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Birth
Into the
blindness of man-child birth, hurled
as fast as
fingers grasp the waiting world,
fugitive
from womb’s protective haven,
without
omen bird; eagle, hawk, raven,
to signify
prophecies of promise
of empires,
glories, visions, not to miss
wisdom,
step-child of imagination,
eclipsed by
vanities of ovation.
Springs
into life clutching clots of birth blood
senses
awakening in rampant flood
that
delivered a victim to exile,
who is
forced to survive the first trial
with gore,
howl-cries that torrent elation
from the
awed birth-magic of creation.
Central Park Zoo
Indoor
cages, the winter cells
of pacing
felons,
condemned
for life,
for being
caught, or born.
No friends
outside to plan a break.
“Daddy.
Daddy. Buy me peanuts for the elephant.”
Snarl,
screech, whine,
flip, leap,
flap,
waiting for
the keeper’s careless moment,
waiting for
the moment that never comes.
“Don’t put
your hands there, honey. He might bite you.”
They watch
the man things pass from cage to cage,
gaping,
laughing, teasing with idiot sounds,
passing
yokels at a sideshow entertainment,
diversion
from tortured creation.
“Do you
want hot dogs and popcorn, kids?”
The monkey
house of human convolutions,
doomed to
acrobatics and lice picking.
No parole
board to review this case.
Lions,
tigers, panthers, eat exiles meat,
flung by
lordly keepers,
while blood
of distant jungles
screams for
stalk and kill.
“He likes
me, daddy. I just know he does.”
Bewildered
bears not fooled by rocks and pools.
Cafeteria,
dreariest cage of all.
Smaller
animals sleeping, or scurrying,
without the
aura of fierce beasts,
penitentiaried by man’s cunning.
“Daddy. Buy
me a balloon.”
The hippos
in their bathtubs,
the
elephants of entertaining trunks,
yak, camel,
bison, elk, moaning and shitting,
patchworks
of fantasy, or fading beauty.
“Daddy. Why
can’t we take him home with us?”
Ramble
People not
having (nomore) conversations
mitt Gott,
(praps they
tooka one a dem pleasure boats to the Bahamas,
an you
knows what happens ta them.)
neverthelesslessless….
Psych men
swear
they got
answers,
(but)
who’s got
questions?
Now,
(if they
wore eerie masks
and
threwmysteriouspowders
in to
fire.)
but
depressing is repressing
and we got
fears enough,
without
paying
(ahellof a
lot)
for them to
find more,
zo –
not having
good advice
to give
gratis
and the
post office stopping
my
soliciting cash thru gov’t mails,
(zom noive!)
I remain,
faith….
Yr, hmbl.
obdt. servt.
Laughing Town
If I would
go traveling down
the
rock-strewn path to laughing town,
that lies
within the mountain’s shade,
that falls
upon a sunless glade,
where boys
of youthful hunger mass
to watch
the lithesome virgins pass
that
flirting place, the township’s square,
filled with
folk from the summer fair.
If I would
go traveling down
the
steep-sloped path to laughing town,
I’d surely
find a maiden there,
who shyly
strolls the township square,
with
blushes turning cheeks to wine,
if her
dreamful gaze should meet mine.
If I would
go traveling down
forbidding
paths to laughing town,
some
wondrous things of rare delight
would
surely pass before my sight,
but I
didn’t go traveling down
torturous
paths to laughing town.
Contagion
Anyone who
does not fear
the sudden
attack of terror
has not
been exposed
to the
instant shock,
the
paralyzing dread
of the
unexpected assault.
The intent
of terror
by
dedicated haters
who have
opted to destroy,
rather than
build,
is the
fracturing of stability
in
organized society.
Advanced
civilizations
require
order
to maintain
and develop
complex
structures.
Terror
disrupts
more than
tornado, earthquake, hurricane,
which at
least remind us
we are
vulnerable to nature.
Terror
neither educates, nor illuminates,
but merely
destroys the targets
of envy,
fear and hatred
from the
dispossessed,
who have
renounced their humanity.
Lament
I mourn the days to come
when I will no longer see
a flock of Robins,
that will be eradicated,
like other inconveniences
by remorseless man.
Ode to Hope
Although we cannot right
all the ills of this world
and suffering will go on
despite our best efforts,
there is still a hope
that on brightest days
we will see tomorrows.
Aging Vessel
My brittle skeleton
is trapped in the prison
of my festering flesh
and keeps my soul an inmate,
clinging to my splintering bones
Democracy (To Ted Weiss)
One of the burdens of democracy
is the confusion it creates
for its citizenry,
who don't recognize the fragility
of an arbitrary system.
The drone who runs his motor boat
on a still lake,
exercising his right to pollute
with oil, gas, other man-made toxins,
until nothing but a motor boat survives.
The rustic man who slaughters sparrows
in a murderous spree to save the bluebirds,
already doomed to loss of habitat
by mindless, but profitable construction,
without regard to consequence.
The protesters against globalization
who may or may not be sincere,
but shriek their passionate objections
louder than the serfs of eld
resisting feudalism.
O wonderful democracy
that nurtures slick exploiters
who clamor for a meritocracy
in a consumer based society
that is exhausting merit.
Suffer the Children (To Arla Beck)
I do not sleep well at night
and lie contorted in my bed
tormented by the thoughts I dread,
and have been helpless to prevent,
man's crimes against humanity.
The children of the Holocaust,
torn from their helpless mothers' arms,
were rushed to the oven by the gingerbread man
and no savior came along
to save them from extermination.
The children of the Hutu and Tutsi,
torn from their helpless mother's arms,
were starved, stabbed, speared, shot, savagely slain.
Their tiny skeletons litter the jungle
and do not reveal their tribe.
The children of American slums
are seldom torn from their mother's arms,
but are abused by uncles, brothers, boyfriends,
who torture them day and night
until the world is no longer right.
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