Saturday, January 29, 2011


photo courtesy of Getty Images

Walk with your head held high.
Walk with the fire of freedom in your eyes.
Walk to dispel the lies.
Walk with a vision of the basic right of self-determinism for all people.

Walk like an Egyptian.

Walk like a true patriot.
Walk in the footsteps of Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin.
Walk with your friends by your side.
Walk with your lover by your side.
Walk to stand side by side with the old and the young.
Walk to show the politicians you are coming
Walk to show the politicians what true democracy sounds like: THUNDER!!!

Walk like an Egyptian.

Walk with these lyrics pounding in your brain: Call out the instigator/because there's something in the air.
Walk to demonstrate that the TRUE power always lies with the PEOPLE.
Walk to demonstrate that the people have given too much of their power away.
Walk to demonstrate the sleeping giant has awakened.
Walk to demonstrate that the few will no longer dictate to the many.
Walk to demonstrate that government must be our servant, not our master.
Walk with these lyrics swirling in your head: They come, they come/to build a wall between us/don't let them win!

Walk like an Egyptian.

Walk to bring the oppressors to their knees.
Walk to throw the bums out.
Walk to kick in the doors.
Walk to tear down the walls.
Walk to emblazon the walls with this slogan: If not us, who? If not now, when?
Walk in the spirit of Martin Luther King Jr.
Walk in the spirit of the sixties.

Walk like an Egyptian.

Walk to end the abuse of power.
Walk to empower the powerless.
Walk to show that the masses will no longer be the asses.
Walk to the rallying cry of the trumpet.
Walk pledging no retreat.
Walk for the liberation of man.
Walk to bring sanity back to humanity.
Walk to honor the dreamers.
Walk to create the world in our own image.
Walk in the spirit of Gandhi.
Walk with the fervent prayer that revolutionaries no longer become just like their oppressors.

Walk like an Egyptian.

Sunday, January 23, 2011


Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

And so we RUN
From each traffic and store surveillance lens
Far from every camera phone
Aimed like an accusation

RUN to this place that the hand
Of man has not despoiled--
Where the battle cry of
Is still just an echo in the distance

No one sees but us
And the wise old owl
Who won't tell
And the canny coyote
Who won't yell
And the man in the moon
Who has nothing to say
And won't betray

And still we wonder how it went
From this vague sense of being watched
To the everyday certainty of it
As the band plays: The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You
And time marches on

Away from prying eyes
You open your thighs
And the wind sighs

The stars bear witness
Though they are light years away
Streaming from a yesterday that still shines
But only in our minds

Sunday, January 16, 2011


Poetry Potluck

Her name was Connie
and I thought I might be able to
steal my first real kiss
when one summer afternoon at Jake's house
she allowed his horny poodle named Charlie
to hump her leg

With words of encouragement like
she urged him on
to the climactic moment of his life

When he threw in the towel
she called for one

That night in the back seat of Jake's car
I placed my mouth upon hers
not fitting exactly the way I figured it should
but our tongues made contact
the Eagle had landed

She must have known I'd never frenched before
but a guy's gotta start somewhere
and where better than a sixteen-year old woman of the world
who had kissed lots of guys
and fulfilled the fondest desire
of at least one poodle

Monday, January 10, 2011


Back in my little town
I never knew
a truly crazy person
back in my little town
there was the town bully
the town slut
the town eccentric
all harmless cartoon figures now
in a land obsessed
with violence
and war
just turn on the TV
and there he is
it's the same guy
it's the SAME guy
day and night
night and day
spraying bullets
dealing indiscriminate death
tune in at eight tonight
to see him again
we've created him
and glorified him
with our dollars
plunked down at the movie theater
we've created him
with a power structure
that assures young people
it's okay
to kill for your country
but only at OUR direction
don't come back here
and try that shit
on your own
is it any wonder that
some get confused
and get it turned around
you know
you are already too far gone
when you pull that trigger
when you are just following orders
all insanity
of the highest order
the inmates
running the asylum
inciting us daily
from podiums
and radios blaring
the politics of division
and hatred
a nation coming apart
from within
fueled by excess
and greed
glowingly referred to as
The American Dream
just another mentally unbalanced dude
spraying lead at a shopping center
they said he was cold
as he went about his business
as everyone asks
WHO created him
and somewhere in the background
Michael Jackson sings
time to look at
the man in the mirror

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


I'm cruising down to the convenience store to pick up some beers
with the words of my spiritual master ringing in my ears:
You must give up your worldly attachments if you want to advance.

Pulling into the lot I spot a raven-haired goddess
riding in with some biker who looks like
one of the lout-infested Vikings in that credit card commercial.

While he is distracted inside,
I whisper in her ear: "What's HE got that I ain't got?"
And she says..."He's got...a big...MOTORCYCLE!"

So I hop back into my car,
resigned to worshipping her from afar--
but my master is adamant on this point:
You musn't worship something that could give you an STD.
And I'm supposed to give up sex--
or at least not enjoy it, if I want to be enlightened.
And I must atone for a life of living fast and loose,
in order to extract my neck from this karmic noose.

And I must be engaged with the great mysteries of life,
as I ponder why the weather girls on the Spanish channel
are always hotter than all the others...
and I am picking up a Christian radio station
on my television: POSITIVE, ENCOURAGING, K-LOVE!
It drowns out the regular programming on my PBS channel.
And I'm certain that it's some kind of sign from the cosmos--
but why pick on a nice Buddhist boy like me?

Heading home, I see Kerouac on the corner,
trying to wangle a ride--
he's been standing there since 1955.
But hard times have fallen on vagabond scribes,
as "Do You Know the Way to San Jose?"
gave way to One Night In Paris.
But he's picking up some extra jack
writing the direction labels on shampoo bottles
in his stream-of-consciousness style...

Once upon a time in a Ford Galaxy
far, far away--I whispered empty words
of love to Suzie, and Lucy, and Betty Jean--
until...VOILA! Fourteen years of coming
home every night and saying: WHAT'S FOR DINNER?
Thinking this is it--the happiness that had eluded me--
as the prime of my life slowly...slipped...away.

As did she.

And I can see my mother and me
standing on the platform
as the train roars down upon us--
she is running away...again.
And it is said that boys grow up
and seek out their mothers--
and so it was
that I chose one
who would RUN.

And I tell my master it's easier
to give up your worldly attachments
when there's little left to lose.
And there's something about being done
with the greater part of it that turns you young.
And you find yourself saying WHATEVER
and you come to understand that it means
accepting things the way they are--
and you think maybe these kids are on to something
as they shrug and turn back to their internet porn.

And yet, here I stand, crying
But Alfie's too busy scoring
to offer any kind of reply,
though he seems to be saying heaven can wait.

So I just want to know...
can there be any compromise
for one who is other worldly, yet worldly wise?