An Ancient Dream

 

 

 

Up high I climbed, weary, yet not dismayed;
Tired, yet had strength within me that was steel
Against the harsh wind; sad, yet so that tears
Seemed sweet drops of joy too intense to feel.

Then at the golden Gate I knocked, with the power of my fears,
Knowing how full of woe, yet full of wonder was I.
Through all that night they helped me sleep, to dream
An ancient dream, perhaps the one before we die

Of things unknown that appeared like ghosts through swirling Time,
No harmony, nor music soft spun from magic sight,
Save a single haunting, plaintive, note that to me seemed
A scent of jasmine, carried on a desert wind, at night.

And refreshed I was, with the light of the rising sun,
And by this peaceful place, this haven from hatred’s constant voice,
Wishing the same for all who watch, alone, the crying stars,
Who live in war, unable to rejoice.

The Tea Pot

 

The tea pot sits with ease on the stove,

Like a king enthroned, with mantle steel-wove,

Looking about with an imperious air,

Lord of the beverage, please use him with care.

 

I am his subject and all who drink tea,

For our hearts he enriches and bans misery,

He sagely and warmly revives our bleak lives,

Makes slow hours quick with friends, even wives,

 

He is prince beneficent of calm and repose,

Himself sits in silence, with uplifted nose,

Save on occasion of dividing his wealth,

Brewing ambrosia, from herbs he gives health.

Cell Phone Blues

 

 

You called me, you rang me, so many times,

Told me you loved me, but now it’s all crimes,

You called me, this morning, told me nothing is new,

“We’re over, we’re finished, you’re dead, yeah, we’re through.”

 

I can’t put it down but the thing rings again,

Just when I’m thinking of women, and when,

“Hey, you written that yet, you doing your job?’

“He’s not well,” “He’s nuts, “Say, who did I rob?”

 

When I smoke a little weed, bang, there it is,

“Hey, Bowie died, man, did you hear that sad biz?

They’re going, my friend, like snow in the sun …”

His voice sounding muffled like a soft silenced gun,

 

When I sit at the wheel, just radio drifting,

The thing comes alive, it’s jumping and shifting,

Won’t ever shut up, a real howling banshee,

Now a cop drives by, just taking a look see.

 

“Hey buddie, how are yuh? Say, can you lend me ten grand?”

This guitar millionaire in a rock and roll band,

Then, a one and the other, it makes your brain bend,

The medium’s the message, and this is the end,

 

Now I gaze at the ceiling and watch Chaplinesque scenes

Adrift on the silence of silvery screens,

No more ringing, or buzzing, no more static for news-

‘Cause I’m tired of having those cell phone blues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Remember Bluebells

I remember bluebells,

Soft, strewn among the trees,

And I remember songbirds,

And running by the sea,

And I remember one long night,

You took your leave of me.

 

You took your leave, without a word,

‘Midst shadows of the night,

Hands outstretched to take you back,

You slipped beyond my sight,

And the only softening sound I heard

Above my falling tear,

Was the distant sound of nature’s love,

In a cricket’s song of cheer.

 

I remember bluebells,

Like stars among the dew,

And I remember mists of rain,

And all my words spoke true,

But aye, you wanted someone else,

And all my words were vain,

As you took from me the rose you gave,

Another’s heart to gain.

 

War Questions

lucy

What will a kiss profit me, or thee,

When her lips are cold as the icing sea,

What will a smile for her life now,

When her eyes are blind to the golden bough,

What will a touch, an embrace arouse,

When her heart lies still in a bloodied blouse,

What will a cry, “Oh, lord, save us,” bring,

When gods are false as the praises they sing,

What will tears wash away in the night,

When the fountain is deep and far from the light,

What will the words of holy books heal,

When the soul of man is bayonet steel,

But though I ask and ask and ask, I can no answer hear,

To make me wise, nor bring me cheer,

So dig the grave sure, I shall my dear,

And impart my only ring,

As turtle doves swirl past and sing,

And village bells in mourning ring.

Lament For Savaged Sirte

Sirte-Libya-destroyed-1011-by-EPA

Along the silent sanded shore the sea birds sadly flew,
Where once the sound of clashing arms did shake the morning dew,
They sadly flew in mourning pairs for all they saw that day,
That day they saw the heart of hope lie bleeding on the bay,

That day they saw the people march to fight for right once more,
As many and one through time have done since days of ancient yore,
They marched with banners Red and Green, with simple flags of rage,
For they raged against the many crimes of the long black fascist age,

They fought for you, they fought for me, they fought for all mankind,
But we looked away and watched the screens that poison every mind,
So poisoned minds thought poisoned thoughts and dreamt of shiny things,
While screaming planes swept low with bombs caressed by taloned wings.

Unemployed On A Rainy Day

Beggar-GoyaUnemployed On A Rainy Day

Cold winds, grey sky, harsh tears,
Sing of me,
Without work,
Without value,
Without hope,
Engorged with shame,
Eaten by the pound
In charity rooms
On cold back streets,
With a lecture on God,
For a glass of wine,
The rains fall heavy,
The benches are wet.
“Move on”, snarls the cop,
The pavement is wet,
“You can’t sleep here”,
The cardboard is wet,
“Move on”, prods the cop,
Everywhere cold,
And always the jails.