

Tyrant’s boots shining beneath Gucci suits
They troll the waters with prevaricated chum
From gleaming mansions built by enthralled recruits
We and they await, the promised trickle down crumbs

Plutocratic, Oligarchic, Altruism’s fatality
They constitute a team with one malicious dream
To execute a “middle class” a firing squad finality
An injurious and copious long devised scheme

Profligates, at this crucial moment, upon gilded knoll
Are rubbing manicured hands consecrating our defeat
A two-tiered nation is the over-arching preeminent goal
With lackey’s ‘a plenty beneath fecund pampered feet

Tyrant’s boots come in many, styles, shapes and sizes
From jackboots to penny loafers, from bunkers to Wall Street
And from time immemorial we keep inviting them back
To grovel from hovel’s alongside… Main Street

Plied and Pilloried

Pills for the heart
Pills for the pain
When the clock so dictates
It’s pill time again
Pills for the stomach
Pills for the head
Someday they’ll invent
A pill for the dead
Horse sized or tiny
Chewable too
Whatever the problem
They’ve got one for you
Capsules and Caplets
A plethora of shades
Strengths large and small
Keep them cool and in shade
Now the pharmacist nears
And I’m getting strange chills
I can see on his face
He’s run out of my pills
I stagger out blindly
With my unfilled refill
As I remember the days
Those glorious days
Without pills

Rock On

I’m moving to a planet
Houses made of granite
No oil, no cruelty, no politicians
No greed, No crime, No war
I’ll take some food, some water
My pets, my family and nothing more
We’ll stargaze, stonehaze, laugh, love, trailblaze
Joining hands in blessed mirth
Thanking the day we got away
From debauched Mother Earth

Bells and Whistles

Hollowed out with Avarice
Or devoid of decent meal
Two percent with loot unspent
Say they know how “we” feel
Their talking heads are everywhere
Flick on flat screen TV
Two years from now or maybe ten
They’ll sound the same when in 3-D
We are the “job creators”
You can’t tax us to death
A lie trickled down from gilded hills
And spoken with perfidious breath
Shakespeare said the world’s a stage
And its men and women merely players
Seven ages made all the worse
By immoral “Altruistic naysayers”
They’ll ply the masses with their gadgets
All redeemed with credit card
Then collect the blood in golden cups
As we’re gouged with plastic shards
Their wealth will grow and those below
Will someday get the hint
That the eye of the rapacious
Always has, and always will, cast pernicious glint
Yet until then mine solemn friends
We are doomed barefoot in thistle
Pacified then cast aside
Content with Bells and Whistles

Intertwinement

In a grave yard, in a church yard, sits an aged, dark tomb
A repository for the lifeless, an inanimate solemn womb
Its inhabitants are a smattering, you might say a few
A man and a woman who once were twenty…plus two

This young gentlemen for his years, had seen much of life
Had been exposed to much grief and internal strife
When a child cried in pain or a beast moaned in sorrow
He’d squeeze shut eyes and ears, and pray for tomorrow

‘Til one day on a lonely road walking in a chill wind
He met a girl with raven hair and introduced as Rosalind
‘Twas like a burden had been lifted for a brief, precious time
For in the company of Rosalind he doth felt much sublime

‘Twas not long, before they, both stood before Priest
And after simple ceremony they quick retired to humble feast
They lived each day as two leaves intertwined in the wind
A young man who’d learned to smile in the glory of Rosalind

But ill-fortune has a knack of shadowing the poor yet glad
As when black clouds foretold of days that would be baneful bad
On the air, arrived the plague and its companion so named death
And the man, who’d learned to smile, soon drew in his final breath

One day from whence he died came a special delivery post
He was heir to a fortune so bestowed him by a passing remorseful ghost
Rosalind, forlorn Rosie, sat alone, in their meager sitting room
And devised to spend the money on a private marble tomb

Her beloved was kept on ice as construction was hurried through
And on the day of the internment she knew exactly what she must do
Funeral proceedings, like their wedding, were a quiet, austere affair
Rosalind, dressed in black a pair of red leaves in Raven’s hair

Before the casket, that held her world, was so closed, she doth linger
To place two leaves on dead man clothes between waxen, ashen fingers
Then she walked home, made preparations for the path she must follow
And whilst holding, two leaves in hand, ‘twas a poison she did swallow

That was many years ago, the tomb’s now home to ant and spider
And to a tender, fragile girl and the “leaf” that lay beside her
Sometimes, on frigid nights, two leaves cling, together, in the wind
And with mine ear, I faintly hear, a voice calling…Rosalind

Rosalind, was sick at heart, was moribund, could not stop weeping
And she cried, rivers of tears, while wide awake or even sleeping

Dough Nutz

Saggy bottoms…clogged veins
Fleshy arms…chest pains
Bulging bellies…rotten teeth
Diabetes…Good grief!
We lost ‘em once…now they’re back
They're moving into their old shack
Our March Lane Drive-thru Heart Attack
A junk food junkie’s supreme dream
A sly mortician’s wicked scheme
Insulin insanity…let’s all scream
Welcome back…Krispy Kreme!

Mortal Murmer

Shh! Somebody might hear, I’ll apply cupped hand to thy ear
How many sweet nothing’s spoke by love’s lips?
How many last breaths on Angel’s wing tips?
How many wishes…secrets are heard?
How many coarse tongues mouthing soft words?
The bellowing, the milquetoast…an ill maligned lisper
How much life’s spoken by…shh!...Whisper

Woodgood

Dead trees have no friends
Dead trees can’t block the wind
Dead trees in the fireplace end
Dead trees
Dead people have lost their friends
Dead people smell in the wind
Dead people in the graveyard end
Dead people
Live trees provide oxygen
Live trees make for tree house fun
Live trees give shade from sun
Live trees
Live people do treachery
Live people often just think “me”
Live people cut down live trees
Live People
Given a choice between bad and good
I sometimes think I’d opt for wood
A tree that lives is nature’s mill
Custom made for folks to kill
Dead trees can build a steeple
Live people have become sheeple
Trees and people…Jones and Spruce
Lets save our trees…and call a truce

Fade Away

Bones crackle, eyes strain, ears ring, daily pain
My image gray before the glass…time past
The race is ending and never the twain
Shall meet, as old supplants young much to fast
Time invites sorrow for tomorrow flies
Uninvited to distort once smooth skin
Under Crow’s Feet marching ‘cross squinting eyes
Talking ‘bout the good “old” day’s way back in …
Gray stubble holds sway on my chin, words I say
Spilling forth from acidic twisted tongue
Forgotten how to laugh…not fade away
Aging man trapped…with the soul of the young
Like the vampire I will remove all mirrors
And end my days in invisible fears