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Saturday, July 25, 2020

AND IT WAS GOOD


Greedy capitalists assault the senses
Every minute of the day


It’s the American way

I only ever tried
To sell myself
Often failing miserably
(but stuck with it)

Things that chap your ass
Are easily remedied 
If you’ll just get off of it
And take care of business

Now that would make
A good advertising slogan
(with a patriotic ring)
To help boost the economy

O America
Is there any hope for you now?

Whitman saw it all folding out
Into a glorious panorama

Scaling mountains
Pulling myself cautiously up 

And it was good.

Hold onto that romantic vision
America
Like the buffalo you decimated
It may yet make a comeback one day
When neighbor stops hating neighbor
And brother stops killing brother

Oh hey
Listen to me
You can still hear that
Wide-eyed idealist
Boarding the bus to the airport
To board the plane
And wing his way over the ocean
To a brand new life
And all because he took a chance
And got off his ass 
And followed his dream



Saturday, July 18, 2020

GET REAL

All of a sudden
the sports talk guy
on the radio
has become a champion
of sensitivity
to women's issues
as if he never spent
a night out boozin' and laughin' 
it up with the boys--
as if he never sat
in a locker room
and traded those jokes before

Saturday, July 11, 2020

UMBRAL SKY




The lonesome moon roams the streets

searching for mad love
in all its myriad forms--
it's image reflected in the gutter splash
that peppers my trousers
as a fancy horse-drawn carriage blows by.

A calypso drumbeat seeps

from some nearby edifice.
The crickets sing along.

I duck behind a shop

to drain the snake.

Memories of sinning in the alley

thrust
bang
bite
come flooding back.

I'm so uncouth

I laugh
slurring my words
it's only life
I'll just go back again
and take it on the chin.

Drifting along

weaving this way and that
muttering curses
into the dying night.

I am the master of my fate

but where are my subjects?

The moon climbs rapidly

in its umbral sky.

A poem swirls round

in my head
edgy and cryptic
teetering right on the brink
of beginning to stink.

I've walked right up to the abyss

and peered over.
Backed away
to fight another day.

Yes
I believe in mad love
in all its myriad forms
one's only leverage
in a broken world.

The cock crows.
A new day begins.

The will to survive 

is all we have.

Saturday, July 4, 2020

STATUS REPORT







Tucked away 
in my tower

safely hidden

from the past

keepin' busy

as always

I have my books

and my poetry
to protect me...

I'm only sad 

when I hear 
those songs again