Black Panthers

i was prisoner in a cell

with a job sweeping up the cement floor

i felt warm inside the joint

listening to stories of a new cold war

suffering inside my locked door

but i took my escape from white-washed walls

while running at my mouth

up and down the injustice halls

into another heated Oakland night 

looking for a little daylight

across the narrow bridge

hearing stories of police oppression and the bloody Pine Ridge

and there were Black Panthers feeding kids

in the early morning hours before school

teaching each and every one the precious golden rule

while they sat with spoons and forks and a dull knife

learning to avoid a world of drug-dealing and  low nightlife

where pigs in patrol cars pull up to the broken curb

smashing any black sign that says "Do not disturb!"

but kids kept reading their books

while giving me curious childhood looks

as if to ask who i might be and what was my ultimate goal

but i was running flat-out out on my fake parole,

both fists held high and tight in my striped uniform.

i mounted the hard-to-climb ladder and stood on my own platform

calling for justice and civic reform

but no one heard

as i gathered each angry word

before ominously, Mister J Edgar Hoover and his criminal FBI

gagged me by the mouth and poked my one good eye!

i was so aggrieved, i began to cry,

and then a mighty pain;

it seemed there was nothing more to gain

and i might have become blind

but it seemed normal being left behind

when the party was about to begin:

no one stood a fair chance to win.

there was barely an open seat to watch the beginning of the freedom show

when i saw an angry bird flying past who said his name was Jim Crow;

i watched him grab a hanging rope,

and tie a clever knot.

his following gang  

hiding in my blindspot

as the circumstances kept changing, and the children took their tests:

i heard they all got passing grades 

but were treated like uninvited guests

when the FBI led me to a party wall;

where i entertained myself with a game of American dodge ball,

dreaming of a fertile field, praying for a gentle rain,

picking at my Attica lock 

trying to remove my invisible slave chain.

a shadow and a ghost

waking at the blush of dawn

pulling on my pants

waiting for direction

to begin my human dance

tic tac toe

a one and a two

mental music running in my head

i'm shuffling my blue suede shoe

ready for a ball room

jumping over the spinning top

head long into apocalypse

and a final sudden stop

there's nothing to prepare for

like falling into war

with a disassembled crowd

standing on a soap box yelling at a cloud

with gray walls of confusing mist,

a shadow and a ghost

looking for opportunity 

or a visible signpost:

but there's no park bench without a rusty nail;

no free river running with a nearby nature trail,

calling names out for a chance to play;

the game close but slipping away.

there's fewer willing to speak or stay

when the rain hurts the skin,

and fewer able to win.

so, it's time to dress

while there's still time to guess,

and it's anybody's guess:

a shadow and a ghost

looking for opportunity 

or a visible signpost.

tic tac toe,

pick a number

to sit in the front row

at the greatest show.

a shadow and ghost

are both heading for the coast.

a one and a two,

mental music running in my head,

i'm shuffling my blue suede shoe.

please, stay some more

and the new day saw the low gray clouds

hanging their heads in grief

for that one last breath and the falling

of a golden leaf,

without a sound,

all the way from the highest branch to the cold, hard ground:

there was disbelief

that a clever thief

could steal such a precious life,

without warning or a threatening knife.

and the reason for the end

was elusive and harder to comprehend,

when eyes once bright with a curious spark

could be so suddenly dimmed in the whispering dark.

tears fall, and implore

the memory walking in and out the door

please, stay some more,

pull up an easy chair

for our long, slow talk

before our long, slow walk.

we'll laugh and linger;

see three red fox and point a finger

at a swift hummingbird,

appreciating moments without saying any extra word,

and when your Lord says it's time to dine,

it will also be your time to shine.

the color blue was red

You may not know

when the storm blows in

or how many times the ticking clock

strikes noon.

you may arrive for the hanging judge

an hour or a minute too soon,

before the bartender pours his drink

for the gambler 

who takes a moment too long to think

which cards to keep and which ones to toss;

he couldn't afford another costly loss,

when a gentle woman of the evening 

gave him a crooked smile,

with her scarlet mouth and rosemary hips,

a friendly look with honey-colored lips.

she took her time to take him by the steady hand;

but did he really understand

there was always a price to pay? 

whether he took a walk down some dusty trail,

or spent quality time on her comfort bed,

or in the local sheriff's jail

where he could scratch his story on the nearest bloody wall

about how he remembered to walk 

only after he learned to crawl.

and his head held high!

but he didn't stop to wonder why

there was water flowing over the highest dam,

or out on the street a perpetual traffic jam,

with planes doing cartwheels down the side streets

and over the busy boulevards.

there was no place for a man who played his cards

close to his vest with suspicious, nervous eyes

in company with hustlers and a roving company of secret spies

from Washington and the velvet underground,

who wrote their headlines after and before

the holocaust and the thirty year war. 

there were everyday acrobats toasting with their evening meals,

and barnyard animals eating with their frightened squeals;

and hustlers selling books 

about silky mermaids with their fishy looks;

and a terrible avalanche disrupted central avenue

just to give the busy workingmen something else to do,

beyond the shopping sprees and the investing machine,

when the king appeared with his security and his virginal queen,

carrying bags of fool's gold behind the public scene,

proclaiming everything was normal and absolutely routine:

he spoke with a perfectly mellow voice

so no one had a care or a choice.

everything was as they said:

one plus one was three

and the color blue was red.

Mother Nature

what have you done

with my softest feet

which walked on the damp grass

before crossing the hard street?

what have you done

with my native child,

once unbroken and wild,

now exhausted and exiled?

what have you done with the dreams

which i wrote in my diary?

well, i'll take your answer for what it seems 

while i give you this inquiry:

when the fields are all planted

but the free birds are dying,

will your voice stay silent

while the innocents are crying?

when the oceans come calling with their eyes wide in fright

will babies be safe while napping over night?

yes, i've seen crazy horses stampeded by thunder,

kicking at the iron-clad barn door;

and young men wanting their first warm kiss

but shipped off to a war:

and the gray-haired woman who gave me her smile,

her fingers wrinkled and her fashion seemingly out-of-style,

she offered me comfort on her living room chair,

sitting in silent light to tell me to stand up to dark despair;

yes i ask 

while watching disappearing sand in an hour glass:

when the air gets heated and the desert sands explode,

will there be time enough to find a better road?

in spite of bullies and all the poison that they spew,

there are friendly faces and the better natures they pursue

with healthy hearts and selfless pride,

they seek the good and push the bad aside,

appreciating each pebble has a perfect polish all its' own;

which shines the brightest not when held in contempt,

but when it's thrown.

what have you done

with my softest feet

which walked on the damp grass

before crossing the hard street?

what have you done

with my native child,

once unbroken and wild,

now exhausted and exiled?

what i knew

 i'll tell what i knew

i counted all the greatest men

yet only found a few

who were born in humble circumstance

but spread their wings and flew

without envy in their heart

and that was an important start.

inside my own cocoon

it was about an hour after midnight

when i saw a woman with flowers in her hair

she asked me if i had some money to spare

well, my pockets were empty and torn

and i knew i was looking forlorn

but i gave her what i could share

it wasn't much but when you're down and out

there isn't much left but questioning and feelings of self-doubt

so i went my way

without much more to say

but suddenly i heard her asking me with a voice pure as gold

she wanted to know if i had ever been bought and sold?

if i was a carpetbagger or a military man on his leave?

was i an honest man or was something hanging up my sleeve?

and what exactly did i know and what did i believe?

well, sitting down to reflect on what she just said

i heard the murmur of ocean waves 

i saw the tombstones of the dead

happy children playing on their graves

and i didn't know which way to go

when you get to the point where you realize

there's really no point to all the lies

maybe that's when i'm feeling free

on the backroads with no map and no crushing necessity

each gate swinging open and all the distant hills waiting for me

it's simple; it's easy

on the evening beach under the rising moon

simply reluctant to leave too soon,

like a butterfly spinning tales

inside my own cocoon,

like a deep inhale

with no well-trodden trail

to follow:

substantial with no unnecessary hollow,

maybe that's when i'm feeling free

on the backroads with no map and no crushing necessity

each gate swinging open and all the distant hills waiting for me

it's simple; it's easy

on the evening beach under the rising moon

simply reluctant to leave too soon,

like a butterfly spinning tales

inside my own cocoon.

the fragrance of cherry blossoms

 it was in Tokyo harbor

sitting on a battleship

under the rising sun

that McArthur had his general's fun;

his pants pressed neat and firm,

he offered surrender documents to confirm

that the Emperor really knew

what he came to realize was true:

the Pacific War was done.

it was August 1945,

after Hiroshima and Nagasaki

but Hirohito sat regally proud

inside the Imperial Palace

with fresh memories of a terrible mushroom cloud

when a moment of sadness brushed his eye

for the way of the samurai,

and the sudden desire for the fragrance of cherry blossoms.

then he spoke on the radio

to his people.

Venus in a giant half shell

too tired to mount the stairs,

i'm heavy with fatigue.

strange new cares

are pushing me down

until i can see

to the bottom of the sea,

and all the creatures trying to make it

are dressing in transsexual costumes

or else trying to fake it;

they're pushing open the revolving door

where a television

is portraying the ongoing civil war,

with battles on city streets and in the public square:

people looking for an escape are lost but discovering Mister Nowhere,

climbing ladders for a better view

to the top of the watch tower and down Fifth Avenue;

stories are thrown into the mix

and everybody wants to be in on the fix,

but the glue holding it all together

easily comes undone during spells of stormy weather:

in case there is some confusion when the music cries at night,

i'm swallowing pharmaceutical medicines to help myself feel alright,

and as part of the gathering crowd, i'm looking for an store front to swallow

or when i spy an anxious protest banner, i'll eagerly follow,

trying to find missing pieces of the broken wall

where the body of Humpty Dumpty one time took his big fall,

remembering that all the King's horses and their frustrated dreams

are not always on my side because nothing is ever like it seems.

there's a red glow on the horizon and choking smoke on the breeze;

people are rising and falling, some down on bending knees

and on the radio above the static from the street,

i hear an excited grumbling from a voice filled with conceit;

and echos rumbling like a company of army tanks

tumble down the main thoroughfare, past the parks, and the Wall Street banks:

loose gypsies are dancing on the spinning carousel,

famous minorities are ringing the front door bell,

and Venus, who's still standing nude in a giant half shell,

still has her secrets but she'll never tell

who is favored to win the big game and what's the final cost

for the gambler who bets it all and never once has lost.

yes, there is a still lot to lose 

and someone has to eventually pick and choose,

but when asked which I prefer, I would rather refuse

since all the answers can only be seen 

in the shooting stars or on the evening news.

Bob Dylan was nearby

i stopped in wonder

at a local bar

just to wet my whistle

and look around,

there wasn't a sound,

and right away i felt

like i was alone 

on a hillside demolished by the sunshine;

the face that i looked at was remarkably like mine.

and she came up to me acting like a piece

of fresh fruit, 

ripe and ready to squeeze,

and i wilted 

like a flowery bloom full of one too many stinging bees

but i had the presence of mind to take my first pure sip

before speaking about the deeper truths of life!

she wondered if i came here often

and, man, did i have a wife?

a brilliant mind, which i possessed,

would have lied like a gentleman

but i confessed

the orange that i was eating was a world on fire,

ah,  i couldn't be a simple liar

since my little bottle of champagne

was used only for silencing my dog

and for watching friends

pray on their knees to the universe and to make amends

for their goodness and their beauty

so i offered her a drink like it was my patriotic duty

to act like the leader of a touring band

writing exactly what i was feeling

while on my back pointing up at the heavenly ceiling!

Bob Dylan was nearby 

singing constantly,

all the while

with his Minnesota accent and a Ginsberg smile

when the lady took the next elevator up to the sky,

looking for her lost horizon and not wondering why

i kept gripping her by the forearm,

blowing my horn while rounding her curve.

but she wondered where i got all my romantic nerve

before everything erupted in flame;

i finally remembered to ask her for her name!

clearer than if it were from the distant past,

i realized my single bottle of champagne would never last.

well, put a cork in it, i heard myself say, 

but the bubbles inside my head already popped

and i knew even with the punishing traffic laws they couldn't be stopped.

the overhead lights flickered and went low

but what happened with the lady i really don't know:

she ran out the front door with a bottle of cheap wine and Michelangelo.

"Hey, Lukashenko! Go away!"

 A sea of people

in Belarus:

thousands of women are 

preparing to cook the head goose

where crowds of voices for independence

are marching on the loose,

waving banners to say

"Hey, Lukashenko! Go away!"

take your security and your forces

for a final exit ride on frightened horses

and that's a natural fact,

so please don't look back.

like a bee without his hive,

can this embattled leader survive?

without a glass of his favorite drink

of Soviet commands and government red ink,

he stares confronting the deep abyss and doesn't seem to think

that hundreds of thousands of people want him to capsize and sink,

and not one protester is willing to blink.

losers and suckers

 he said i was a loser

or was it lopsided lollipop sucker?

well, coming from an angry ladies-of-the-night fucker,

that's quite a thing

but now he fancies himself a modern day king

who once had a suspicious foot problem

which excused him from serving in the Vietnam war;

he's now asking for loyalty and demanding so much more

from his favorite daughter and his personal staff.

it was said to be tiny bone spurs sleeping inside one foot so let's laugh

when he's playing golf and bends to cheat:

it's obvious he's driving down the fairways with two good feet

looking for his tiny white ball,

but it's escaped to the rough and he'll need to crawl

on all fours to find where it timidly hides.

and to my astonishment he now resides

in the infamous American White House

where he wears an 'I Don't Care' blouse

while eating vanilla ice cream with his wife who's on the phone

talking to him from her bedroom in another time zone.

our best plan

i worked with her on an evening plan

before the sunset ran

and the rain drops fell

into her basement stairwell.

we agreed it would be nearly perfect

with just a few changes yet to make:

one idea was a recipe for rice and bean cake

i gave her to bake,

but on second glance

she said she'd rather dance

than cook 

from a simple kitchen book.

so, we stood looking through her small window

at a passing burlesque show

when another novel notion,

like a brown bottle of lavender body lotion,

stuck to our noses,

like a fragrant bouquet of freshly-picked roses:

it was to turn the ticking wall clock

into an image of a busy metropolitan city block

where swift crowds of people rattled and roared,

trying their best not to seem bored

by the futility of another insignificant day,

with not much of importance to say.

yes, we had a hell of time together

as the inclement weather

smacked us between the ears,

but we had our ice-cold beers

and a decent bottle of red wine:

our best plan was that everything would turn out just fine.

Come and See

Come and See

what is left of me

after crawling through the mud

spitting blood

listening for the break of dawn

trying to carry on

wondering where all the other children went

as if my youth has been misspent

reading words from important library books,

grooming myself and worrying about my looks,

when nothing is anymore what it seemed

i try to remember what i once wistfully dreamed

but it's easy to forget when life is being torn away

and everything is more difficult than it was yesterday.

Come and See

an angry soldier suspended in the tree

struggles as he points his rifle directly at me;

i can clearly hear

as his shot comes near

yet strangely i have a moment without fear.