There was a night and driftwood beach,
Full moon and your hand in reach.
I wonder if you think of me.
It's been...how many years
Since we took the risk? Let's see,
Counting smiles, counting tears,
It's been a while. I think of you--
Especially nights the moon is blue.
TRUE LOVE GANGSTERWISE
No one's kept me straighter,
Cleaner, neater, on my toes,
Than you have, babe. Saying, "later"
Went out with the baggy clothes.
I couldn't love you more, in fact--
That shell I had, you sweetly cracked.
He'd analyze and criticize
His friends and foes alike.
Aiming to politicize
The situations--drive a spike
To nail issues where they stood,
Hoping he could do some good.
Some people didn't realize
His words were never meant to strike
Down but those who're hawking lies
That lead us to another Reich.
I took a shower New Year's Eve,
Dreaming of a kiss.
Got in clean clothes. Me, naive--
Having dreams like this.
You never came, was kind of lame--
Me thinking you might dream the same.
An unrepentant hippie relic,
Rebel thoughts and peace combined--
I still believe the psychedelic
Can fix the injured mind--
Reintroduce it to its soul,
Making mind and spirit whole.
A certain class won't like the word,
It scares the bourgeoisie.
And when they're scared they drop a turd
That'll land on you and me.
When the language's getting rough,
They're calling out the cops
Showing us who can be tough--
They're pulling all the stops,
Thinking certain words run to
Acts of violence down the line
And they don't want to hear it. True?
And so they start out with a fine.
Controlling language's just a way
The ruling class can have more say.
FOR PETA AND THE VEGANS
Pollution could be saving fish--
Who wants to eat them now?
Every day less people wish
To sit down to the cow--
Mad cow eats you up alive,
How will carnivores survive?
My, you beat the man from me.
While my buddy, Wilbur, fishes,
I make beds and do the dishes
Tending to your little wishes,
Focused on your lovely swishes
That keep me home to slice the brie.
Not complaining, that's no lie--
Even when my buddy dishes
Out the digs, I know he wishes
He's the dog the kitty swishes
Past; and so my buddy fishes
For a catch to clean and fry.
Just shut up and talk to me.
Your chatter makes a front
To hide something I sometimes see--
Too sore to take the brunt
Of conflict you face day to day.
But go ahead--what can I say?
Exploitation's our foundation
Making up the norm.
Porno's screaming exploitation
In the rawest form.
Porno's sad as can be gross--
Actors surely fake
As the camera's drawing close,
Money's there at stake.
Ah, that's life, but ain't it funny--
It's that or out the door.
We all do it for the money--
We're all somebody's whore
And squirm beneath a calloused thumb.
Porn stars, though, at least they come.
Tragic when one can't perform
And manhood takes it worst--
Brooding when below the norm
With feelings they've been cursed
By demons rising from their past,
And suffering from the spells they cast.
I read it in the daily news
Our world is coming to an end
Unless we hurry up and choose
To pay for armies to defend
A way of life uniquely ours--
From dental floss to high rise towers.
Don't think: look! a thinker said,
And he was absolutely right.
They're putting thoughts into your head
That serve to rob you of your sight
And follow blindly where it leads--
But in the end it's you who bleeds.
Just look at what is going on,
Look who's dying first these days;
See who's king and who's the pawn--
Who succeeds and see who pays.
Don't think: look! It's all right there--
Look and tell me if it's fair.
Life's not fair nor meant to be,
We've all been told by those on top;
And so we think and fail to see
The means to make unfairness stop--
Means getting off ones sorry ass
To end reigns of a ruling class.
The "thinker" was the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, 1889-1951
It's long since sweet raindrops have splashed
Down on the arid paths we take;
So little future has been cached,
We're looking at a large dry lake
When our paths come to an end--
Retirement's a bourgeois friend.
Running out of things to say?
We all should be so lucky
To never venture night or day
In messing with the sucky
Things most face at home or work--
We talk so we don't go berserk.
A phrase I should have written down
Escaped into my thoughts.
When I looked the phrase skipped town,
My memory left in knots.
I must remember that I can't
Remember shit, my brain's a plant.
I'm a dreamer. I never dreamed
The world would ever come to this.
The power there for good's been schemed
From the picture--Judas kiss
Betraying everyone who dreams
Of ending all the tortured screams.
Nothing wrong with getting high,
Long as you make it serve
A purpose--even getting by
Or getting up your nerve.
But when you do it to escape
Or let it grab you by the nape
Of the neck, you're wasting it--
Your life will soon turn into shit.
And those around you suffer more
When you become the substance whore.
A cloudless laugh beneath your eyes
That beam a playful love of life,
Brings the sun through cloudy skies
To every day you've been my wife.br>
Times I think of losing you,
I get a feeling dull and cold
That's heavy as it shadows through
My heart and all that memories hold.
My love for you could well surround
The moon and stars that grace the night.
Whatever happiness I've found
Began first time you held me tight.
You've taught me how to coax the love
From life I'll never tire of.
I have a print of Jasper Johns--
A flag that flew with two less stars.
The paint's on newsprint. Goings-ons
Are bleeding through the stars and bars--
It's back page news hung on my wall.
Nothing's laid out black and white--
Nonetheless she says it all,
Old Glory's just not feeling right.
Nothing's certainly what it seems
Beneath the patriotic paint--
It's serious to full-on pipe dreams.
The stars and stripes conceal complaint
From haunting faces looking back
At me here sitting smoking crack.
At the bottoms, one night only,
I put myself to bed
By the window. Wasn't lonely--
All right in my head.
But houses over, voices sailed
Through the panes like breezes blow.
I listened to a man who railed
At a woman crying, no.
At the bottoms, people robbed
Of sleep and peace of mind.
Even as the woman sobbed
I lay there silent, though not blind--
From the bottoms what can stop
The bitter working for the top?
Lipstick shapes the lips,
Heels contract the calf;
The pants, a vice that grips
The body's lower half--
Dressed the part for working in
The system's garish loony bin.
Neckties served a purpose, yes:
Cinching up the collar tight
For the special times you'd dress
Up, like church. So when lice bite
Your head, you scratched, they wouldn't fall
Down your shirt, or even crawl
To places you could never scratch--
Neckties made the perfect catch.
This disease is sad and cruel
It's known as CRS.
It doesn't make you hurt or drool
Or die but nonetheless
It's one disease tough to get through
And women are affected most.
Their children get it, husbands too--
Their brains turn into toast.
What's it stand for? I must admit--
Forgot, I can't remember shit.
OLD MAN'S ADVICE
Never fight with cops or press
Or drunks, because you'll never win.
My father always said, finesse
The situations you get in
With them because they're always right,
And draw first blood in every fight--
High on power, hype or booze
They'll hurt you even when they lose.
Guilt that grabs you from below
And swamps your peace of mind,
You try to fight. But even so,
All you ever seem to find
Is refuge in a private hell--
What's coming next? Can never tell.
Freedom. You know what I mean.
Freedom means that we can vote
Election day and chose between
Candidates who just might float
Our little boat. We're thinking we,
As the politicians say,
Are choosing life and liberty--
The song that never seems to play.
Freedom's bought and sold, I think,
By sheiks and businessmen who work
Faster than the eye can blink
To have it all and likewise jerk
The rest around--the money bets
That, that's as is good as freedom gets.
Freedom from or freedom to?
Or a little bit of both?
Or a lot? We vote in new
Presidents who take the oath
To give as much as we could want
Of freedom from dictatorship,
And all the terrors we see haunt
The streets or when we take a trip.
They say the terror's here to stay
Unless we build the means to crush
The enemy. Blows me away--
They're sounding like a Nixon lush.
I go to work to get my share
Of tyranny and panic there.
Consuming more than we produce
Is sure to set some terror loose.
Take more in than we ship out?
That should be a clue
To what the world is all about.
It's no mystery who
Is gobbling up the juicy bits
Tanning in the sun;
Getting all the shapely tits;
Having all the fun.
Americans don't worry now,
If they realize
The world about to have a cow
Is over corporate lies,
And the strong-arm tactics used--
Fighting back are those abused.
THE GOOD OLD DAYS
Wouldn't it be fun to fill
A vein with good cocaine?
Think of time the drug would kill
And deaden boredom's pain.
At the same time, give a thrill
You never can maintain--
Living moments with no will
Power to abstain.
If they don't like you it's the same
As being enemies;
If they don't trust you, they've a name
For one who disagrees:
Unpatriotic for a start,
Depending what you do--
For taking need for change to heart,
They'll maybe label you
A terrorist. Get out of town
Before they come and take you down.
What kind of revolution would
End a ruling class
That's taking everything that's good?
Short of kicking ass?
The ruling class is so well armed,
Has all the money too,
And talent keeping people charmed--
Nothing they can't do.
Now fascist's flags have come unfurled,
Saluting corporate form.
What can you say but, look out world?
Here comes another storm.
As they go down, could be we all
Get taken with them when they fall.
A gradual shifting on the right,
Building pressure on the left.
Every night on news a fight
Over: territory; theft
Of loyalty; money deals;
Property; assuming rights;
Affection lost when someone steals
Attention. Then you see the fights.
Anchor more than soul, my friends.
Your soul will have no place to go
When the world we treasure ends.
When it happens we'll all know
The left contains what it can't own,
The right sees domination blown
If what I said were lies instead,
It would be over, god forbid.
If I were lying I'd be dead
Talking all the shit I did.
But getting to somebody's head
You have to learn to be a kid--
A three year old who blurts out "fuck!"
Grownups hide a look and cluck
Their tongues, while adding twists
To the word as it exists--
Looking for a way to hide
Reality and truth inside.
Still knowing, if the truth be said,
Life is hanging by a thread.
A cloudless laugh down under eyes
That beam an impish love of living.
Every day's a new surprise--
Always good--some need forgiving.
When I think of losing you,
I get a feeling sharp and cold
That's heavy while it shadows through
My heart, and ties that memories hold.
My love for you could well surround
The sun, the stars, the moon above.
You keep my big feet on the ground
And teach me how to squeeze the love
From dances going round and round
Until some satisfaction's found.
So many demons in the world
To choose from, don't you know?
Demonization's flag's unfurled--
They'll paint you head to toe
With ugly shit if you should cross
The lines laid down by who's the boss.
I DON'T CHAT
There's really too much going on,
Just tell me how you're doing.
I can help. And then be gone.
Or, join me in pursuing
Answers to the questions why
There is no peace and pigs don't fly.
Looking at the world today,
Drives my dick into the dirt.
Disasters and the disarray
And all the ugly, angry hurt
We lay on one another shows
No one's ever going to live
In a world of peace and quiet
When they're folks who never give
Up a dime unless a riot
Forces them to think again.
And thinking, they go out and hire
Loads of military men
And women. Safe, conspire--
Make sure nothing's understood
And try to make themselves look good.
My brother won't drive in the rain
To visit me. OK.
We're not that close, I can't complain--
Don't see him everyday.
Tsunami's different, he'd be there,
Unlike the countries who don't care.
MOTHER GOOSE AND FATHER TIME
Mother Goose and Father Time
Met on the street one day.
"Father Time I have a rhyme,"
Mother Goose did say.
"It goes like this:
'A mother's kiss
Chases all bad things away.
And children learn
How mothers turn
Blue skies out of gray.'"
And Father Time, he shed a tear--
He missed someone no longer here.
No longer sniffing up red herring,
No longer easily bought--
Wisdom landed. She stopped caring
About what others thought.
Me, I'm making my dogs tough--
Danger down the road.
Everyday we're playing rough,
Loyalty our code.
We'll survive because we'll go
Beyond, behind, or ankle low.
If I got higher
I'd wind up lower
Than even I could really stand.
I'm not a liar--
You could you be slower
In giving me a helping hand.
SCROOGE TAKES A HOLIDAY
I really don't believe in God,
Don't celebrate the holidays.
Every New Year's Eve I nod
Off and Christmas I don't praise
The birth of Jesus. Nor do I
Think about his resurrection;
Don't celebrate Fourth of July.
Valentines spur no affection;
Labor Day's a mighty yawn,
Memorial Day the same;
Halloween the host is gone,
Thanksgiving turkey's lame.
On holidays I only scoff--
Unless it means I have time off.
MY DARLING PEA
Now I'm seeing shadows there,
Hid behind the summer leaves;
I feel a chill fall on the air--
A feeling bandits, thugs and thieves
Will take it all before you know
The treasure you have been to me.
Everything had been just so,
Then you became my darling pea.
Me, your lamb who followed where,
Beside the paths, I now perceive
The empty places shadows share--
Blending in the floral weave.
How I only wanted you.
You Called in the shadows, too.
I like rooting for a team,
Especially one outstanding.
Politicians only dream
They'd ever be commanding
Such attention freely given
To a winning team that's driven
To success. Good fans don't care
How you win it, foul or fair.
RELIGION OF THE PEOPLE
People die from being bored,
It can be a beast.
Intellectual needs ignored.
Brother, call a priest
To give me something, dying here--
Or substances to persevere.
What's a country but a front
For a massive treasure hunt
For a few self-serving jerks
Whose only hope is that it works
To wave the flag and lay some blame--
Defining rights and laying claim
To any place and persons who
Are messing with their revenue?
DARWIN & GATES
Life's not fair? And, life's a bitch?
AN APOLOGY TO SLOTH
Survival of the fittest? Shit.
No one deserves to be so rich.
He said, survival of the fit.
Call me lazy, I don't care
About me getting anywhere
I get by taking from the rest
So I can always have the best.
How fast can we make a change?
In the 60's, we thought, fast.
After Nixon it got strange--
A liberal in, and not the last
One seeing changes turning back--
Making liberals one sad sack
As far as making strides to end
All the wars in foreign lands;
Enormous debts when bankers lend;
Instead we see in fewer hands
Most of all the worldly wealth--
Degrading, then, the planet's health.
Steady lad, we'd hear him say--
Every time you took your mark,
Chasing butterflies away
When you're up against a shark.
Rimless glasses, dressed in white,
Always twinkle in his eye
While he helped you get it right--
When you lagged he might get wry.
But never yell, his urging: tops,
Gently coached us to compete.
Confidence and horehound drops
He'd share with us before the meet,
Calming nerves and boosting go--
A better coach I'll never know.
MARTHA AND ME
You need somebody to take care
Of you and yours and your lame game;
I need somebody who can share
My work and make a household name
Of me so I can make it rich
So life ain't such a goddamn bitch.
One thing I know
For sure, we grow
Closer day by day.
You draw me in
A dizzy spin--
You blow my mind away.
The day we met
Our hearts were set
To find a way to go astray--
And live somewhere
The love is there,
Letting shadows lead the way.
Admit we're done
And leave someone
Who we've nothing left to say.
Give me something to forget
The trials and tribulations
Of mistakes and karmic debt
And excess in libations.
Pull me from the total wrecks
I've suffered on the lower decks.
And, please, help me escape the ex--
Send me to the moon on sex.
All the things you will not do
About the lies you're seeing through,
Knowing that the worst is true
Of all that you've been clinging to.
So, it comes down to cop-out calls
So you don't have to show some balls
To, simply put, the ruling class--
Got you and your sorry ass.
SMOOTH IN LOVE
Words that tickle, words that sooth,
Words meant to arouse;
Words you use come on so smooth,
Every syllable allows
Me everything, no want denied--
Except for all those times you lied.
SMOOTH IN DEED
Words that tickle, words that sooth,
Words meant to arouse;
Words you use come on so smooth,
Every syllable allows
Me everything, no need denied--
Laughter, sex and love collide.
SONNET FOR A BUDDING TERRORIST
Tells you, there, what not to say--
But you can't help but think it.
TV, papers, every day,
Keep you silent, you lip sync it--
Overthrow the powers that be.
People dying over that.
You've lost your grip on sanity,
Working to combat
The impulse, yes, to go postal--
On city streets; out on the farms;
Mountain range, big river, coastal.
In there, somewhere, fire arms,
Explosives, what-not, it's all strange--
All you're dying for is change.
RELIGIOUS SEXY POEM
My, her legs, I worship them!
They revitalize my heart.
Wrapped around me, my brain stem
Throws my heart rate off the chart.
Like prayer, I'm kneeling at the bed--
Heaven hardly, here, faith-based.
The path is with her legs instead.
I climb and they're around my waist.
I'm heaven-bound with every squeeze--
Graced by starting from my knees.
CUPID WINS BUT POVERTY SUCKS:
Uncertain as the weather--
This space between us two.
The chance to be together,
Or even rendezvous
On holidays, comes down to money--
But you know I love you, honey.
The wages pay fantastic.
The border crossing's easy.
The money's good and plastic
Covers for the breezy
Warm rains, maybe, that may fall.
I'll take you there--you'll have it all.
Serve your country? Crock of shit.
You serve the mighty dollar.
Uniforms don't always fit.
You wear a bulldog collar
To protect, from overseas,
The rich, who sail a summer breeze.
CALLING ALL FREUDS
Nothing like a skeleton
To ruin a perfect thing--
A memory to overrun
A love that makes you sing.
You had it buried, now you find
A single memory has a mind
Of its own with feelings, too,
To get between your love and you.
Governments have built up spy
Mechanisms tailored for
The opposition. They can buy
Information for class war.
They hire pro's, but often they
Will use someone born yesterday.
The spy they value most of all
Is the spy who doesn't know
They're a spy at all and fall
For attention--clueless, show
The other side what's going on--
Victim to the clever con.
Governments all keep an eye
On what might be in store
For the future and they lie
In wait and deftly score
Information from their prey
Who have no clue who they betray.
The feds, of course, support the mall,
The factories, sports, the fine Bordeaux,
The farms, the banks, suburban sprawl,
Entertainment, news, and go
The greatest lengths to kill the spawn
That might make revolution dawn.
DESCENDING ARC OF ALIENATION
I've made choices, we all do--
But victim to decisions made
Without clearly thinking through
The consequences that are laid
Around my feet like steel traps
That snap at one more judgment lapse.
BITS AND PIECES CONVERSATION
Thirst for information steams
The envelope, but time can't pull
The contents out. Seems that dreams
Will have to wait and, hopeful, cull
The information other ways
As we pilot through the haze
Of secrecy, disinformation.
So: bits and pieces conversation.
CORPORATE SONNET FOR W
I think he looks a little scared
Not knowing what he's doing.
I think he thinks he'll be compared
To shit if he keeps screwing
Up the plans for domination;
Fisted, absolute control
Imposing total alienation
For every sharp contrary soul
Who won't support the corporate plan--
The one that he was hired for.
I think he's scared, this little man--
They're going to kick him out the door.
Too rich to work, too dumb to serve--
A keeper, though, they like his nerve.
What debates? They weren't worth the time.
Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum,
The winner sees his chances climb
To lead us all to Kingdom Come.
No winners here, the fix is on,
Either way, all hope is gone.
Dark suits, blood red power ties,
Flag pins stuck in their lapels;
Confidence that just belies
The fact that sirens, hellish bells
Are wailing, ringing in an age
Of universal crippling rage.
The longest, most expectant wait,
That turns out sweetest, is for love
That has a reason it was late--
And you learn you're guilty of
Conjuring up what wasn't so.
So easy now to let it go
And melt into that warm embrace
Of ecstasy and pleasing grace.
Distance lessens ever smaller
Until the day we touch.
Expectations growing taller--
The heights might be too much
The day we meet--make us retreat
Back to that safe and lonely street.
OVER AND OUT
Suicide, the end-all choice
That's given to us all.
Demons in and out rejoice
To watch a stranger fall.
Stranger to the joys of life--
No stranger to the civil strife
On streets, at home and country-wide
That's instituting suicide.
Begs the lap, about as close
As anything can get
To a massive overdose
Of being someone's pet.
Always wanting on the lap--
Management fills in the gap.
If only I could touch your cheek
And slide my thumb across your lips--
Let my flesh, that's feeling weak,
Come beneath your fingertips.
The distance keeping us apart
Shortens each beat of the heart.
Imagine that the world can see
A way to end the wars.
Imagine everybody free
From going on all fours
To satisfy the man on top--
Imagine all that shit could stop.
Richard owns the barber shop.
Five weeks up, I go.
Caro, twenty bucks a pop,
But get more than just "hello".
Republican, and Frank and me--
Five weeks up? That's where we'll be.
Frank's known Richard 20 years.
Then I got invited in
To get the best in lowered ears
And once indulge a little sin--
Business owner, union cholo,
And commie playing Marco Polo.
Small businessman and union rep,
And one old hippie out of step.
We arrive at closing time,
Richard locks up tight.
Once imbibed the other's dime,
Now too old to feel right.
So we get off on politics,
Women, sports--viejo kicks.
Two Mexicans and one white boy
They like to kid a lot.
Both of them seem to enjoy
To see me in the hot
Seat the times the subject's race--
They'd put a smile on my face.
I'm not racist, they know that,
They also know as well
I've never had a racist at
My throat or danced through hell.
Since it's what I've never faced--
Frank jokes and offers up a taste.
TV sits on golf or Fox--
After all it's Richard's ball.
Snips and quips from his soapbox,
Gray hair, doctrines, freely fall
From heads and lips, from left and right,
Heavy topics served up light.
Two old men, a barber chair,
(Too prideful, maybe, of their hair),
Talk with Richard. We're set back--
His son, he says, is in Iraq.
His son, he says, is building schools.
But Frank and I are no ones fools;
He kept it from us--just got real,
And we could see what fathers feel
Underneath the stoic mask--
Only made us want to ask,
Why can't all the fighting stop,
Like it does at Richard's shop?
Drugs, of course, can make you feel
You're worth a million bucks;
Or make you feel like nothing's real;
Or everybody sucks.
Anything you chance ingest
Can tear you up or be the best
Of what has happened in, like years.
(Watch you cause no fears nor tears.)
He used no shades to block the glare
Hypocrisy would beam.
Instead of look away he'd stare
Down the showy gleam
From eyes that hid too much to be
For real--chortled when he'd see
The steaming pile of shit below
What seems to make the country go.
Skillful verbal acrobats.
Anything can be the case,
That's what they like to say.
But look behind the poker face
When they look away.
You'll likely see another side,
Little details they may hide.
His eyes are sad from what they've seen,
Not from what's been done to him.
He's lived a life that's safe and clean,
He went and saw a life that's grim
As it can be, a civil war--
Hopeless, brutal, nasty for
The people whose short lives were lost
To yet another holocaust.
The capitalists are betting that
We tear ourselves apart
Over who'll be getting fat
On life enjoying art.
CONFESSIONS OF A MUTE
I could listen to you all day,
And never say a word.
Or sit when all words went away,
Silence all I heard.
Just knowing you were on the line,
Either way, the water's fine.
How come you got one foot in,
While the other's sneaking out?
I'm not talking mortal sin,
I mean too much goddamn doubt
About if this is true romance--
I'm doubting now you'll take a chance.
It's become an oddity
This precious thing called trust;
Trust's a fixed commodity--
Rare and pricey pixie dust
The privileged buy to cover tracks,
Bury truth, and watch their backs.
You're a drug. I have to do you
Every chance I get;
Taking chances hushing to
Your thrills that only whet
My appetite for something more--
Like honest pleasures open door.
I second your strong sentiments,
Honestly I do.
They marched on me like regiments,
I hand it all to you.
You're the man and I agree.
But not if I were truly free.
Every dreamer looks for hits:
Genders; gamblers; computer geeks
Who measure hits by counting bits;
Writers; pols; someone who seeks
Assurances they're going to last--
But all in all get nowhere fast.
I've been called a dreamer when
Suggesting what to do
To fix the world. I've even been
Accused of sleeping through
Elections. True. I think a fix
Is needing more than politics.
Sum it up in just two words:
From the soil to the birds--
Slaughter and cremation.
Water safe for dousing fires,
But safe enough to drink?
Then we get terrific liars,
The ones who make us think,
All we need is win a war
Against our common foes.
When it's won we'll all have more--
Or so the story goes.
Won't explain the civil wars
We're part of from these distant shores.
THE MIDDLE EAST
When we were fighting communists,
We trained and armed the Muslim right.
Now, look who fight imperialists--
Our war budget's out of sight.
Lack of planning? My best guess--
The men of war are who we bless
With money letting them to lead
Young men and women till they bleed.
They're lazy and they wait
Until it happens. Just might go
Too crazy this late date
And interrupt the lazy flow
They're living--never take a stand
Unless it's for a name or brand.
You get high, sit down and dream
Of how it's going to be.
Babies cry and mothers scream--
Numbers gain of those not free
Of hunger, pain, and tragic loss.
Ah, but you've got goals to cross.
You have the touch that makes me feel
Happy, whole and sane,
And safe enough I don't conceal
The pleasure or the pain
I hid because there's not enough
Support--the judges acting tough.
She was keeping me from dreaming,
I was keeping her from sex--
Barely stopping short of screaming,
Making one another "ex".
A miracle walked in one day--
It's better now, all I can say.
The question's who would want a war?
The stakes are angels high.
Each side certainly wanting more--
Who sends the most to die?
Cannon fodder on one side
Stands against a rising tide.
I can't see you but I feel
Your spirit teasing mine.
I can't touch the part that's real,
But feelings intertwine--
Feelings holding me to hope
That I'll survive this slippery slope,
Sliding from retreats above--
End it all and fall in love.
Longing is the heady liquor
Coursing through your candent blood;
Given hope, emotions flicker--
Transform to a raging flood
Of feelings that can't be denied.
Helpless, carried by the tide.
In your eyes I see the problems;
My dear heart, I'm not that strong
To chase your demons, doubts and goblins
Gnawing at the lovely song
That we could sing, so help me here--
Stand with me when they appear.
You're living down in Mission Gorge,
Your dad's 2 miles from me.
You live the life of lonesome George,
But live a life that's free--
Freedom to, and freedom not
To run the risk of getting caught
Being somehow indiscrete,
Living your life on the street.
The question's not how you should quit,
Or how it ever started.
Or how it turned your life to shit
Or soon-to-be departed.
The question's how-not to despair
For getting only your small share.
The question's how to overcome
The devil while you're having some.
The answer is, you need to think--
Moderate the drugs and drink.
Never under our control,
For sure it's gone berserk.
Looks like bad news on a roll--
We're fortunate to work,
While misfortune out there seems
To come from our most twisted dreams.
All the acts and outcomes
We've enjoyed or sometimes suffered,
Put together, maybe sums
Up a legacy that's buffered
From the family we've affected:
Suffering through Psalm 2:11;
Or alcohol or stolen calm;
Nam, or shooting up for heaven.
Nothing's written in our palm.
Give the past up, let it be,
Good or bad, let family see.
My fingertips are touching you
Through these plastic keys.
You respond by typing to
Bring me to my knees.
If we never meet I'll die
Not knowing who made me so high.
Not until I heard your voice,
Did I know you're real.
All my fantasies were choice
You kindly brought me down to earth,
And took a measure of our worth.
Forgive me if I worship you
For all the things you've gotten through.
I WANT TO MEET YOU
Or should it stay this way and save
The big O's for cyber wave?
I don't know you, nor you me.
And nothing, nothing's meant to be.
Buddy, buddy, it's a game,
Someone's going to win.
Losing needn't be a shame.
When it's fair the games have been
A joy to watch, a joy to play--
For not losing every day.
On the darkened streets the night-
Blooming jasmine hangs like dust.
Its smell is sweet as clean starlight--
Two young lovers' hearts combust
In their embrace. It's 10 o'clock.
A cruising car drives slowly by.
Out the window points a Glock,
The jasmine lets go of a sigh.
She saw the car, she saw the gun,
She turned becoming his thin shield.
There wasn't any time to run--
The bullet struck, she clung and kneeled.
He picked her up and brought her to
A tree. Then died. The shot passed through.
It's party time, want me to score
Something for your head?
I don't know, man, not before
You show me decent bread.
Look at me, the future felon...
O.K. now, the felon's jellin'.
Vision blocked by ten-ton boulders--
You don't have a clue.
Unless you stand on giants' shoulders,
You see no way through.
Giants: gentle; rough who grumble;
Brilliant even when they mumble.
Hitch a ride since they don't mind
Lifting you to see
The mess we're in, the human kind,
Chaos and debris;
They'll show beyond, a fleeting chance
The dirge could soon become a dance.
I never knew how close you were.
That, has truly got to suck.
Those days were a steady blur--
Especially to a simple fuck.
Now you're turning on the lights,
I'm seeing from December nights,
And what I see blows me away.
Back then I was high on hope--
Floating, I see, on thin air.
Conceited, I played rope-a-dope
With spectres that were hardly there.
A silly game that had no end--
You saw it and remained a friend.
Trust was never my good suit,
Paranoia fit me better.
Relationships went down the chute--
Mailed in as one dead letter.
A perfect stranger to the phone--
All connections I denied.
I couldn't say I was alone
If you count the suicide.
I championed, though, my fantasies,
Listened to my inner voice
Which promised me a summer breeze.
I didn't have to make the choice
Between the friends I could have kept--
I chose the dreams where senses slept.
NO LONGER LABOR
Poet by night,
A shepherd come dawn
And tinker through the afternoon.
No longer a fight,
No longer a pawn,
No longer howling at the moon.
My work is play, no longer stuck
At doing what has got to suck.
DOUBLE HOKKU MINUS RHYTHM PLUS COUPLET
A poet by night,
And a shepherd greeting dawn--
Tinker after noon;
It's going all right,
Using both the brain and brawn--
Nights arrive so soon.
Work is play, I'm never beat,
Standing on my own two feet.
I'M COMING HOME
She never tries to buffalo
Me when she wants to roam.
She always calls to let me know
When she's coming home.
And when she's home she takes delight
In my attention day or night.
OH SO FREAKY
Can you deny someone you love
The pleasures living life?
Damn, what are you thinking of,
Freedom for that for your wife?
Jesus Christ, man, are you high?
She might fuck another guy.
I get that from insecure
Friends who don't know how I do it.
Fuck another guy, for sure.
There's really nothing to it--
Treat her best you can and see
If she will leave you being free.
Being free. As if I owned
Her, like the boss owns me and you.
Places where they would have stoned
Her dead if everybody knew.
No one's free, we're bought and sold
By a system centuries old.
Democracy. You get to vote
Between the two. Both swear
To end the governmental bloat
And prove they really care.
You vote and wait to see a change,
And vote and all you get is strange.
YOU HURT MY FEELING (NO ES)
You criticize and call me names.
Ouch, that really hurt.
You jump on me and run some games--
Jeez, I feel like dirt.
Golly, I just might owe up.
(Everybody, let's grow up.)
SPAM AND POP-UPS
The Internet in '94
Belonged to you and me.
The government, led by Al Gore,
Decided it would be
Better run by enterprise--
To more easily advertise.
You like to hang it over/in,
You like to drive me nuts.
You squat more than me and win,
Me, I'm just a putz.
Our paper lies against the wall--
All our fights should be as small.
THE GOSPEL OF FASCISM
Kirton Varley, in the 30's,
Complains about what Hitler did.
He says Adolph Hitler dirties
Ideals with his rabid id.
Ranting Fascist. Ruined the name.
But Corporatism's still the same,
He argued, while proposing they
Call it that, to save the day.
Swimming in a soupy sea
That's tended--growing hot.
Heat goes up one more degree--
You give it all you got.
You're wanting out, but it's a dream
Until still water renders steam.
I GOT A JOB
Goodbye kiss, there at the door,
On my way to work.
We settle in to kiss some more--
And parts begin to perk:
My hand still on the glass doorknob,
She disappeared. I got a job.
Weakened, keeping it all in--
The pot's about to blow.
Collateral. No stranger. Kin?
Who's the next to go?
Going batshit sea-to-sea--
Hopeless psycho jamboree.
TAKE IT FROM THE TOP
Everyone expects the knock,
The call, the bad news mail.
Everybody bows to "Shock
And Awe" when systems fail.
Call it sad if we can't stop
The rain of fire down from top.
Can't say I'm the sharpest tack
In the box when there's a plan.
I wait last minute when I pack;
I'm known to back the also-ran.
I don't know my left from right
Or what will get me through the night.
But I know this--that politics
Is cooking up the latest fix.
We all sit inside our head,
Waiting to be moved.
Nothing doing till it's said
A movement's been approved
By the heads of state who serve
Us up if we dare touch a nerve.
Paralyzed. Our joy's a hype
Commercials promise us--
Happiness a stereotype
We're buying at cost-plus.
Meanwhile millionaires rejoice
That we don't really have a choice.
We all sit inside our head,
No obstacle's removed--
Leviathan's yet to be fed
Won't let you by until you've proved
You've left your heart and soul behind:
Beholden to the mastermind.
Hypnotized. Held up by pipe
Dreams that we'll get on the bus
To take us where the chance is ripe
For living well--an exodus.
But honest, there's no place to go
Where finance doesn't run the show.
If I were from another world
And chanced to visit us,
I'd spot the contradictions curled
Under drama-poison; plus,
Watch human wealth fall and decay;
See hopeless people stalking cupid.
Shoot, sadly, I'd be forced to say,
It's the goddamn system, stupid.
My sweetie's like a bottle rocket
When she's behind the wheel;
Her guidance system's in her pocket,
What points the automobile
Bears less on sight and more on feel--
Peripheral vision's on the road,
Attention's to what's really real:
Her Pepsi and a pipe to load.
RED & SAMMY
Red and Sammy: dogs. Our pets.
TAILS FOR MY GRANDKIDS
Sam's a boy and Red's a bitch.
The one who minds at dinner gets
A table treat but something which
You wouldn't do with dogs so big
They drool on you and act a pig.
Open up a bag of chips
And Sammy, he'll be there.
Any dropped thing, any drips--
Sammy gets the lion's share.
Sammy always has the wish
Of more than dry food in the dish.
Before we got him Sam was fed
From table scraps and crusts of bread.
Sammy, he always follows Red--
Copies everything she does.
She'll bark, he'll bark twice instead
And louder, just because.
But little Sammy's such a love,
He's the hand and you're the glove--
Gets inside you, won't let go
And absolutely lets you know
That he's not going anywhere
Until you show how much you care.
But Red? OK, now she's a bitch
And doesn't give a damn
If you like her-but watch her switch
On the charm to outdo Sam.
Then you have to fall for her--
A long haired foxy lady, sure.
I'd like to be inside Red's head
To see what's going on.
A mutt, but thinking she's pure-bred--
Little, thinking Amazon.
More guts than sense but gets away
With backing big dogs off who stray
Into her comfort zone-like miles--
The owner on the leash just smiles.
Red and Sammy go together
Like Jigs and Maggie used to do--
Jigs was given one short tether,
Red is short with Sammy, too.
But she's older and she's fixed
And chances of them intermixed
Won't be happening anytime soon.
Sammy's howling at the moon.
Red sits by the door and waits
Until we let her out.
Until we come she meditates
On chasing cats, no doubt.
But Red's so little, if she caught one
She would be the first to run.
Sam's Chihuahua, skinny too,
And a little shy.
We saved him from a rendezvous
With chances he might die.
Lived way out in Timbuktu
Where he faced the sly
Coyote waiting in the brush--
Asking "Perro, what's the rush?"
Red's a mix, she's terrier/Pom,
Looking like a little fox--
Behaving like she's Sammy's mom.
And when they hear the mailbox
They go crazy, Red and Sammy--
The carrier gets a double-whammy.
But cats? Just say the word and watch
Them run to where the cats might be.
They crank their yapping up a notch
If any cat by chance would be
Somewhere in sight. They're easily riled.
Cats? No way. They both go wild.
Sammy thinks he should be king,
Red, she sets him straight.
'Cuz she's the queen and that's the thing
That always ends debate.
She gets the toys, she gets her way.
That's how it's going to be today.
But Sammy always loves to play--
He's always fighting Red
Over toys. He'll play all day.
Unless he's getting fed.
It's that or climbing in my lap
Where Sammy takes a little nap.
The system has me terrified
In a thousand different ways:
Gun-lock, time-clock verified,
I slip behind a haze
To hide away so they won't see
What's going on inside of me.
Bombs go off inside my head
When someone's over me.
Bombs go off and someone's dead
And I'm no longer free.
They ratchet up the news a notch,
And double up on terror watch.
I'm terrified I may not eat,
Terror of what's on the street.
Terror that I'll have no job
Or this one till I die.
Terror that they'll cheat and rob
Me of my latest high.
Who're "they"? They're awfully sly--
Al Queda and the CIA?
Or CEO's who carefully lie--
Or holy men to whom we pray?
Sorry, dude, don't have a clue--
Seems every day there's something new
That makes you wonder what they did
And where's the evidence they hid.
The reasons I get never do
Enough to think it all makes sense.
What is what and who is who
And why we need a border fence
To keep us free, red, white and blue?
And what explains my impotence
To get it straight and change a thing?
And why's it making me so tense
To hear the bells of freedom ring?
I'd like to know true reasons for
Us getting in another war.
I'd like to know the reason why
So many people have to die.
All the gods in disarray.
Reasons given? In the way--
But that's the way it is, they say,
Along with bye, enjoy your day.
That's the system. Stand opposed?
Stand aside or you'll get hosed--
They paint a monster, you won't last--
I don't think--against such odds.
They get to you and in your past
And they don't need the cattle prods.
They'll give you a good long look
At all the dignity they took
From you in just a sudden flash--
Look on the news, the monster mash.
COIN OF THE REALM
How in the world did we get by
When all a coin would signify
Was time it took by hand to make
An ounce of silver, the time to shake
Soft metal from the rock and sand
And melt into a coin and hand
It over, trade for a need--
Labor, product, seeds or feed?
A trade was honest, time for time--
You see these days an honest dime?
Old gray hair has long since traced
The reason for commodities.
When precious coins became debased,
Replaced with metal oddities.
They make money at the mint--
All the paper bills they print
Are given to us for our work--
We're collared and we feel it jerk.
Paper money? I'm a whore
To work for paper money.
But do it or I'm out the door--
Same goes for my honey.
What our dollars let us buy
Is half of what we made and pie
In the sky. They're really good--
From heaven down to Hollywood.
Politicians. Running out
Of things to say and reasons why
The latest crisis came about.
Honest questions. No reply.
Feint left, hard right, neither one
Delivers what needs to be done.
Religion is the suffering cry--
The soul of a soulless time;
The heart beneath the darkened sky,
The sigh behind the heights we climb.
Temple, spire, Christian steeple-
Unearthly wealth left for the people.
WHAT WE OWN
What we own and what we bear:
Only when it evens out
Do we get a sense it's fair--
Only when there's little doubt
That everybody gets their share
And no one's cheating solitaire.
My honey has the softest touch,
The sweetest rosebud lips and such
A tender way of making me
Believe I kissed eternity.
I love my honey, love the fun
We have together every way.
My honey is the only one
Who I can listen to all day--
Putting things exactly right:
Funny, honest, close and tight.
You might think I'm pussy-whipped
The way I'm into her.
I guess I am, I guess I slipped
Upon her charms for sure.
But let me tell you, she gets hot
The times I'm giving all I've got--
And by the way, my sweet gets hot
At other times she knows I'm not.
Follow someone, take a risk.
Go alone and take a dive.
On the streets I walk a brisk
Pace and dance to stay alive--
Talk is telling me it's wise
To not look back in someone's eyes.
Warm winds crawl up from the south--
You know how warm winds blow.
Something sweet is in my mouth
And juices freely flow.
The flavor slides across the lips
And breezes soft as fingertips
Fondle wisps of hair and twist
My mind around a heady mist.
Government. Don't mess with it--
Drunks or TV too.
A fight with them turns into shit--
Your life's a 40's Jew.
What do you do? Hope for the best
And pray God takes care of the rest?
Someone, somehow, brings you down
With narrow points of view.
What do you do? You let them drown
Your dreams of something new.
Your dreams can't swim and you just watch--
And bam excuses up a notch.
A bully threatens you with pain:
You give him what he wants.
But every day he rules he'll gain
A leg on you. He taunts
You telling you you're dead.
You think you are. You've hardly bled.
Timid looks for something soft
To land on should they ever fall--
Haystack high or soft hayloft--
No way be an all-out brawl
With someone who's got all the guns.
Weapons? Mass destruction? Tons.
Gaudalquiver, times gone by,
Ran deep and wide and slow.
Triana bridge arched over high,
Tower of Gold watched ships below.
Beyond, a church and minaret--
Giralda can remember when
People from all places met
In Sevilla, peaceful then.
Giralda's bells rang many chimes,
Tolling darkness, pealing dawn.
Sevilla's seen the changing times--
Hercules has come and gone.
But Sevillanos, left to chance,
Will always find a way to dance.
A picture of Maria shows
Sevilla in her past--
From the looks of her she knows
Of lovely spells to cast:
Songs that bring us, left and right,
Together to our feet--
Flamenco tales and dreams we might
Tap the perfect strummer's beat.
Sharp as steel, clear as dew,
Maria's stories told
Of highs and lows we're going through--
Growing up and growing old.
Her life a lyric, sweet and strong,
She held together with her song.
Words don't mean it must be true.
Notions float on air
Like clouds of smoke and all they do
Is see how much you care.
Words. Two kinds: they come from facts
Or pipe dreams that the smoke enacts.
You'd think the cowboy's smoking dope
The way he's talking now.
He's banking on his pipe dream's hope
No one'll have a cow
If he says it's only right
To do it his way every night.
He's the cowboy, riding hard
Across the serious ups and downs--
Saviour? Not. The tough lifeguard
Is smiling with some somber frowns.
Head and shoulders on us all,
Spellbound by his bogus drawl.
What's going on? It's hard to tell,
The stories all get funneled through
A sieve so fine the stories jell--
And leave us all without a clue.
All I know, when people die,
It's people slicing up the pie.
Iraq has got to be the place
To keep the money good.
So much is spent there it's the ace
That trumps the neighborhood.
We're denied what we provide
The interests on the other side.
War is serving someone well,
Costing us an arm and leg.
We give it up but can't you tell
They'll keep it up until we beg
Them, leave us, please, with just enough
To get us by when times are tough.
Lay down and die? Or so it goes
Until you finally realize
The burning bush has got no clothes.
All the famous pie in skies
That gave us all sufficient hope--
Has left you feeling like a dope.
But everybody won't let go
As long as they've got something left
And decide: go with the flow--
A pipe dream with some mighty heft.
All I know is people die
For pipe dreams and pie in the sky.
What gift could you give your love
More precious than the freedom to
Do what they want, and wary of
Begetting trouble when they do?
Myself, would want no other way--
True love has to let it play.
Tell the people? What's in telling?
Self-serving sieve delivers shit.
We're back page, the front-page yelling
Goes to who produces it.
It's always money, money wins.
How about them Olsen twins?
Everybody's so uptight--
Noses turning brown.
Total drunks have got it right--
I feel a little down.
Victim, homeless, sick or debtor--
The drunk's no longer buying.
Only way it's getting better
Is nothing short of dying.
No one thinks they might be blind--
Drunks go blind and fake it,
But down inside fear human kind
Has little chance to make it--
Becoming too hard to explain
When only dying kills the pain.
Fear, of course and terrible pain,
While seldom coming quick.
No one dying's ever vain.
No one dying gets to pick
But suicides. And who's to say
We all don't choose that in a way?
Death you face, you want to live
No matter what the cost--
The time and drain on all who give,
Knowing all is lost.
Your body's talking till the end,
Begs anything that life'll lend.
SHE SAID TALK TO ME
Please shut up and talk to me,
There's a person here.
Patronizing, pat my knee
And then you disappear.
The sex is great but I've got more
To give you than your Friday whore.
THOUGHTS OF GYPSY
I laughed and called her Mighty Mouse,
She knocked me on my silly ass.
The woman packed a fast roundhouse
Punch that carried tons of brass.
Sicilian. Red Hook, born and bred,
Linked to Al Capone, she said.
True story. Gypsy's good as gold.
As a kid, was sent to check
Up on his mother--very old.
For a little girl, a trek--
Third floor walk-up just to say,
"Mrs. Capone, are you O.K.?"
She'd run errands for the lady--
Early 50's. Cleaned my clock
Somewhere close to 1980.
Gypsy'd been around the block--
Imagine Gypsy's still the same.
Teresa Capone gave her that name.
I should have said this long ago.
I love your pumping heart of gold.
Now doctors saying "told you so",
And you just say you're getting old.
Little time--so much to do,
We both know years are down to few.
Something neither of us knew,
Back when we knew it all,
Was, neither of us had a clue
How the chips were going to fall.
We thought we did and thought we'd soon
See the other shoot the moon.
Back then it was shots and beers,
Being always now or never.
Now it's getting down to years,
Shorter, smaller now than ever.
I used to back up what you did--
Who am I now trying to kid?
When I saw you yesterday
I couldn't believe my eyes.
Must have been what made me say
I love you Frank at our goodbyes.
Moved slow, didn't talk as much,
Nothing missing but a crutch.
I know truly what you're thinking
Based on what you've read so far.
No doubt thinking I've been drinking--
Regrets and elbows on the bar--
Like those twisted birthday cards:
Sorry, late--my best regards.
Compadre and your counterpart
But you were loved by everyone--
My mother saw into your heart
And loved you like she loved her son.
She would always tell me, you
Had more heart than any two.
Think of me, keep me alive
Inside your heart today.
And tomorrow, remember I've
Simply gone away.
Think of me
And I'll be there,
Back, you'll see,
From who knows where.
You're scaring me, you have so much
Pain inside your heart.
I wish I had your healing touch,
Knowing where to start
To bring the peace inside so you
Could feel what I have felt through you.
You have a gift--you gave to me
What knowing hands can truly see.
"Do me a favor," he'd often ask,
As he was helping you
Understand a certain task
You'll soon be going through--
"Take the time to do it right,
Even if it takes all night."
John/Wayne, you sometimes clown
Around the contradictions.
Copy, yes, but upside down,
And fume at major fictions.
We share that, but just ahead
Is one admitting who's the Red.
Jealousy, the glue that binds
The victim to your wound.
Every look away reminds
You of the moments ruined
When possessing more than you
Could ever hold without the glue.
I see bulging at the top
From down here on the ground.
It casts a shadow, sheer eavesdrop
On everyone around.
It's getting fat in la-la land--
How long can top-heavy stand?
Attitude to "take what's mine",
And who determines that?
Holding to the party line--
The stingy rich fat-cat.
Pleasures going to a few,
The rest adjusting to what's due.
Torture, and the sadists drool,
Picking up a sure-fire tool.
Never suffered, can't confess
To know what it's about.
Torture making me say yes
To this or that? No doubt
I'd keep to my alibi's
Until the actual pain applies.
The system we have can't be fixed--
It's broke beyond repair.
Hopes are stifled, dreams are nixed.
The system doesn't care.
And crises every time get worse
As owners hold tight to the purse.
Sitting seaside of the bay,
Sipping on a Scotch,
He watches products shipped away
And tugs his wasted crotch.
Won't see him throw in the towel,
"Empower this," you hear him growl.
For the first time facing fear--
Possibly a requiem.
Dominated by severe
Contradictions facing them,
The ruling class is wondering how
They're getting past the latest, now.
Forty years, and that's a while,
Though we were never close,
We always made each other smile--
Sublime to something gross.
You never suffered hypocrites--
And gave the worst of them the shits.
Too dumb to see, too numb to try,
Getting lazy getting by--
One day I stopped asking why
Few of us can truly fly.
I told myself a little lie--
It's all OK, I'll just get high.
WHAT HENRY SAID
All his words were modulated--
The man knew how to talk
And explain the complicated.
His words broke up like chalk--
Diagrammed what his deep-throated,
Whiskey voice of his promoted.
He said, in no uncertain terms,
(He always was precise),
"The violence over there confirms,"
(He stopped to rattle ice
To signal servers, bring more Scotch--
The pause cranked drama up a notch)
"The terror must be met with force,
Ten-fold, to get us from the woods.
That will take some grit, of course,
And the help of neighborhoods
To send their youngsters overseas--
Protecting, yes, our liberties."
"Of course there'll be some loss of life,
But small compared to theirs.
We'll deal with the shattered wife
To show the country cares.
Remember they're all volunteers,
And the patriot perseveres."
DREAMS THAT HUSTLE
I could just be standing there
And get hit by a dream.
Blinded by the headlight glare
My hopes let out a scream--
Oh-my-god could it be true?
Had to have happened to you too.
Pipe-line, grapevine, here they come
To optimistic heights:
Smart commercial dreams that dumb
Down reality to bites;
Or subtle things--true happiness--
Without my dreams I'd be a mess.
Some silly dreams can kick my ass--
Dump my dick deep in the dirt.
I love them still and let them pass
Until another makes me hurt.
Dangling on with mind and muscle,
Victim to the dreams that hustle.
My honey always checks with me--
Makes sure how I'm doing.
O.K. that she's going free?
FOURTH OF JULY
The wealthy staff the nursery
And cemeteries too.
Our yearly anniversary--
The 4th to me and you--
Celebrates the ruling class
Who celebrate they ride our ass.
Who decide what's good or not--
Co-opting best of bad?
Who gladly lets you have a shot?
And don't that make you glad?
You take aim, your shot goes wild--
The condescending wealthy smiled.
SEMI-SONNET ON CAPITALISM
Factories gone? Farms a waste?
Brains split overseas?
Did everybody get shit-faced?
Someone lost the keys?
So, what happened to production?
Why's it hit the sack?
No materials for construction?
Labor all on crack?
All you hear is fetters to
Production have been tied
To abstractions: revenue
Is why the business died.
They cry poor mouth but light cigars
And land another look at Mars.
Alien, anywhere I go--
Anywhere I am.
Never quite got with the flow--
Hardly give a damn
When love of country these days means
You do or don't, no in-betweens.
I've got issues over that--
Who we fighting for?
Us or for the rich fat cat
Who gets us into war.
Freedom's bullshit when it takes
Our lives to fix their dumb mistakes.
Every war that's ever fought
Is politicians getting bought.
Don't be asking what it's for--
Begin by asking who
Is benefiting from this war.
It isn't me or you--
Except it's putting us to work,
And that, these days, they say's a perk.
What do you call what we defend?
Our country? Freedom, yes?
So when's it ever going to end?
Why do we have to guess?
Economies we have to nurse--
Every crisis getting worse.
A perk, these days just to survive,
And oh so glad to be alive.
My country, homeland, right or wrong?
The buzz, now, saying right.
It's going to show the world how strong
It feels about the fight
For freedom, liberty, all that jazz,
Democracy and rights it has.
Our leaders, hey, how is it they
Can either break or make our day?
PURSUIT OF LIBERTY
Civil war has never ended
Here or overseas.
Everywhere a class ascended
To rule those on their knees,
There's always been a civil war--
Slowly building up for more.
AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS
No one's happy--for long at least.
I get a teenage "Duh!"
Dreams we share are near deceased--
Gets people saying "Huh?
I can't believe the shit I see."
Unhappy trying to be free.
60's. Revolution while
The underbelly's soft.
With ArmaLite and brassy smile
He climbed up to my loft.
I was writing rhymes, and he
Was there collecting Wobbly dues.
No idea what I might be
And he'd already lit a fuse
To blow up what should long be gone--
The revolution's always on.
Sheppard by night,
Poet come morning
And tinker through the afternoon.
mail: John Wester