,The Lay of the Land
From your smoke-coughing cities
to your desolate plains
The children of Midas have taken the reins
And left you besoiled in blood-splattered stains
With none fit to wash you to purity.
The air-waved cacophony pleads for a song
That will once more unite you ennobled and strong
To take back the glory to which you belong
To wrench freedom from dreams of security.
The old man, he wanders through opiate clouds
The young take their distance
to move through the crowds
And every one fitted for life-draining shrouds
Reflect only on death’s dance of conformity.
While poisoning rays permeate land and air
The high class step out like they haven’t a care
They’re bound to discover their world-rending tear
But can they comprehend the enormity?
Ridiculous sages exhort peace and love
Say we each have our choice of reality
So we fight over contexts and deny what we can;
But reality marches on.
Journeyman upon the road
Listening to the jungle drums
learns to bring it all together
as nightly his guitar he strums.
From the Woodstock Nation on to ’84
With his banner of music he learns to keep score
And the score, as it’s written, keeps costing him more
But it’s also what’s keeping him dancing.
With a beat in his heart and a song for his soul,
it keeps him journeying on.
Winter creeps whitely over streetlamp and spire.
Muted to whispers the Grand Freedom Choir.
A clattering chatter overtakes the high wire
Pure white like the night of beginnings.
The children have nestled all snug in their schools
In joyous rote marching, they take in the rules
Determined to never be taken for fools
Or give back an inch of their winnings.
Silent, the singers are searching for voice
They know in their souls it’s a matter of choice
They need to find reason, a cause, to rejoice,
A newly turned path to felicity.
A new day is dawning, but where is the sun?
Our freedom and faith are defined by the gun.
The symbol of power overrules everyone
‘Til we create our own electricity.
But under cover of darkness a banner’s being stitched
Of patchwork-bright colors and radiance
To someday soon be unfurled in the breeze
As we march to freedom’s song.
Recreation at the End of the World
The end of the world as we have told ourselves it is.
Widening eyes align with changed designs, underpinnings,
first causes, metaphors, stories of us.
Disruption, distorted transition, fear and distrust
wildly gallop to trample the field, cry out the call
“Just let me rest. Just let us lie here, ashamed, afraid
to allow such blinding disarray. So much safer
to fall, over the end of the world.”
Could we edit together songs, pleas,
harmonize with birds, bees, thunder, settling sighs,
meme shattering symphony, dilated eyes happy to see
randomized patterns coalesce, myths reassessed,
zest of surprise?
Would we recreate deity as an image more easily
caressing, Empathy for the 21st century?
July 4, 2012
The right amount of government —
just enough to protect freedom
without destroying it.
protects everyone’s freedom
without destroying anyone’s.
But who decides what that line is,
each with our own dispositions?
It may be up to the fate of
Not a satisfactory solution
for we who cannot wait.
Our lives are forfeit now
to silly fields of behavior
to the respectable
who rule the day.
While life is so disrespected,
devalued, expect those
learning their behaviors from
to coldly laugh and kill.
If that is the will of the people …
Such death is what we freely choose.
Those who would desist
are not allowed to exist.
Instead organized Reality tv fights
define our rights.
Thirteen Wizards Shall Guide You, rotating in 7s,
to be chosen from a wizard test administered at regular intervals
to any who wish to apply.
Each wizard shall serve at his/her pleasure — until they decide to move on.
Any wizard may return by retesting and getting the highest score amongst
those currently in line at the time of a vacancy, like any other candidate.
The test to be devised by a wise pre-council to ascertain qualities of
wisdom, compassion, responsibility, integrity and clarity of communication.
The test may be reviewed and revised at any time that the full council agrees
to do so, based on evidence of better result to be gained.
The wizards do not make the laws.
Laws are made by direct democracy, after a sufficient period of debate when
an overwhelming majority of consensus seems likely.
Wizards do have veto power.
Wizards do not control the economy. That is the province of the market.
The wizards do oversee the use and conservation of common resources.
They do oversee a social infrastructure that assures everyone a comfortable, secure
livelihood. They do oversee disputes to assure that everyone is treated fairly
in the course of commerce, and in the course of community life.
They are not paid an outright salary.
They are given comfortable living conditions that their minds may be free
of personal want.
Freedom isn’t free.
Neither need it be paid for by war.
Freedom demands integrity,
acting from the core.
not a chore.
It’s how we’re meant to be.
July 4, 2010
And He became The One
as we all swarmed together
in His direction
anointing our Saviour.
We, so impatient to be saved
from evil history
from slavery, hunger, hate
to make a better fate
for our kids
(and, don’t kid yourself, ourselves).
Caught up, trapped, in the trappings
of fashion, co-opted hypnotic
Drugs to cure us of our many flaws;
because if you’re not flawless you
haven’t got a chance.
In marketplace fierce competition,
a youthful escapade can ruin you
for a respectable life,
that adheres peers’ and elders’ expectations.
And then where are you?
May as well be burning in eternal
damnation — at last.
At least Satan wants you
for your sins.
In a mythical colony,
far from their petulant King,
it is said a people
fought and died, and stood their ground
It is said such pageant plays
are widely performed today.
“Freedom is not Free; but based
on blood sacrifice.” They say.
Freedom dependent on militia,
on strictly disciplined troops
firing into pregnant crowds.
Ancient wizards foretold
We will not listen.
We insist on martyrdom,
worshipping, as we do,
cults of murder.
Thus human life leads inexorably
to eternal death,
just as we demand,
when we all come together
anointing yet another One.
Freedom FOR Security
Either, by nature, you’re plagued with paranoia
Or you’ve bought pervasive propaganda.
I do understand:
It was so cheap, and in your color.
It wasn’t labeled “Propaganda.”
Sold as “News,” common knowledge,
accommodation to the norm.
And it fits your internal dialog so well
“Danger is everywhere these days of disorder,
Just like all the days
when Freedom seems such a flimsy wage,
a cheap exchange
for sham Security.
We Didn’t Know
Efficient development requires deprivement.
No profit, no playground to feel alive in.
Those few groomed for career cheer, mocking:
“Can’t you hear; that’s freedom knocking.”
“Work for rent, or stay in school, dude.”
You get no cake for being a loser.
Orwell warned “Big Brother is watching.”
We didn’t know he meant on you-tube.
We didn’t know our life was a crime
Sentenced from birth to pay all our time
Cast from the truck to the roadside to rot
Drawn outside of luck, all about what you’re not.
Media screams their revealed truth feud.
Sell saturated garbage labeled food.
Orwell warned; we were warned:
“The best of you will be co-opted.”
We didn’t know they meant on you-tube.
80’s legacy (happy Independence)
Don’t blame the GWB administration, it was Reagan and his merry crew.
Though we protested in the post-Vietnam ‘70s
hot and sure about every error
the point is, we had that luxury. Yes, there was poverty,
groups and individuals in need; but going hungry was not the penalty
for lack of a paycheck. There was real community
spirit, especially on the lower rungs, but philanthropy as well.
There was a strong foundation that made sense
and listened to well-wrought reason.
The ‘80s brought in a different paradigm,
more wide and wild. Days of cocaine,
champagne, glamour and celebration for sweet deregulation,
when every schemer
could believe a neo-capitalist vision of wealth unbound.
Before it was found that
poisonous as plutonium, in the gleeful hands of the truly greedy,
just what we
were free to become.
Since then it’s been spinning our balance off to bits of
Such harassing hatred and spitting disdain. Psychic
Cassandras said at the time, his numbers are 666.
A man possessed by
Hollywood fantasies of what we all should portray,
folie a deux with a nation.
And here are those snowy yesteryears roosting
in our rafters, laying out
the macabre future of their disaffected youth.
Who is it, really, that we as a people choose to be?
Distanced from our history,
adumbrated by convenient lies, what are our chances
July 4, 2010
When the national project was stolen before our horrified stares
When it became our duty to kill and destroy for the convenience of profit
When humane policy became anathema, unworthy economic drag
When the will of the gambling elite gamed the rule of law to their pocket
Did you scream so loud that bitter blood poured from your lungs?
Did you set up mourning camps to gather forces,
to train grief and rage into worthy opponents against true freedom’s foes?
Did you gaze into the cold eyes of propagandists and say “No!”?
Or did you march along in the parade, assured: “First they get theirs; then we get ours.”?
to paraphrase that great poet, Donald Rumsfeld: We work with the Congress we have, not the Congress we wish we had
Yes, of course we ought be fiscally responsible.
Yet of far more import is that we be rational.
Hyperbolic apoplectic, Apocalyptic rhetoric
reduces us from politic to stagey raving maniacs.
No need for such hysteria; learn from recent history.
The flagrant ways of LBJ, Reagan and GWB
found mitigation in administrations following.
The People, energized, expand instead of wallowing.
Exciting industries take hold, real worth — not hollow gold.
The conversation we as a nation need
is not a war of virtue versus greed
or capturing the rules to win a game
or playing catch with sophistry and shame.
We need to ask and answer in sobriety
Who we best can be as a society
Drunk on destruction,
to fell inclusive truths of good faith,
triumph of the crazed.
Under Lying Message
Coma Baby, salivation of ubiquitous tragedy.
Petroleum under the sea
Fissures exposed, eroded social contract.
Tell me a tale of forgiveness.
“Tough choices must be made!”
Congressional random phrases.
The difference between faith and bliss.
Engine of tar-black submarine,
leak of held back tears, grief of millennia.
I feel America crying.
Taste blood salt, polluted brine, dystopia.
The best hope for our regeneration,
for our continuity,
for our survival:
Let the race be won,
the trophy given;
the competitors disperse
aglow in glory.
While we who endure
quietly, quaintly, alive to each moment,
slip between the slicks
Revolution comes when it is ready.
Sparks so many times seem sure to light, embolden change.
Only when the tinder is sufficiently arranged will fire take hold.
Blaze clear fidelity to this erupted moment, charging forward.
After images, ash flakes in settling dark, take flight,
swirl within echoed breeze.
Readiness, relative to chaos, free range of human whim.
Revolution is but a shared anthem, parts of anger and revenge,
parts of reaching toward a new religion.
In the aftermath of violent schism,
what bright vision will sustain?
Raw, piercing howl
Dirt-framed, sore worn tracks demark possibilities,
thankful for the regularity of commerce
allowing travelers meaning.
Caged, kept from indeterminate freedom.
Irony does not escape me.
I find comfort in harsh Revelations
babbled by a shining eyed prophet.
Mad peasants and their Lords,
progress through tribulations,
power games of strategy and fate.
Millennial betrayal. Land sold from under pensioners,
savage beating of broken laborers,
children learning their worth without a home.
Is this Almighty Covenant?
Eras, tools, enemies revise.
The game journeys on.
Rising gold Sun absorbs mist.
A righteous dawn.
The smell of enduring prairie after
the train’s rushed through.
On this side of the bars,
life is slow,