A hero or a dictator
nothing in between
A ruthless hangman
for his enemies
An inspiring guide
for his followers
A revolutionary leader
demanding free health care,
free education for his people
An economic breakdown
made an end to all
he fought for
Suffering, starvation
He couldn’t protect them anymore
They became what was his
greatest fear
Outcasts and fugitives
As the illness took control
he transformed into
an emaciated version of himself
It is the beginning of July again
and those curtains will remain drawn
for the entire 31 days.
The milk and newspapers
get cancelled for four weeks or so.
No one knows what goes on in there?
The energy in the street
is different when you walk by…
I’ve seen sensitive folk
shudder and cross themselves.
You can hear ‘Her’
as it nears the 13th of the month…
a low, heavy sobbing
emanating through the walls,
there’s just no fixing grief
nor medicating a desolate soul.
Come the start of August
My dad dead
In a box
Might lay
It was closed
So I cannot say
Some men
I’ve heard
They lived longer
Was it health
Or smell
‘Twas so much stronger.
The young who die
The old who live
Have no truth
Nor fortune to give
In pockets
riches
With blood so deep
For gold
Itches
Even where worms creep
In the banks of the Hudson
Or the vaults on the Thames
The old of the Citi
Never sleep.
I will melt at the flash point
of simplicity
until my mind
evaporates
into mist
I will meditate on the blessings
of light
until my eyes
can see God
through the shadows
I will trust in the process
of Tao
until water
grows calm
in the river
I will seek the true depths
of faith
until conflict
holds no sway
in my heart
I will drift along the pathway
of memories
until wisdom
resurrects
all your teachings
I will sit through the swelter
Our white-bearded cannon
fell silent—
The day became grayer…
I know, I know, I know, I know…
He was my Mom’s favorite funnyman—
She bought his books, his vinyl
Speaking to her like Malcolm
(she shared Turkish Coffee with
Malcolm on his trips west, fishing for men
but Mr. Gregory
was my Mom’s favorite funnyman)
I remember the mantra
He chanted like a Buddhist Priest:
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
“You youngsters got a lotta work to do…”
Doubling us over,
The savory bouquet of summer flowers—
roses, honeysuckle, wisteria, jasmine—
perfumes the afternoon air
and comingles and merges with
sundry other fragrances
also permeating the air:
the aerosol can room freshener scent
of a pesticide recently sprayed,
poison that smells like perfume;
the fetor of decaying matter
that exudes from the compost heap,
nutriments stinkier than poison;
the fragrance of freshly mowed grass
and the acrid smell of glyphosate,
with which dandelions were recently doused;
I will not live my life afraid.
I will not hide in fear.
For what good would my silence do
But make hate’s pathway clear?
I will not live my life a lie,
Dictated to by fools.
I will not cast my pearls to swine.
I will retain my jewels.
I will not live my life bound up
By evil men’s cruel chains.
When my carriage comes to town,
I shall hold the reigns.
I will not live my life shut in
By those who’d build a wall.
I’ll live free and speak the truth
Until all these castles fall.
the dog, the dove, the turtle
decided to go to war
they trained and trained and trained some more
for they were going to war
they finally concluded
that the time was ripe
they would set out on their mission
at the first sign of light
they reached their destination
they conquered all they saw
a duck, a fawn, a grizzly bear with an injured paw
the dog, the dove, the turtle
with nothing else to kill
turned upon each other
their training with them still
the dove pecked out the turtle’s eyes
Saw a
Bumper sticker
While waiting
For the
Bus
Today:
“SELF-RELIANT
AMERICANS
ON BOARD!”
It said.
The truck
was a nice, new,
Union made
Chevrolet.
I didn’t
see who had
made their
sticker.
The city
Traffic light
Changed, and
They dutifully
Went on.
I took
My public
Transportation
City bus,
Smiling
To myself,
In the collective.
On a summer noon A crow perches (not in want of water) Gripping the bamboo bars of your fence And you yell at it until it flies away from your noise You are angry with the silly bird! The previous week when you offered the pinda In the name of your mother The crow didn’t bother, left you sleepless Wondering[Read More...]
