We're in the Information Age.
It's not about computers here.
Conflict ratchets up the rage.
When the people disappear
They're being tortured, made to sell
Out their comrades--plans as well.
She says, you don't,
He says, I do.
She says, I won't,
He says, fuck you.
Disagreements so severe,
What are they doing together, here?
Told his story seeing double--
I felt bad but anyhow
It was self-inflicted trouble--
Still, in all, I had a cow
Over what he did that brought
A big-ass pain down on his life.
Not his fault, he hoped I thought--
Dropped at the entrance by his wife:
He couldn't wait, he thought slam dunk--
Bad feet, bad knees, over-weight.
A wise-ass says, who would've thunk
Escalators would deal such fate?
Broke his shoulder. Who's to blame?
Still watched half the football game.
Happiness in seeing her
Pass by--watching from a bench.
Her nice looks make memories purr--
My, oh my--thirst she could quench.
She looks and sees a nice old man--
Reminds her of her father and
She'll sweeten his life if she can.
She just doesn't understand--
Old men can't forget their youth,
Think that youth can take the gray.
And I'm sure that it's the truth
Old women are the same and they
Dream of young men in their beds--
But both should keep it in their heads.
I thought I'd see the revolution--
Revolution just made sense.
From the 60's, no solution,
Situations still as tense.
The ruling class is just as strong,
Though changes might not take as long.
If you don't quit you're going make
Me fall in love with you and take
Us down the path of pleasured dreams
With senses spilling from their seams.
What's it take to make things fair
Where we get--and do--our share?
Ask someone and they'll just stare
Back at you, why should they care?
Same answer from the ones on top
As those who can't make bleeding stop.
Too late amends--
Too busy chasing glory;
Milk and honey,
Chasing tail--end of story.
I can see it in your eyes--
Who doesn't, couldn't? Can't disguise
The fear you have of violent men--
Bartending in the lion's den
Where every man who's calling you,
Is casting doubts what he may do.
Marina, though, you play it smart--
Letting them into your heart.
I'm easy--fingers stroked my hair
Above my collar--I'm in love.
I know she's hardly playing fair--
Women, I think, not above
Playing games. But I don't care--
I'm not into solitaire.
It's all up here, it's safer.
Carnal sins are in my head,
Which get forgiven--wine and wafer--
Church stuff puts it all to bed.
Now if, in life, I went and did
That shit? My wife, oh, lord forbid....
Hard truth from friends? Get real.
You know it's rare to be the case.
Others, who may stoop to squeal
And laugh to see you losing face,
Are closer to the truth than friends
Who tell hard truth and friendship ends.
Just curious here,
But serious too.
Why do we, that's us, need jobs?
It's mighty queer
That me and you
Bust our butts with lazy slobs
And snobs looking down on us--
Riding back seats of the bus.
She stuck her finger up my ass--
Best sex, it seems, I've had in years.
Baby, with all your tears and fears
And all of your resentful sass
(Likely, yes, from things I do?),
I've problems getting it from you.
Don't do that to me again--
Passing by without a word.
At least explain it to me when
The silence has become absurd.
We're partners, OK? This is it?
You maybe think that we should split?
Like anyone, there're times that I
Turn dark and think the worst.
A touch from you, a gentle sigh
Of softness, then I see the burst
Blowing through the clouds, the sun--
I smile and watch the dark clouds run.
Someday they'll know the value of
Their younger years, the strength they had;
Their power and unyielding love;
The energy to mend what's bad.
Someday they'll know. I watch them pass--
Enjoying most their vernal sass.
My thumb's on ALT, forefinger, TAB,
When the boss is passing by--
Just in case she makes a stab
At catching me, and she might try.
My screen is showing what's outside,
Thumb and finger poised to hide
The window with another which
Makes a work-related switch.
You'll feel what you seldom feel,
Thinking squeezes from the box.
Don't think it's the real deal
And you won't suffer after-shocks
When you come down. Still, don't forget,
It could be real, just hedge your bet.
He knows he's down there--not his loss--
He dropped a tree on Gypsy.
Logger thought just like his boss
Thinking, just a fucking hippy.
Gypsy paying with his life,
Logger goes home to his wife.
They would make them earn their pay
Taking them away to jail,
The cops were told, use pepper spray--
Pain compliance doesn't fail.
It didn't work, they don't let go.
They'll put them all through torture, though,
Before they cut the steel and chains,
And will until not one remains
Who stop the gears of industry,
Belonging to the bourgeoisie.
Wacky enough to save a tree--
One called Luna, the redwood queen
Of the headwaters, let her be.
Julia and others got between
Old growth redwoods, thousand years,
And loggers bringing them all down--
For a check--to spend at Sears.
No reverence, not since Charles hit town.
They built a tree house tied with ropes
To Luna up there near the top.
All of them were filled with hopes
They would make the loggers stop,
By living in it. The loggers kept
Dropping trees while Luna wept.
Julia decides that she would stay
In Luna by herself until,
On a hopeful future day,
Legislation stopped the kill
Of the old growth near the coast.
A team helped Julia Butterfly
Stay alive but what helped most,
What kept her going--got her by--
Was love she had for this old tree--
She felt she was Luna's daughter.
Two years later, victory.
An agreement stopped the slaughter.
Luna stood. Some loggers, though,
Wounded her--for spite, you know.
Scottsdale, Arizona's where
She grew up, she had it made.
57 Chevy Bel Air
Convertible--made in the shade.
She had it all, she didn't care,
No one saw her but for looks--
Beauty pageants, county fair.
Turned out she's one for the books--
Smarter than most,
Hipper by far
Than any west coast
She dropped out, no doubt about it--
She felt better, yes, without it.
This is a rhyme about a friend I met in a commune nearly 40 years ago-- that would be the 60s. She was beautiful then, she's beautiful now, going on 67. I didn't know she was "Miss Firecracker" for Scottsdale in 1957 until she showed me the thumbnail of the poster when I visited her last week. Her folks were well off, sent her to college to study art. She was and is a good artist. But she dropped out of school, said she felt better without it. Tried Hollywood. Got a few parts in some "B" movies. Got a part on "Gun Smoke". For another "B" movie, when they made her stuff her bra and swing from a vine, she dropped out of the movie business--felt better without it. Got married and lived in the city. Got divorced and moved to the country, felt better without the city. Now she lives in a trailer park by herself--she's given up on men--feels better without them--and one of her two bedrooms is devoted to a legal stand of medical marijuana, meaning, among other things, I slept on the floor.
Inevitable that one gets spun,
Not getting any sleep.
Just don't want to be the one,
Right now, counting sheep.
So now and then you take a toke,
Softly sucking bowls of smoke.
Sleep deprived reflectors taunt me,
Driving in to town one night,
Spawning fleeting shapes to haunt me--
Tolkein spooks work up a fright.
Not to worry, hit the sack
Soon as I get myself back
After eating my Big Mac--
Unless I fill another hole
And follow crystal to the bowl.
Under pressure, do some meth
To deal with the pressing needs--
Work and family, or the death
To which the heavy boredom leads;
Or love that wants attention, so
You take what you think makes you go.
Luckily lack the confidence
That doing it won't kill me;
Unfortunately I lack the sense
That it will not fulfill me.
Try a little once in a while--
Holy smokes, in can beguile.
Ban it, can it, stick 'em in jail--
You can't stop it--you can rant,
Wave the flag and even wrap
Yourself in it, still you'll fail
To stop it. Want to, but you can't
Stop it with a load of crap.
Ban it, can it, stick 'em in jail
Stomp it, bomb it, but you can't
Stop it when you always fail
To understand it--instead you rant
And wave the flag, and even wrap
Yourself in it--a load of crap.
Always works to make the whore
Turn the tricks pimps like to call.
Sometimes needs a dirty war--
Keep it small to keep it all.
When they're sassy, knock them down--
Right in front of all downtown.
The fascist psycho-babble class
Tells me that I've got to own it,
Before I have the right to pass
It on. Says, being shown it
Doesn't translate being true:
It's monkey see, then monkey do.
Everything's been taken from them,
All they've got left is a flag.
To wave against where troubles stem:
Coalitions hurling slag,
Telling those left from the dead
Just suck it up to get ahead;
Telling those left from who's died--
He's got compassion for their side.
Those left, looking at a freak
With a phosphorous-yellow mean streak.
Republicans made it this far--
Far as it'll go right now.
The Democrats are back to star--
Fans give them a teary wow.
Two steps forward, one step back--
Dems cut us some urgent slack,
But wind us up again when they
Need military--people pay.
Just words. On paper, in your ear,
Just words--an email, kind and dear
To say they love you. Doesn't fit,
When they say when you can shit.
Never had the sense to quit,
Always seemed to find the time
To come up with this awful shit,
Making up another rhyme--
Avoiding what the day to day
Life around me has to say.
What's it take to stay on top,
At least on top, as in your mind?
Well, first you have to talk non-stop,
Even if it means rewind;
Next, believe that you're the one
To tell them how to get it done.
After that, take on all comers,
And deal with the usual bummers.
Don't pick up hallucinations
Hitch-hiking on the road.
They're just one of drug's relations
Who're likely to explode
In your mind. Don't even stop--
They'll get in and get on top.
And if they do, can't call a cop.
Revolution, this day and age,
Between two sides armed to the teeth--
The under-class that's filled with rage,
And ruling class that holds beneath
The workers who all make them rich--
Revolution'll be a bitch.
There's a candle in the closet
And a fool beneath the lights,
Who's a cool, slick composite
Of what the burning candle fights.
A system that no longer works
Stays in business playing dirty:
Lies and spies and company jerks
Who capture keystrokes from the QWERTY
Keyboards used at your workstation,
Are the system's sad salvation.
We throw ourselves back to our youth
When looking at the younger sex
And take a little trip from truth
To use what's left of mental flex--
Geezers memory's sexual salve,
Enjoys the sex we'll never have.
They work to build the combat mind
To battle stormy weather.
If, by chance, folks come to find
A way to work together,
They split the people into parts--
Competition, grades, and charts.
I no longer get along
With anybody I can tell
Stories to--things come out wrong,
Like a song and dance from hell.
High notes wind up heading south--
One foot ends up in my mouth.
Truth to him is suicide--
He doesn't want to know the truth.
Truth is something he'll decide
Is nothing but a wisdom tooth--
Impacted--he's good with denial.
It pushes, breaking swollen skin--
Pain tolerance is put on trial.
Let's see now, who's going to win?
Truth or his thin, smarmy mouth
Saying little, heading south.
Has us focused: competition.
Has us focused on the best.
Winners are the definition
Of what it takes to pass the test
Consumers use when wanting what
Satisfies, or lets them strut.
Ah, consumers--numbers who
Determine how the markets do.
They became themselves one day.
One day? No, it took some time,
Speaking for themselves to say
It's time to recognize the crime
That's capital--it's time to cop
And make the exploitation stop.
Bummer is my middle name--
I sign it to my doggerel rhymes
About the terror and the shame
That's summing up uncertain times.
Talking, they can lie--
Confronted, they deny.
To write it down's another thing--
Soft or mean the syllables sing.
Any little word you say
To a bureaucrat,
Gets recorded on that day
And that takes care of that.
Your insurance surely hears
Doctors sharing their worst fears.
Your supervisors tell the boss
When you confide about a loss.
Your mate tells the mates of theirs
Your secrets--no big thing but they
Spread it further, making hay
For anyone who wants to mess
With you and yours and leave you less.
Bloodsuckers surely, maybe whores,
Keeping systems like ours going;
Work inside or work outdoors,
Living off the seeds we're sowing.
We're together in this mess,
Together, we can think no less--
What'll straighten it all out
Is acting as a class, no doubt.
You love me just the same.
You're a burning flame
Up in that tender game
Of love. You always get me good
When comes to being understood.
There're times when I go crazy and
You look at me and understand.
I was talking, stopped midway
Through a thought. Had to confess
My mind, it seems, had gone astray--
Another case of CRS.
Can't recall what that stands for--
Can't Remember Shit no more.
She wants me to relax--
Listen to her dreamy sax.
She senses my attention's on
Resources that are going, gone.
I'll listen, but not very well,
When you talk to me and tell
Me what came down with so and so;
I'll listen to your blow by blow
Until you go, then other stuff
Hits me--like friends aren't enough
To fix conflicts between the sexes,
The bitch, the prick, and countless exes.
And friends can't fix the sadder facts
To stop care falling through the cracks
Like when a family's lost a home
And spends hell in the Astrodome.
I love my friends, they keep me going--
I'll stick by them, though no one's knowing
What to do to end this shit--
I'll listen 'til we're getting it.
Heroes last a while or more--
From then on they're in the mind
Of worshippers who take to war
The memory of them--leave behind
The negatives attached to them--
But use their memory to condemn
Those who're standing in the way
Of prospects for a better day.
Grasshopper said, I didn't plan
On summer singing its swan song.
Thought I'd always be the man
Who'd survive by being strong.
I bet my money on the chance
That all I had to do was dance.
Well, turns out that I'm the one
Who won't survive past summer fun.
Thinking that it's up to God,
Whatever happens is His will--
Militias have become God's squad,
Follows orders to fulfill
The schemes and dreams of those who own
All what's made, mined, drilled or grown.
How can you fix your mind on God
When you don't have a decent chance
Of avoiding their death squad
That uses your street to advance?
A bullet to the head--hands bound--
God is nowhere to be found.
Fuck it--not in love with life,
Just want to stick it to the man
Who takes my freedom, brings me strife.
I'll stick it to him when I can.
And hide, I've got no allies, friends--
Stick him 'til my cover ends.
You grow up, it's not about
The pretty ones that you checked out;
Looks might last until you find
What's underneath can blow your mind--
Thinking looks would do you good,
Brought nothing what you thought it would.
All the things I didn't do--
I thought of--didn't follow through;
Left you alone--you could have used
A touch, a word, and I refused.
When you'd reach, I'd turn away
To leave it for another day
That never came. Afraid you're gone.
Please don't leave me, baby. John
What's tomorrow? What comes next?
How much more is coming down?
A certain sister is perplexed
And not about to go to town
Over issues so confused--
It's all emotions, and intense.
She's not about to be abused
Over things that don't make sense.
She won't stick her neck out to say
What's going on is just plain wrong,
Or things are better done this way--
She admits she's not that strong.
Too bad, because what's going on
Is bad, and truth is going, gone.
Can't we live with one another,
Let our hearts meld into one?
No, the system's going to smother
Each of us until it's done
Destroying us with civil strife
That leads to wars to end all life.
Had few pleasures in my life
Except from love and sometimes drugs.
Got few friends, I have a wife--
Got my drugs at times from thugs.
While love would often trouble me,
Good drugs always set me free
'til I came down, then left me flat--
Seldom liking where I'm at.
The night the beggars go to war:
Trick or treat is either/or--
Contribute to the beggars' loot
Or suffer beggars' disrepute.
I rarely talk and never chat--
Few friends want to deal with that.
Embarrassed being such a mute
When the silence spawns the root
That chokes the conversation and
Leaves me sipping on dry sand.
Hey, some say they can't care less,
Or that they can't care any more.
Their care is real as Loch Ness
Monsters swimming shore to shore.
Republicans, now, they have theirs
And quick to say we're in their prayers.
Some Republicans aren't so rich--
Some are living hand to mouth
And think that life is such a bitch,
To see their assets going south,
But quick to quote the ones who speak
Of problems brought on by the weak.
Serve your country? Who you serve
Are the ones exploiting you.
They give government the nerve
To send you overseas to do
The dirty work to hold down those
Tired of being led by the nose.
Serve your country? Be a cop,
A social worker; organize--
Bring exploitation to a stop;
Fight fires, poverty and the lies
The government spreads when it foresees
The country's needing enemies.
My friend, you make me feel all right
When I confess dumb things I've done--
Confession without the holy rite,
But dispensation from the one
I trust to keep my folly from
Hypocrites and their kingdom come.
You take me where I've never been--
By myself, I'd never go;
You've opened up my mind and when
I learn something I didn't know
I never thank you near enough
For showing me some real stuff.
I'd love a mate where I can write
With them sitting in the room,
And me not feeling all up tight
While delving into gloom and doom
Or fantasies where I get on
A pleasure ride that's here and gone.
You're waiting for me. All alone.
I'm working on a selfish task
Of feeling pleasure to the bone--
You don't even want to ask
If it's worth it, what's it for?
Not sure that you can take much more.
This year Democrats won big--
That inspires one big yawn.
They're driving same old rusty rig--
By same tired horses drawn.
The changes coming will not last,
Judging from the decades past.
Fuck you for the things you've said,
Still I leave it all to you.
Enjoy it all while I am dead,
You doubted everything I'd do.
But here it is, knock yourself out--
Squander what you used to doubt.
We are spoiled, half embroiled
In class war to make things better
For ourselves--a class that's toiled
Ending up still as a debtor
While the upper class has breezed
By on wealth their system seized.
Religions don't impress me much--
The ones that give no thought about
Exploitation, war and such
Abominations bailing out
The ruling class. Religion sucks
At getting at the privileged fucks--
Though it offers comfort from
Them, promising a kingdom come.
Religion: sighs from those oppressed;
The heart of a heartless world;
Soul of soulless living blessed
While cursed by what conditions hurled.
Religion: it's but one cheap drug,
Relieving pain from lifetime's thug.
Drugs themselves won't do the trick--
They help a while but leave you sick.
Religion, though, on the other hand,
Builds strength and hopes on shifting sand.
Some of it I can't let go;
Some of it ashamed to show
But do it anyway in hopes
Readers might be bigger dopes
Than I am, writing all this shit--
And that's about the sum of it.
Phallic as pot smoker's pipe
And silly as their grin:
The missiles aimed they say could wipe
The rest of us away and win.
Win what? It's mass suicide--
Lemmings eager to be fried.
Never could get past your beauty
To ever get inside your head;
Always felt it was my duty
To always look aside instead
When you spoke--because my mind
Was coming at you from behind.
What you said blew me away--
I'm your boyfriend for a day,
In Spanish, and there was no way
I'd be catching what you'd say.
But your girlfriend would betray
You, getting us both out to play.
Just say yes when she says let's
Go and share some time together;
What's it cost you? Some say bets
Are off to get you out in weather--
A grumpy old man who doesn't know how
To have some fun, and has a cow.
Memory! How cool is that?
You'll know when you're older.
Me, I've forgotten where it's at--
Kinship of mine getting colder.
Me, I'm getting soft and fat,
Leaning on my best friend's shoulder.
How bad am I to think that rhymes
Might win your heart someday?
Bad as them, I think sometimes--
Words I rhyme can never say
What's in my heart, although they try.
You read my lines and heave a sigh--
A disappointed one at that--
To see my light-weight rhymes fall flat.
There's something you could do for me,
Yet I'm afraid to ask.
Don't think you could be that free--
Might be a dicey task
To ask someone--not have to plead
To satisfy a natural need.
Private property started when
They came up with surplus goods
When agriculture started. Men
Controlled it, they left the woods.
With slaves, class rule had then begun--
Ruling bourgeois class last one.
One could easily say I harp
On the same thing every day;
I may be right but hardly sharp
And everybody's come to say
They're tired hearing same old thing--
I better learn more ways to sing.
Capitalists have earned enough--
They can pull out from this war.
They got theirs, they hung in tough,
But exit from a wide back door.
They'll lay low until they need
Another war on which to feed.
I could easily be dead wrong,
But I think you like me.
Before I break out into song,
Is it really likely
You'd hook up with someone who
Does the kind of things I do?
God, don't die before I do--
I need you, darling, to carry on.
You know that I depend on you--
Where's my love if you were gone?
You warm my lap, you lick my chin--
Your kisses always make me grin.
But selfish me, should I die first,
Who would feed, see to your thirst?
There's a slight smile on her lips,
Always, always--but her eyes
Can fathom men and shipwreck ships.
My, those eyes can mesmerize.
Ulysses, tied tight to the mast,
Would find her eyes hard sailing past.
Things didn't go much like he planned,
So now he's doing what he can--
Watch, he's making his last stand
From here on out as Veto Man--
Unless he gets his way that is,
And this man's known for getting his.
The "willing", my ass--suffer threats--
Gang lords calling in their debts.
Coalition working best
Without the U.N. on its back.
Simple arrogance stirred the nest
Of hornets that is now Iraq;
The U.N.'s lame, it goes nowhere--
Trying to get the world to care.
Fundamentalists have been used
To fight a communist threat;
Fundamentalists have abused,
Lately, the power that they get
And turned it on the powers that be--
That's the new reality.
Problem with the truth is that
It makes liars look so bad.
The one that wears the cowboy hat,
Today, is looking mighty sad.
Not only was he in cahoots
With a few who cooked the books--
There was the guy light in the boots
And others who were downright crooks.
The truth is doing him no good,
Causing him a world of trouble.
But he wants it understood,
He won't let it burst his bubble--
He's on a mission, and he won't rest
'Til it's accomplished. We're impressed.
Checking out the news you wonder
If the world is going under.
While you're thinking it's all new,
The truth has finally got to you.
Ideals you had, you once thought rad,
Were covering up what's smelling bad.
What you once thought passing strange,
Was but a cry things need to change.
When she's home she's home to sleep--
The cat that walks on aching feet.
Works all day without a peep,
Evenings she takes to the street--
Party some and have some fun--
So much out there to be done.
My friends see me as a crank,
But think I'm too old to be told.
I never know what I should thank,
The crank in me or getting old.
When the politicians run,
Instead of reaching for my gun,
I like to have a little fun--
Shoot off my mouth in hopes it wings
The politicians running things:
All running dogs or tied to strings.
The Democrats will try to shame
Big business into giving up
More shares, even if they're lame,
Which they'll dole out cup by cup--
Supporting factories, shops and farms.
(But Dems aren't good at twisting arms.)
What'll cut the Gordian knot
Is getting rid of money.
Money scams since Camelot,
Are real as the Easter Bunny.
Money's what keeps you alive--
Just about--but you produce
More than that, so money's jive--
It cinches tight a clever noose.
Paycheck's one scam--you earn what
Keeps you alive, you could earn more
Learning how to kiss some butt.
Kiss some butt, you'll own the store.
Money is a dirty trick--
Pure exploitation--sad and slick.
The lathe is running, foreman's pleased--
If it's up on time, he's fair.
Machinist not one to be squeezed,
His machine is cutting air
While he gets his morning cup--
Foreman doesn't know what's up.
I have an old friend who was a dispatcher at a factory that made large turbines. His job was to see that the machinists got the tools they needed as well as the raw materials to mill--very hard and expensive metals. The machinists would program in the dimensions for the cuts using essentially computers to do it. Very technical. If the machine was up and running, the supervisor couldn't tell if it was cutting air or not. Cutting air was when the machine was actually doing nothing while it made the machinist look like he or she was hard at work, but actually getting their morning cup before programming the machines. For example, it's a half-hour before quitting time and I'm cutting air. But I have my thumb and forefinger ready to hit the Alt-Tab combo to take my screen to a nice Power Point I'm working on. Back to my Power Point.
They're telling you you'll go nowhere
Unless you pick up your degree.
You choose a school, don't much care--
All you know is it's not free.
It's after work and you're dead tired,
Energy gone, you're uninspired,
But no degree--you go nowhere.
By 10pm you might not care.
Your unfaithful heart was dead
To the grief that it would cause.
You didn't care--your needs, instead,
Overruled unwritten laws
That suggest you don't break hearts
By satisfying private parts.
Audrey was Hank Williams wife. He wrote and sang "Your Cheating Heart" in the early '50s. He died in the back seat of his Cadillac in 1953 as he was being driven to his next gig. He was mixing pain killers and alcohol. He had a back problem and a prescription for it. He drank heavily from the time he was 12. He was 29 when he died.
No one cares if they might live
Until the moment they might die.
Before that moment, who would give
A fuck about it, 'til goodbye?
We're immortal in our mind--
The present mindset tends to blind.
Death? Conveniently we're blind.
Electric drill, battery powered,
With a 6 millimeter bit--
You don't have to be a coward
To tell them all you know--admit
Who your friends are, where they live.
They drill a shin or drill your brain
And keep on drilling 'til you give
Up everything--bits drill to gain
The information that they need
To revenge a hateful deed.
This is a sick rhyme. But battery powered drills are what the sectarians are using in Iraq to extract information. As long as there are wars, civil or otherwise, there is going to be torture. And dare I say it? As long as there are nations (and their ruling classes) competing for resources, there will be wars. I may be a dreamer, but I'm not delusional, as those who think the world is going to last much longer without socialism.
If it takes forms of suicide
To get much needed changes made,
Why are most of those who've died
The age they should be getting laid
Instead of dying for a cause
That old people have laid out?
Young folks should be taking pause
To learn what love of life's about.
The hubris old folks have is sick,
They should be the ones who're dying
For a cause. The dynamite stick
Should be strapped to old folks crying
For a change--let old folks put
Themselves first, not underfoot.
If they believe in what they say,
Let them go fight and seize the day.
Don't say they have all the knowledge--
Revolution needs no college
To put the needed changes through.
If old folks who send youth to
Die in wars went out there first,
We'd rid the world of all the worst.
Let's be up front--it's old folks first--
Or get prepared to see the worst.
Re: Chances taken that advances
Riders in back of the bus;
Who should be ones taking chances,
The youngsters or the rest of us?
Chances that might bring on grief,
Chances that might end a life.
The youth hold to that grand belief
That they're immune to suffer strife.
They're dumb in other ways as well,
But their courage makes a sell.
Old timers just don't have the guts--
While they think the youth are nuts.
Don't think you'd get folks to fight
Who don't believe life after death,
Unless they're starving, then they might
Fight until their dying breath.
Religion is a two-edged sword,
You fight the devil, praise the lord.
If there's hell, then this is it,
You're giving up or taking shit--
Vicious, sad, downright absurd.
Freeway flipped off with the bird
Is a light case. What's out there
Is damnable and some don't care.
There may be heaven under sheets,
But hell is waiting on the streets.
From here to Baghdad or Beirut,
Someone out there waits to shoot.
What precious moments that we have
Are our everlasting salve.
There is more that's going on
Then you will see on your TV.
Everything you see has gone
Through censors long since you and me
Ever get the first report--
All what sponsors can support.
Tears well up, no reason why,
Watching a fucking football game;
Thinking nothing, about to cry,
Feeling nothing--all the same,
Shame has puddled in my mind
A few of those I've left behind.
Good stuff to do is what I need
To get off drugs and booze;
The heroin, the crack and speed,
Means I don't have much to lose.
The boredom lives on poverty,
Waits in the line with no marquee.
Haven't held to my ideals,
Feeling worthless as can be;
Might as well die under wheels
Of a truck or SUV.
But that won't work, don't have the nerve--
Or, I step out and they would swerve.
Once in a while you come to me
In my mind--take me to when
I held back and then I see
How different my life could have been
Had I opened up to you--
Damn, so much I would undo.
Too depressed to be approached
She wonders why nobody smiles;
Her mind is scrambled, feelings poached--
Her defenses are denials.
No one wants to be with her.
She's a nest no one'll stir.
I asked if I might get a job
From a friend who was on top;
Too proud to beg, too scared to rob--
But tired pushing on a mop.
He told me his employees had
Degrees, I'd have to be a grad.
She's checking up. It seems that I
Go through bottles way too fast
For her taste. I don't get high
So much that my eyes get glassed.
But she's putting me on trial,
Me, I'm in complete denial.
Leave me alone and fix the world,
You righteous son of a bitch.
You've got a bloody flag unfurled,
Flying for the super rich
Who have a perfect, peaceful place
For sit-down dinners full of grace.
Nothing new is getting in;
Dumber than a Texas toad,
Have no clue where to begin
To sort the information out--
Memory suffering constant drought.
What a drag it would to be
Famous in the way that stars
Suffer their celebrity,
And treated like they come from Mars
Whenever they go for a walk--
Fans who want to talk and gawk.
Then again, it's hard to feel
Sorry for those with such a deal.
Anger, slights, a small explosion
Putting distance between us two.
Happens slowly, slow erosion,
Can't see what we're going through.
God, I hate myself for things
I've done to you and thinking I
Was right back then--the memory brings
Up what should just make me cry.
Old friend, distant, seldom seen,
The instant email keeps us tuned
To the latest since eighteen--
What we've done and what we've ruined.
Well, on my part at least. I've had
Scuffles with the straight and narrow,
Watching my pipe dreams go bad--
I was good but no straight arrow.
Your last email was broadcast
To those with whom you've kept in touch--
Through you, I knew them in the past.
And I remember just how much
I'd looked up to them back then--
Gentle, thoughtful, fucking smart.
I was nearly mute back when
They talked from politics to art--
Their wry humor tickled me--
All the more for me to see.
Heal, heal, heal they rant,
As every Christian soldier marches.
Faith is there but soldiers can't
Do it on their fallen arches--
They can't heal a broken back
Or the breakdown in Iraq.
Verbal, physical, plain abuse--
The domination by the spouse
Clouds over times when there's a truce
And chance for love. The past will douse
Any sexual flames there were,
Going both for him and her--
One gets off and one is used,
The one who loses gets abused.
I've had dreamer conversations
With the rich and famous;
As well as sharing observations
With the prophets such as Amos,
Or Fidel or Chairman Mao--
All knew how to treat the poor.
The last two showing poor folks how
To get together to do more
To make the world a better place.
Dreamer conversations that
I won't admit to, face to face--
You'd think me crazy as a bat
With delusions I might be
One you'd think can also see--
Telling rich and famous where
It was at, and take them there.
War in Iraq was not because
Oil, Israel, terror--it was
Made for the economy--
There was a surplus, why make more?
Use the surplus up on war.
Dictatorship, we have right now:
Corporatism, capital C.
Corporatists will have a cow
To hear a better way would be
To share the work and share the wealth,
Share decisions, keep our health.
They're on the warpath, making sure
A better way will not occur.
There's a world you've barely seen,
Huddling with your buddies
Who're into competition--mean,
And play a game that bloodies
Gentle folk who'd rather care
About the ones whose life they share.
Mother-in-law--turned to ashes--
Her daughters spread them out at sea.
She and I, we had our clashes--
Slights, or, full-on disagree.
Years have passed. I realize
That since I don't believe in god,
For things I need apologize--
When I die--swim with the cod.
Spread the dust where her mom went--
Money for the boat well-spent.
Chances I took in my youth,
I never plan to take again.
Once thought getting to the truth
Meant you took some risks and then,
As long as you kept your heart pure
(I'm not my mother's swiftest spawn),
You could see it, and be sure
The truth was not a clever con.
But truth's not only what you see
Since every truth has history.
Truth has roots, has legs, has wings--
Unfortunately, not always sings.
The working class has only one.
The ruling class has many.
Every nation holds a gun
Against the head of any
Other who the ruling class
Deems to be an adversary--
Does all it can to kick their ass,
Everything they can to bury
Competition in the dirt.
But the working class gets hurt.
When the whip's behind the oath,
Then the whip can keep it.
You can break it, keep it, both--
Whatever keeps you out of shit.
The oath you took, if truth be told,
Is nothing more than vapor
If it needs whips to uphold
What's written down on paper.
What's it take to be a man?
Hard dick, and a woman who
Knows he has a battle plan
That'll see the family through
Adversity. It's up to him.
Make it? Chances looking slim.
He has no clue to what it takes
To overcome a man's mistakes.
You want to crawl in bed with me?
Sure, why not? We'll both be warm.
But only in our dreams will we
Survive conditions of this storm
That's coming from a polar blast--
Ice cold history blowing past.
We're going out. You ask me how
I think you look in this or that--
Am I frumpy like a cow?
Think this makes my ass look fat?
Advertisers did their job,
Making you feel insecure.
Can't be looking like a slob,
You'll be shopping more for sure.
Left alone, she's going to shop--
But, first Starbucks for a cup.
He might find a dime to drop.
Lonely, he just might hook up
With someone he met the night
He split because they had a fight.
Just to feel the rush of love
Is all I ever need from you.
Don't need blessings from above,
And I don't need to hear, I do.
All I need, is hear the hush
Love murmurs with your coming rush.
There was a time when just old men
Were only ones who could get drunk.
Not enough for all back then,
And the old men, back then, stunk
With power--a privileged class
Who could get drunk off their ass.
Back then you'd be stoned to death
If alcohol perfumed your breath.
But now that there's enough to drink,
More than privileged few can stink.
Certain critics make me feel
That I'm as bad as what describes
The lowest of the low--the heel
That populates their diatribes:
Opportunist, racist, prick.
And though I know I'm not alone,
Reading them I feel the kick
To own up to the past I've blown.
The trick is letting go of what
Is only good for kicking butt--
The critics make me realize
I've got to open up my eyes.
No one's spared the critic's rod,
Repentants spared the firing squad.
Bad as you are, you're still the best
Thing that's ever happened to me.
I've been with some who I felt blessed
When they gave me back the key
To my heart. Bad as you are,
I'd trust you with keys to my car.
Just kidding sweetheart, you're the tops--
Upon which my desire hops.
She puts up with me, I'm grumpy--
As in, "old man", tired of work.
I put up with her: she's bossy,
But sometimes I become a jerk
When her orders get me riled.
But she's fair--a middle child.
Love it when I'm hearing laughter--
It's never loud enough for me,
Unless it's someone going after
Someone else's dignity.
Racism ranges from the rage
A redneck rails against someone
Who hardly earns a living wage--
To emails having just some fun,
Ridiculing customs, speech.
Just a joke, they say, but each
Hurtful slight has subtle reach.
Wake up ailing, you're doled out
Enough to get you through the day;
Yet you're asked to give. Without
Hurting them, what can you say?
I don't have the time for you?
Can't do what you want me to?
How are you to make them see
You're fine if they would let you be?
Even with the chance to choose,
You wouldn't put them in your shoes.
You put it down then qualify
What you wrote--another pass
Adds words that seem to deny
The passion like you'd passing gas.
You put it down, a fucking coward,
Then added to it--passion's soured.
Too many irons to pound out--
Too many there to choose.
Choose the hottest without a doubt,
No way you're going to lose
A chance to shape iron from your soul
Into a lasting beggar's bowl.
Some folks calm down when they come,
Others, after they explode;
Desire, anger, turns us numb
To the sharp rocks in the road
Our bare feet take when taking flight,
Running from what's really right.
Calming down: the great escape
After doing someone rape.
What made me become a mute?
Abuse, neglect, or just plain dumb?
Whatever it was, it was a beaut--
Sent me through life feeling numb
Except the times I fell in love--
Feelings, then, would wear no glove.
Once in a while print on my screen
Breaks up--worry not, I'm told--
It's memory loss, and its routine
Fix is go where memory's sold
To buy some memory chips and change
Them out, you're good as new--
Computer no longer acting strange,
Doing what it's made to do.
Doesn't matter if they're true,
What matters is what they can do.
They can knock the wind from you,
Fool you, shake you, they can screw
You up so bad that what you knew
No longer's going to get you through.
Tired hearing my work's a hobby,
Heard that all my life.
Petey, Johnny, parents, Robby,
Although never from my wife
(First or last, and girlfriends too--
If they faked it, never knew).
Apologies to Robby, he never called my rhymes a hobby, not to my face. But nothing much rhymes with hobby.
Darling, darling, my best friend,
You have been the tender part
Of my world that's going to end
With an arrow through my heart.
You laugh it off, make me laugh too,
But nothing makes it less untrue--
News, Alzheimer's got my brain,
News one day I'll be a drain.
Maybe folks will read my dreams,
Dance floors shaking loose shy screams;
Dreams of rest for weary bones
Or quiet time compassion owns
For watching flights of autumn geese
Head for warmth on airborne peace.
The brain's a complex thing,
The mind is worlds beyond;
But every mindful word must spring
From the brain's organic bond.
You're missing words you've always used--
They've wandered off, you're left confused.
Now you've wandered, who knows how far?
No words can tell you where you are.
What's it take to lead a nation,
And to step on no ones toes?
Can't be done, it's sure damnation--
Doesn't matter how it goes.
The leader's blamed for what goes wrong
No matter if they're weak or strong.
But it's always wrong if there's
A ruling class that sits upstairs.
No one, they say, has the right
To die. And why is that?
Did someone once think that there might
Be no one left to keep them fat?
Dying might be what's preferred
To pain felt to your final day,
Or being driven with the herd--
You just want to slip away.
It's all backwards when you write.
When you write, you fish for lines
And the hooks you hope folks bite.
You fish for both and watch for signs
You might have reeled in a stinker--
And went for it--hook, line and sinker.
You're dying and you just don't care,
Dream you'll soon float over air;
Body burned to brown-gray powder
To feed the clams to make the chowder.
The cycle can be short or long,
When you don't care, then something's wrong.
I wish I'd met you sooner,
It would have changed my life--
Arriving, one piano tuner,
Or tinker, come to hone my knife
To keep me sharp and stay in tune.
With you I could have shot the moon.
Too big for life, yo dude,
You're using all your friends
To accept your attitude
That seemingly never ends.
You wear us out, we love you still,
But we're subjected to your will.
They lead and you follow, since
They've got the best ideas.
They're the ones who you convince
To forgive your culpa meas.
Mindfulness began to drop--
Memory was a strain--
Motivating me to stop
Pummeling my brain
With notions' potions,
Of potables divine;
Where sirens tease
You with another line.
I gave it up, I kid you not,
But what that was I just forgot.
Sixty years, and left his shell--
He doesn't like it, you can tell.
Fine time it is for doing that--
Stiff joints, limp dick, getting fat.
But he found he had no choice
Except to start to use his voice
For getting what he wants and all--
Crab'll crawl to make a call.
"Moderation in all things."
Can that mean just don't fall down?
If it does, two more Gin Slings
And a double Royal Crown
On the rocks for me and my
Two ladies here, will get us by.
If you want it, then you'll get
Well organized, by and by.
If you don't, it's one safe bet
That all you want is to get high:
Medication, night life, drugs--
Hanging out with hip hop thugs;
Liquor, sex, fast cars for thrills,
Some sugar daddy paying bills.
Regardless, you're not wanting much,
As long as you still have your crutch.
I knew a man whose goal in life
Was making sure things worked.
Worked wonders with a pocket knife,
Had tools for what problems lurked
Beneath the sink, the hood--the why
Of how it broke, he understood.
Whatever it was, he's there to try
To make it work the way it should.
A handy man to say the least,
Should send him to the Middle East.
They haven't chosen leaders well,
Those corporate folks who tell
The politicians what to do
To get one over me and you.
Like her mother, mutt of mine--
Loving but can be a bitch.
When there's something out of line--
Goes after it at such a pitch,
Barking from inside the door.
Even ordinary things,
When unexpected, start a war.
Yapping when the doorbell rings
If a good friend comes to call--
She sees chaos wall to wall
But settles down when gets her due.
Then she's all for loving you.
It's all an act, his loving you,
He just wants control.
Whatever it takes is what he'll do--
The pleasure's in his goal
Of controlling every hour
You're in his life and in his power.
Were I smarter, they'd be better.
Were I smarter, would not have done
Things described down to the letter
I once upon a time thought fun.
But fairytale endings never
Happened much to anyone.
Endings, more perversely clever;
Tragedies--a cosmic pun.
Need the reins, I need the spurs
To hold me back or kick my ass;
Need a love with lips like hers
That can dish out all the sass
That takes me either way she wants--
Sexy come-on sass she flaunts;
Or bridles me with saucy taunts.
Who I am, is going fast,
Never had been built to last.
But fast is good, it lets you see
Early on, eternity.
Attractive, and of course my answer
Implied that it would be a pleasure
If she checked my prostate. Sure,
A female's middle finger's measure
Is less than what you get from men,
What's more, I can't remember when.
Control freaks I've had in my life:
Parents, best friends, loving wife;
I've been lucky, they've been right,
I just learned how not to fight.
But song birds flying in with spring,
Don't mean shit if they can't sing.
You know I'm right but you're afraid
To take a step to make a change;
You're comfortable, and no crusade
Has a chance to rearrange
Your life into life one better--
Dismissed me like one foul crank letter.
Football, soccer, all the same--
Money, passion in a game
That doesn't do a bit of good
For Man, especially Sisterhood.
What's it take to make us see
The games condone the misery?
Distraction when thoughts should be on
Conditions that our systems spawn.
Exposed his heart and she's surprised--
His eyes didn't do their job.
He feels shock; he's compromised;
Ashamed to've let his feelings rob
His dignity--he's now ashamed--
Spiked emotions cruelly tamed.
Just been told I'm going to die
(As if anybody's not).
To say I care I'd have to lie,
Can't say I've enjoyed a lot.
War, disease and poverty
Is mostly what life's been for me.
Even though my privileged life
Has never caused me any strife,
I've never found a way to be
Happy amidst the misery.