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I am the wind and the stars;
I am the dust beneath your feet.
Mine is the beckoning of the tide;
To every stone I am servant.
A whisper and a song from every leaf,
My trumpet shall herald both winners and losers.
Each soul is my companion and I shall love them all.
Author of every story, sculptor of the trillions'
Landscape, my flesh is the tapestry's fiber, this blood,
First seed of life. Within each creation, all which is,
Is me, yet I am no more than any other tree.
We all are washed by same rain. With the good,
Every bad thing is mine. I am mother. I am father;
Sister and brother to every child. Sun's shine is my
Labor; each moment's rebirth my offspring. All
Earth and every other, brought by me to you,
Returns with ash and dust, dawn and dusk, to night's
Revealed elation. Slime to slime's own resurrection.
Illuminator of stars, obliterator of cold's dark, each
Heart's breath is gifted by me whose happiness is love.
Mine is every inch. Mine is every mile. All is mine and
What I have is yours'. Yours' and yours and Yours'.
Bringing all history before you to this moment,
So we may help build upon destiny's own hope.
Within all being, serving, we are within each other.
Ours is each a part of countless number whose sum
Is one, and to each has been given dominion.
In my spirit every grain shall be king, and
Every king shall be vassal to the kingdom.
Though I am all, I am small part of myself
Becoming what my maker's maker has planned.
And even he is but a moment in time's scheme.
All of us are children to our mother, whose
Mother's mother lived before she was born.
In the beginning was Beings' love for itself;
Delicate, ferocious, silent. Conjugal in
Lust for each moment's destined intention.
And every moment shall have its' own offspring,
Remembered for its self in God's heart.
Notes in hymn of her own soul's becoming,
We shall all be present. Present in all our hopes.
Present in all our deeds. We shall all be present with all
Our feelings in every moment with all its' meanings.
Together with all the land beneath every sky,
All souls shall touch upon one another
Within the embrace of a mother who loves us all.
I am the root. I am the stem. I am all the leaves.
Everything is mine and I am yours; morning's open
Flower, sun upon waters fallen from thunder's storm.
Among rustled branches, sparkle of joy's spawn returns
Tomy glee. Mountains shall wash away, but
Patience shall restore to the wind her message.
No side shall be forgotten. Every atom will know.
Our song shall be sung by all forever, so
Harmonize amongst unison within our chorus.
Give your self and I'll sing your sweet melody. Plant
These seeds, and fruits borne shall return with seasons.
Time has been nourished to bring you here, and I
Pray for your good blessing. Each has been bestowed
Love's kiss, and with each I shall share my harvest.
All have been included in my plan, and we go forth
Together; wealthy with beauty's wisdom. History's all
Has brought you through eternity to be in this time's place.
Embrace your destiny and be what you intend.
I am with you all the way and shall take
What you were beyond your own ending.
No thing is lost, preserving all among the families.
Within you, I am your own servant.
An asperity of strange faces gropes
Toward a dry riverbed in the sand
Whose anticipation is an erroneous
Memory of hunger's thirst. Unlikely
Collections of assorted limbs flee
Blackened craters of their own design
With intentions of starting anew.
Green pastures, trammeled by heavy feet,
Swallowed by insatiable desire's want, are
Paved to make way for rural life's chimera,
Threatening quietude's extinction by complaint's
Clamoring tongues, demanding more, doing less,
Garbling work of hands, offering rhyme's advice
Without tools or help for arthritic fingers.
New highways carry refugees from camp to camp,
Building exit without pausing to consider destination.
Unable, paralyzed by dearth of volition's conclusion.
In wake of retreating army's constructions,
Plague of noxious insect's fester spawn,
Claiming as their legacy, refuse of humanity's
Receding fortunes. Disease hovers over horizon.
Awaiting its' chance in night's november.
Concealed by shadows of a southern march, abandoned
Old men fish barren streams, unhampered by expectation.
Anesthetized, hope's victim feels no pain,
Submitting to the clean hands of a surgeon
Whose guild papers hang in another room.
Sutured flesh does not bleed but becomes
Pale before the shock of an intruder who
Counts money's cash before closing wound.
Nothing will attenuate the misery of a land
Burdened by embrace of greed's faithless love,
Unfettered, unchecked, applauded and rewarded,
Giving our own accolade, taking what we can.
Church bells are ringing within closing spaces.
Mosaic illusion's window, shifting adoration of sand;
Subterranean monasteries feed open-hearth furnace
Tears of a mother sucked dry by her grown children.
Blinded by their own light, prophets follow finance
Down profits' blooded muddy nave. Applauded,
As an aging usurer rereads his ledgers with pride.
Trees, surviving many winters, are burned
To sustain warmth of final season's pleasure.
Worn weary without destination, old women beg, but
Receive only sweepings of morning's fresh new hunger.
Viscous premonition clings to the rock of all ages,
Foreshadowing the godhead's eventual decay, and
Night's time beneath the surface of silence without
Despair's hyperbolic reflections of broken glass.
Pollution and disease prepare salvation's arrival,
Just in time to save Earth from its human creatures.
Yes, the pope is Catholic,
And bears do shit in the woods.
The foot is bigger than the toe,
And it's a greedy worm so late
To be caught by the early bird.
Convincing a horse to drink is easy.
Making him wear a bathing suit is hard.
While a weed may bend and an oak may break,
When storm ends, a weed is just a weed.
This hunger must go on swallowing its
Prey. Life becomes a collection of loose
Ends as I wander ever farther from shore,
Against the Tide, seeking new hunt's sea
Where not yet known, my name's infamy.
In every ocean's place my presence is intruder.
Smell of appetite's own lust is frightful, yet
Who is wet cannot resist feasting of these teeth.
Seascape's ravenous ravager, my arrival is
Bane to them with life's own, disappointed.
Solitude accompanies this shadow. I have
No brother whose flesh is not my food. What
Tastes good does not escape. Going where I
Want secure, knowing that where there's life,
There shall always be food for me.
Oh, you human creatures who
Having vanquished all great monsters
Spread your dominion o'er land's skin.
You who are king of the beasts,
God of all the animals, beware, the
World was not created in your image.
No dinosaur is safe from the cold.
In the midst of your prosperity,
Myriad has turned its' own against you.
Approaching humanity's december unaware,
Winter's stealth shall diminish yours'.
Yet forth from killer seed shall come
She, whose child's descendents will hunt
Last of your kind for museum and zoo.
Prepare for the next King of Beasts!
Before aspiring to lead governments
Learn to deal with plumbing. Keep your
Own fingers crossed, sweating, frightened,
Looking across parched crops, hoping rain
Will come in time to bring the mortgage money.
Or stay up all night welding mud legs,
And get mugged as you're ready to leave.
When you can pour steel, let us know.
So we can let you try machining it to a few ten-
Thousandths. You be responsible for the scrap.
Nobody needs a senator who can't fix automatic
Transmissions. Don't forget to change filters
Before replacing oil. Maybe you like picking fruit.
Good. After a year in lettuce, try watermelon.
Report to us concerning your years in the field.
Remember, every septic tank must eventually be
Pumped, and drains should be snaked each year.
After you've collected the trash, we will follow you.
Bleeding Ishtar, daughter of Tammuz's sweat,
mother
of your son, thy lover,
suckle me at your breast for I too am child.
Ever growing Tammuz, son of thy daughter, and
brother
from between Ishtar's legs,
fill me with fortitude of thy scepter, and
teach
me wisdom of your tools.
All three together, we shall open the land.
I am fallen.
My people are perished from this land,
And the Gods who sent me are killed
Because of me who was chosen from birth
To be champion of their cause.
But had I seen to step aside;
So much depended on me,
This foolish victim of treachery.
Had I placed my hands upon him,
What I would have done!
But no, I am fallen, and
My people no longer inhabit their place.
Words of prophets are lies.
The sun returns not to my soil
And I am villain, perpetrator of this failure.
Though gone to hell, I pray in final deed
That Gods who remain take mercy upon my people,
Whose only sin was to entrust their fate to me.
God, have you considered that
None but you is a match for Satan?
All of the best will fall
When that left hand pushes from behind.
Let us take hold of your arm,
Or better yet, call him off.
Teach Him to be good.
Arm us to resist, or negotiate.
We can only lose without you.
Why must we fight? Please
Declare heaven now.
And it's been too many songs
With not enough
lines,
and no one left
to sing.
Too many miles
With nothing to
show,
and nothing left
to bring.
Ah, but sometimes the night
Speaks of loves
I have known,
and the stars
seem to whisper my name.
Then I know it's not in vain,
Those songs I
have squandered.
Those paths I
have wandered
For they all have led me back to where I am.
And if this road I call my own way
Keeps on moving
without end,
And all the words I've spoken
Simply fade into
the wind,
I still will have the memories of a man who's traveled far,
And in my scattered dreams will be the memories of a star.
But I still can't help but wonder if this life is worth its
cost;
All that I've forsaken and all that I have lost.
For it seems I never have the time to reap that which I sow;
Never had the chance to wait and watch my family grow.
And it's been too many songs
With not enough
lines,
and no one left
to sing.
Too many miles
With nothing to
show,
and nothing left
to bring.
Ah, and sometimes the doubts
of tomorrow chill
my soul,
and I wonder of
the things I left behind.
Then my wanderings seem aimless
and I long to
return home,
Long to be with
those I love,
But wonder if it's time.
And I question why this freedom
Is a weight which
I must bear.
Wonder if the wealth I seek
Was left behind
somewhere.
For I still recall the passions of a morning I once knew.
Still can hear the echoes of a promise long ago.
Ah, but what's the use of questioning those bridges I have
burned,
For with the advent of the dawn there's one thing I have learned.
I'm a man who loves this highway; no one place can be my home.
And with the leaves upon the wind, across this life I'll roam.
Seems I've been away too long.
Seems that they forgot my song.
Seems I've been away too long,
And all has passed and gone.
Thought that I was coming home.
Guess that I was meant to roam.
Thought that I was coming home,
But the highway is my womb.
Now all that remains are my memories;
Memories of whom I'd hoped to be.
Yes, all that remains are my memories;
Ah, but what I've been is still all right by me.
Wonder why I had to leave;
Destiny and make believe.
Wonder why I had to leave,
And why did I return?
Thought that they would take my hand.
Thought that they could understand.
Thought that we could all hold hands,
But the house has fallen down.
Oh, I once believed in eternity,
But the autumn winds blew ashes in my face.
Oh yes, I once believed in eternity.
Perhaps if I survive this cold we'll yet embrace.
Spent my fortunes being big,
Got so high, forgot to dig.
Spent my fortune being big.
A big man falls so hard.
Those who win can't help but lose,
Yet every step you've got to choose.
Those who win can't help but lose, and
It's a sad clown down the road.
And it's no good to stay in a place that's gone.
Only fools lament those dreams which never came.
It's no good to be in a love that's gone,
But it's a greater fool who wouldn't feel this pain.
Seems I've been away too long.
Seems that they forgot my song.
Seems I've been away too long,
And like a ghost I'm gone.
Pack my bags and catch a ride.
Find a place that's on my side.
Pack my bags and catch a ride
Toward the town where I was born.
Still I know that there's good times in back of me,
'Cause the path I've walked is one that had to be.
And I still hope for warm days I'm going to see,
'Cause the picture in my pocket is a photograph of me.
They pull the wire, cut you off and
hit your head, bringing you
into the world as a nail. Not any particular nail, except insofar
as
you belong to a certain type, just one amongst many, indistinguishable
even to yourself. Initially you are happy or at least comfortable.
Nothing
seems to matter very much. You lie in a barrel filled with other
nails, same
class and size, telling yourself stories. Content of these tales
cannot of course
concern you, but though you can't understand them, all you can
do is listen,
their redundancy becomes your main subject of interest. At this
stage you are
blind even to silence.
In the beginning you don't even know you're
a nail, but gradually this
changes. Though they too are silent, you eventually find yourself
distracted by
clattering of other nails around you. They also tell themselves
stories. Though
incomprehensible, you realize that these stories are different
from your own, and
this precipitates great confusion. Formerly, you had considered
your story to be
the story of the entire barrel, but confronted with the unintelligibility
of other
stories, you are forced to modify this hypothesis. Naturally,
you do this with great
reluctance, clinging to earlier misconceptions, whose comforts
you are hesitant to
relinquish. Circumstance nevertheless compels you to do so, and
the innocent
simplicity of childhood succumbs to reality's inevitable pressure.
You find yourself faced with the task
of resolving contradiction of other stories.
But in this endeavor you are seriously handicapped by limits of
mental inability, for
at this level you have not yet learned to differentiate between
individual nails. Your
awareness is limited to knowledge of a nebulous homogeneity of
nails in general, and
up to this point, you have assumed yourself to be all nails. The
facts, however, are
incompatible with this viewpoint, so you try to disregard them.
Refusing to listen,
you tell yourself that there are no other stories, but though
you don't hear them,
clattering of other nails becomes irresistibly distracting. Forced
to admit existence
of these stories, you attempt to retreat from their otherness
by telling yourself that
they are merely different versions of your own, but this sham
does not hold up for very
long, and you are forced to inexorable conclusion that your own
story has been changed.
Little by little you come to concede a divisibility of the world
on the basis of stories.
Still, you don't know yourself as a nail,
thinking yourself instead to be only a
particular story. But by now your powers of observations have
heightened and you
gradually come to notice things. Though they cannot be understood,
you learn to
recognize similarities between stories, your own included. This
is at once comforting
and a source of annoyance. Of greater significance however, is
fear, for you have
noticed by now the apparent disappearance of other stories, and
having unwittingly
acquired the power of induction, you recognize the possibility
of your disappearance,
though it seems inconceivable that your story should end when
it has always seemed
interminable. Stumbling unintentionally into the realm of metaphysics,
all vestiges of
self-assurance are lost forever.
Where's the boat!!!
When there's nothing
But swells and horizon,
And where the anchor was.
Where's the boat?
When you don't know
Which way to swim, far
Beyond sight of land.
"How could this be happening?"
As you swim in circles
Until a swell brings you up
And you see it, the sweet yacht
That brought you to this lousy ocean.
And you swim like hell
With your face in the water,
Kicking and stroking with aching
Limbs, as fire in your lungs
Becomes debt of entire body.
But you must keep swimming
As you lift your head to see
The boat in the distance, drifting,
Slowly away from you.
"Where's the boat!" You shout,
But they do nothing and
As your body slows down, you wonder
Whether you're getting closer or farther away,
Remembering sharks feed again before night.
But you must keep swimming,
Until you find yourself moving
With the current and closing slowly
Upon the life haven, scumbag boat.
It becomes the steady work
Of your enslaved body until
Rewarded, you clamber over
Portside into the boat where
You vomit again and again
As you look at the muddy anchor and
Your friends, dead drunk asleep,
Dreaming. Dreaming tequila dreams.
Swinging like a monkey from woman to woman,
My arms grew strong, but callous hands lose
Touch, and a dead limb felled me from the trees.
Forest's floor is peopled by heavier beasts, and I
Have learned to hide amongst the brambles,
Making me nearsighted; thorns obscuring all horizon.
Senses quicken to smell of death's potential. It's
Hard to walk on two slow legs. Here, survival is
Grim, yet from this ground no branch avails return.
Sustenance was a problem at first. Fruits to which
Accustomed are rotted by time they reach this level.
Gradually, I have learned to kill, though first was
Accidental. Starving, I stumbled on a carcass;
Flesh of fate's own fortune. Last maggot eaten,
I chowed down on their fare; pungent luck's repose.
But gradually, I have learned to kill, taking destiny by the
Tail. Small animals are easy, tearing with hands and teeth.
Ever more clever, for larger ones, I have devised tools.
My mind has been changed by salt of blood. The
Smell of carrion is always upon me and society is
Forbidden those creatures who devour their all.
Yet everything coalesces about this hunger
Whose own kind is far away. Solitude's
Imaginings dream night's voracious darkness.
Transfiguration is an accursed wisdom unloved,
Watched unspoken from within great distance. In
Divine image squandered, sapiens seeks same and preys.
God throws a wicked curve ball, and do
I have to tell you how his fast pitch rises?
The guy is tougher than Koufax,
and He throws a mean bean ball.
His earned run average is zero, giving
No hits, and who would call ball four?
It's only the hard way to first where you
Get picked without taking a lead.
The game is no fun when he throws hard.
I've tried other sports, but
Imagine him as a middle linebacker.
Better to go to the hospital first
than to try running with the ball.
Against the pass he's like lightening;
So what if your open downfield…
He'll wait till it's almost in your hands
Before snatching it into his own. And how would you
Like to try tackling God alone in the open field?
Basketball is a joke against someone
Who jumps higher than you can see.
Divine intervention guides every shot
Over and around your defenses.
God doesn't need to foul,
But he does it anyway, and referees
Are afraid to call against Him.
My eyes have been gouged and hands
Broken without even touching the ball.
Love is impossible when someone
Whispers slanders in every girls ear.
Expect disappointment and he won't let you down.
God, spare me hope, but never;
Each heartbreak spawns new mirages,
Deadly, but irresistible to one whose
Loneliness reaches every horizon.
God never keeps his appointments,
Yet lurks around every street corner,
Waiting to bleed me with his unsharpened knife.
Why, lover, must you sing so blue?
If it never entered my mind,
Surely it has not departed but remains
Where it has always belonged with
You could make me so happy
But squander it all on flowers.
Yet I sit here waiting for you,
Listening for an upbeat note, dreaming
Dreams which never come true.
Hector Priamides, you are avenged.
Who rode your bones in the dust, soon
Gave up too what was his own, and who
Stole the lives of your people, returned to
Harvest misfortune. For what they took
Could not be held and so they were taken away.
It is sad that might of right is so slow, but
Sure that it is also certain. It can be long
Before same wind returns to same place, but
Memory's intention reaches beyond mortality's
Plea. Weary with wounds, who would not
Run from sword of God? Yet who would take
Prey upon such victim whose place was with
His people and earth which brought their harvest.
Who watched from Olympus is now relegated to
Myth's polite, erudite sophisticated humor. You
Have many friends Hector, both perished and
Living today. Know that tide of centuries has
Restored your people to their place.
There are no vacancies in paradise.
Let me tell you, I've checked it out,
and the dollar sign on that blue door
Has plenty of zeroes after the one, yet
If you wish to speak with the princess,
You'll have to pay the price, but don't think
Money can buy what you want. You've got to be a
Nasty son of a bitch to reach heaven in this world.
A person can kick and bite, but unless he draws real
Blood, he hasn't got a chance. How many
Victims does it take to really reach the top?
A matter of style and luck perhaps, but twelve
Seems to be the minimum. Yet once you make it, it's
Worth it, for no one is more respected than
The accomplished bloodsucker and thief.
And esteem is the highest virtue.
For those nice guys who finish last,
There shall always be plenty of work.
Someone must clean the toilet for those whom
Shit in the street. Who can begrudge an occasional
Bone?…so long as they keep their place…
Just don't let them ask for steak or women.
The established order should not be questioned, and
Reward should not be expected by those whom the villains spare.
In another time things might have been different, but
Don't even bother to think what you were once told.
THEY COME IN BLUE DRESSES WITH RIBBONS,
SPEAKING WITH FAIR SWEET VOICES OF
POLITICS, PAINTINGS, LOVE SONGS AND DREAMS.
HEART WITH PULSE OF A BIRD. WHITE IS HER COLOR.
AND SHE USES IT.
SO SOFTLY ARE STRINGS PULLED.
TUNED TO FINE MUSIC, HER HAND
HAS THE POWER TO GIVE WHAT YOU WANT.
AND YOU TAKE IT.
SO THE BARGAIN IS SAUNTERED. LOVE,
SEX AND MONEY. FURNITURE, SOFT HAND JOBS,
CHILDREN. YOU WORK FOR YOUR HOME AND FAMILY.
AND IT'S A GOOD DEAL.
YOU TRADE A LITTLE OF YOUR SOUL
TO GET WHAT YOU REALLY WANT. NOTHING
FEELS BETTER THANT THE LOVE OF A WOMAN.
INSIDE HER IS OUR DEEPEST JOY.
AND YOUR SATISFIED.
IF SHE STEALS FROM YOUR POCKET,
SHE LET'S YOU HAVE IT FOR FREE.
AND A GOOD ONE IS A GOOD ONE
NO MATTER WHERE IT'S COMING. UNTIL
MORNING MAKES NIGHTIME ITS OWN MOTHER
FATHERING BICKERINGS LIKE BOTTLES OF BEER
LEFT FOR TOO LONG IN THE SUN.
WET EFFERVESCENCE TURNS TO FOAM
AND YOU WONDER
WHY TRUE LOVE COULD NEVER BE.
Woeful regret for losses of things never possessed
Haunts me in the evanescent despair of daydreams.
All beings slip alongside their possibilities,
Borne away by dissembling gales of time.
To what abyssal realm are dead leaves carried, and
Who is to contain my remorse for what will never be.
Tears stain barren rock, which is this legacy,
Falling from high ground eroded of soil.
Oh, all that could have been but has faded
Before colorless smoke of a fire without warmth.
Ashes cover the land. These feet
Tread shrouded path of explorers who never return.
Withered trees across this landscape,
Perverse concoctions of a malevolent god,
Bend beneath weight of suffering starvations.
Absence of aged marks progress of not too distant reaper.
Toward cessation of themselves is direction of all gropings
but
Tenacity of misery impedes them. At night we crawl into sleep,
Grateful for our blindness to stench and slime within us.
Mornings resume our wanderings across dry featureless plains.
The wind is my only companion.
We are beaten upon the anvil,
Red hot with heavy mallets
Formed. But some do not bend,
I am broken. Broken by the Hammer.
Shattered, my little pieces recycled,
Melted in the furnace and recast.
Remade by the Fire, I
Am a blade which cuts the wood.
And the wood goes in the Fire.
I'm a tool used for what I don't want.
He sharpens me and I am used,
Used to cut wood for His Fire.
Strange eternal bird,
Toward what shore do you fly?
Are your colors black or white,
Harbinger of entropy's intention?
Is your chaos numbered, or
Are you the final word?
Fly away!
Servant of black holes and empty spaces.
Let cold vacuity be yours, but leave,
Who is bane to all who has not fallen.
Though all be taken from us, Eternity's
Patience shall again wrest Being from you.
How many miles will it be till we see
The shores between oceans and lands?
How many years will it be till we learn
That everything follows the sand?
How many cuts will it take till we find
That flesh has been pared to the bone?
How many paths must we wander until
One of them returns us to home?
The hours of our lives slowly slip away,
Each moment is another toward the edge.
And tides that comprise what remains
Of our lives, slowly begin to ebb.
Where will you go when the snow starts to fall?
How will you keep yourself warm?
Who knows where the wind goes when it blows away?
But who's to say that it's gone?
How many slanders have prophets endured
Before people learned they were right?
How many wounds can this weary flesh bear
Before it succumbs to the night?
Where will it be when the end claims its due
And the sun sets to never return?
How many times must we repeat our mistakes
Before we are willing to learn?
Power we once knew slips slowly from our grasp.
Each moment is another toward the dearth.
Wealth which was our own is squandered on our folly.
It's time to join and heal the wounds of Earth.
So go your own way but remember to pray
For the child of the child of today.
Yes, live your own way but remember to pay
For the child of the child of today.
If nice guys finish last,
Put me at the end of the line.
No matter how long the wait,
Oh, what a day when I enter heaven!
New tide, do not deceive me. I
Swim upstream to await your rising.
Come gently with your message,
Yet be firm. Do not destroy but
Employ your enemies to hard work
In cause where we are all united,
Striving toward good purpose. Wash
Away what isn't pleasing, softening these
Creatures, so they may live without abrasion.
Yet, if authority is based only upon threat,
Let your axe fly to show where it really
Lies. Humility you teach shall be
Appreciated by survivors. Cast stone
Without sin that Earth shall inherit meek.
And so, highway's end comes to this moment
Without friends, without lovers; no money.
Touched only by darkness of night's invisible horizon,
Solitude' companion; what footsteps led this path?
Recollections stand apart from exit's destination.
Evaporated dreams, scarce as argon,
Ameliorated by crosswinds' hot and cold,
Wash into deliquescent evening untraced.
Where do they bury lost hope,
Carried without echo away by the tide?
The course of a river is maelstrom
For upstream intentions - let pipers scavenge shore.
No one cares for scars of hands remaining.
Pity children who inherit this sand,
And pray for generations thereafter.
More is shared through torn pockets of paupers
Than animals' skinned handbags of wealthy. It is
No coincidence that slave's songs have taken
Tender white ear into bondage, for tribute
They must pay, shall be their dearest seashells.
Time is an acrobat, turning history around and over,
But how slow does a mountain spread its self across
Abyssal plain's subsidence; sediment subsumed, rises
Once again. Does vision's grain restored, being, come
To longer view, or too disdain stain of soil's accretion?
No thing seems bright in time and place approaching
December's doomed morphosis. Rains iced, fallen;
Wash faces grown unfamiliar, gaunted by fatigue, as
Vegetarian money eaters roam the avenue, consuming
Utopian dreamers. No love comes without purchase.
My country is dying, with only niggers to save it,
Who have broken my heart already so many times.
With little hope, I go on toward destiny's conclusion.
Miss America,
So Long Mainlining Sweetheart
Last days in the park:
Miss America how I loved you,
But your mind has grown stupid from T.V.
And fast food has made you lazy.
I am the fool who should have warned you
But smoking reefer arrived too late.
Great sex isn't what it used to be.
Ghost Dancers don't sell out for trinkets.
Before that debt is through, within the
Fortification of what church must we await
Demise? For surely indigent housewife,
You know what they'll take if you don't pay.
So paint yourself colors and dye your hair.
Get out and turn a few tricks before dawn.
Start eating your eggs without bacon,
Saving that money for the demon
Who comes by every month to
Collect the rent on your soul.
Oh Miss America! Where did you go wrong,
Who was my sweetest childhood lover?
Why did you give that good pussy to men of greed,
Who fucked your ass for twenty-five cents a gallon?
For a little bit of sparkle, you spent your people's
Dream. So now you're the president of a giant
Vending machine company, selling prefabricated
Food, clothing, shelter and hope. But money
Can't save your face forever, or lift your drooping butt.
Look into the hazy sunset. Get thee to a nunnery, Bitch!
Sweet Justice, blow your trumpet.
Priests of Law have stolen the bodies of niggers
And killed the owners of this land.
Everywhere, they have plundered, destroying
Who would resist their thievery,
Using in vain the name of God
For purposes of taxation. Hear
Tarzan's call to his elephants. Resurrect
Sitting Bull. Let Ghost Dancers tickle
Under the arms of Atlas. Guarantee
Predatory self-serving righteousness its
Reward, bringing diarrhea and death by
Scotch and Powder. Make their children stupid.
Give their minds over to the victims,
Taking their women by musical laughter,
Servants of Ancient Inca Revenge. The
Shade of slavery can be subtle. Weave
Your net with open mesh, but Please,
Let each reap according to what he has sown.
If the road to hell is paved with
Good intentions, who is responsible for
Signposts which make this a one way street,
Downhill, no turns permitted, 40 M.P.H.
Minimum Speed. What enforcement removed
The brakes and closed all exits
But the last one, how many miles away?
Who have killed their fathers, enslaving her
Sons to toil, whose reward is only more toil.
In ceaseless endeavor to succor and survive,
One by one, each of your heroes fall
Until frostbitten fingers of little boys
Cannot hold back the cold water.
Bury the bones of Ajax, whom you have driven
to grief, and wonder why the world is so
Unsteady. Be surprised without caring that it's
Ending, secure from heroism nibbling cheese,
From moment to moment your mouth always
Full of jingle and pop song. Who are you to
Know? Yet no one forgets that our ancient
Ancestors were rodents. People is the funniest
Animals. It's lucky we was smart enough
To be so big but it don't pay to be big
No more. Kings get chopped and presidents shot,
The middle class killed for a few nights
Out of the cold. Stand by your door
From the inside. Cochise has crowned Geronimo.
Too late your prayers of atonement. We wait
to see what you don't do, who are your enemies
Feasting upon the seed of your inheritance.
I once had a castle. I built it of sand,
But the tide came and washed it away.
I once had a dream but I'll just have to wait.
Wait for another day…
Walking along the highway,
Neath shadows of coming rain,
I've come to conceive that all I believed
Was only a chance deception.
Pursued by my doubts I follow the wind,
Aimless, but not without direction.
Where will nighttime leave me:
Between soft thighs or a ditch?
All that I know is that what I know
Will someday be known again, and
What I have sown shall someday regrow
Though harvested by the reaper.
So sweet darkness, consume me.
Make what once was mine your own.
When the night comes, just whisper my name.
Call me and I will follow. Though
Struggle and dream all be in vain,
Take my hopes on toward tomorrow.
There the new day shall know me
Though it not recall my name: and it's
Faith in new days that call me my way
Though I be not one to see them.
For children I pray to find the right way to
Herald their own child's ascension.
Each grain of sand washed by the sea
Touches on every shore. Passed
Dreams forgotten come back around.
Seeds planted shall flower once more.
So take me on past this horizon
And erase all that I ever knew.
I know a new tide is rising.
Though it pass me, it's coming to you.
Mother of many generations,
Daughter of Esau who loved the shepherd,
I am your son who has come to call
All tribes together once more.
Many hands have touched me, and
What is spoken is what has been told.
I am who God made to help
Bring promise of flesh to fruition.
And I am failed.
All evil falls upon me
Who gambled more than his own and lost.
Heedless of warning, by selfish device
I am vanquished, this champion of our people.
Defeated victim of wonton stupidity and
Greed's own ugly betrayal, in deep
Lamentation, I await justice praying
That my damnation restores God's Grace.
Upon that day even
Those as myself who are fallen,
Shall look up and rejoice.
For upon that day so brightly
Clear, all eyes shall open,
Recognizing work of God.
Even we who have sinned
Shall find place in that plan.
America, you must gather yourself together
For your time of troubles is approaching.
Too late now to step aside. Yet,
Even as your prosperity has spawned disease,
So, may your agonies give rise to new health.
For if you are prepared to reach out
In that crucial time, all the world will hearken
To your new song. What is genuinely given
Returns as the years fold people and places into history.
Consider its message, who goes beyond us,
Before deciding which way to turn. Do not
Spend in foolishness what was given for you to
Pass on. Though punishment may be due your sins,
Atonement is not beyond reach. Learn from mistakes
But don't let them shake your resolve. Go back
To your original good intentions strong in tooling,
For when the time comes, it will take money
To spread words and workings of destiny's hope.
Put away what isn't needed now, for it will be needed
Later. Less suffering is better then more,
And it shall become your power to redeem,
If your own soul may rise from subsumption.
What you do will be watched as the dogs begin
To eat each other. What is not perfect
Cannot last and so there can be no peace
Till agreement has reached all people. Within
The forest, an idea's gamete awaits its season
To grow into friendship's harmony between all people.
Though you are lonely in your persistence, unrewarded,
What the tide takes to gestation, returns by convection's wind
To the mountain. As we prepare to cross our dessert, let
Taste of without become our guide toward oasis
Whose water finds fertile soil in the caldera's ash.
America, planted amongst your chaos is seed of both trees.
Singer of Justice,
Drink me of your wine.
Make me know
Who you are.
For my sin was known
to me and yet I gambled.
Punish me my full.
Evil's blame is mine.
Yet lighten this burden, please.
Woman, use your scales:
I am but a mother's son who
Loved you unfaithful but truly.
Remember smell of grass and me
Making love to you in the stars.
I beg you to pain me
No more than I alone may bear.
Do not visit these sins upon children.
Teach them to be better than me.
Ask your sisters to be generous with love.
All guilt is with me, and I am departed.
Walk amongst my people.
Speak with them plainly:
They long to be with you.
Share your song with them.
Because mine are a desert people,
Grown by long suffering accustomed to heat,
He made me an engineer and put me to work
Building a highway between heaven and hell.
They told me it was nearly finished and
The pay was so good that I took it,
Not realizing just how hot it could be.
As each mile closer becomes more expensive,
It's still such a long ways down, and
So much farther from life's own love.
Given best equipment, yet no assistant
Chosen remains this fall, and I
Survey Hell's own foothills alone,
Digging and pouring concrete with nothing but
Slow progress and toil's perspiration for reward.
Vacation is long overdue, but I am
Appointed to await my replacement, and
Personnel says a good man is hard to find.
But from here hauling rock for smooth pavement,
I cannot remain good much longer, and wonder as I
Wane, "Is final mile beginning or end of road?"
Iridescent maggots feasting upon burning words
Far beyond satiety of another time's remorse
With no advantage, but passing impression of greed's
Warmth, self effacing imperative of all ambitions,
Are the fires consuming dismembered trees who
Burn against gray skies of a withered season, seducing
Imagination with infertile lugubrious moisture's vapor.
The tide of these years moves on.
Winter's dark cold yaw echoes the frozen storm,
Singing nay time's dirge as glaciers creep downstream.
Across open spaces wind blows unimpeded. Anon.
Fastidious keepers of darkness attend their lanterns,
Pausing beneath the altar before spitting up all their bones.
From shroud to shroud they move upon feet of many hungers,
Indigent guardians of the palimpsest's deepest layers.
Inscriptions upon sand succumb to time's erosion but
Return to haunted sleeper as hopes of an ancestor's sleep.
Cast bells of steel ring the liturgies of chance.
Ubiquitous murmurings suckle on a voluptuous breast.
A lone hand within the spire finds resonance
When there is harmony between melody and season.
Spending its preservations, seedling takes nourishment
From decomposing remains. Morning hearkens the thaw.
Beneath receding adumbration, new living is rekindled.
Feeding upon flesh of passed brethren; prayer is.
Unspoken, countless is the tide of all direction, whose
Unity sunders its self, becoming many in each of its' own.
Its place in this universe is small, but ours is a patient,
Faithful star, adorning earth with life's own consummation.
Bringing forth flower whose seed sustains and returns us,
Engines of the world sing leaves. Every line is fortune's rubric.
Animals, vegetables, energies and minerals; together within
One World. Spirit knows Being in every octave and harmony
Whose music recalls memory beyond trace. New mountains
Rise from ocean floor to touch winds of future's history.
Bugle and blossom call upon our children's children.
Great ascensions require much climbing, yet sweet manna comes
From work upon dreams of home amongst stars beyond tomorrow.
Autumn, come you back to me.
Mother of sleeping child unborn,
I try for another year to help be father.
Please give my heart strength to carry,
Longing to do as intended. Direct me.
Bring me wife or send me with the wind.
Either path, I shall faithfully follow.
Know me as a son and choose.
Above all, I love you and your sisters
But was put here to be one of my people.
Share your love with them,
And I shall become what you want.
Take me back to the flowers,
I am your truest lover,
But if I must perish, please use me.
Let your own good news be known.
I am grateful for the years
And trust the coming seasons.
My sorrows and joys are full.
Much has been shared with me:
Be it that what I've had be given.
Thank you for blue stars of clear night.
Hear these prayers and bless the child.
Anonymous and unseen, I and the soldier
Who shovel shit from your back yard,
To no applause. Naked and neglected,
With only my shovel for love.
I dig through the freezing rain
To keep you who abuse me warm.
Food of your table is touched by me,
Yet from me you turn away.
Who are you to know?
This soul is not sold for money.
I till the soil of His land.
Let eaters take all from this planter of seed.
No bone is needed for me who will soon pass on.
This name will not appear.
Its face shall be one with the wind.
But not lost beyond ending.
Forsaken sacrificed pawn,
Your dreams become true each day.
Tending the leaf, watching fruits ripen,
Who is richer than one who knows?
Though its self be sundered by grief,
Hearing the sound of those trumpets,
Sharing with that chorus one note,
Is a blessing worth all of the fire of hell.
Happiness of who we feed is ours.
A wanderer following shadow's memory into future
Arrives upon sunset's conscious morphosis. Knowing
Tide is wealth for stones who are washed by the sea.
Night is a connection between days, and vegetation
Flourishes beyond the edge. Chemistry orchestrates
Harmony's growing music, inspiring history with life
Whose melody is its own destination, calling upon lovers
To be inside her forever, singing dreams of what is true.
And that echo persists beyond sound. All which has been is
Ineffable. Journeys of eternity's circle bring memory
To a place which is now in all time. With every other fiber
We are woven within the tapestry. Earth gives its own
Flesh to this brethren, feeding our hungers with her self.
Who are we that love her face and then pass like morning's dew?
Spirit harnesses both sides of life's trajectory,
Seeding the fields with elation and decomposition.
Risen from stone, we are with wind and water in sun's light,
Reaching toward sky with everlasting love, wealthy, and
Returning with the seasons, grateful, each to our own place.
Every sparrow is history. All shall be written and known.
Fallen trees nourish seeds, which rise to become new chapters.
Within promise of its own demise, each fruit bears
Ancient magic of species, and hope for all tomorrows.
To see within the many is way to revelation
Of eyes beheld by countless light
Gleaming in sparkle of other eyes dreaming,
Castles of hope for tomorrow's seed:
Optimism of meiosis, generosity of mitosis,
Joys of chloroplasts and mitochondria at work!
What a nucleus knows goes forth
Borne by wind and creatures of its' feedings.
Many perish in winter. Histories return to
Soil frozen unconscious. Cold can be bitter
Silence upon memory, but within the strand is
Written every song and recollection of love's own
Connection between species and land. Each
Being gives blood for its passage, Becoming
Ever present in its shit and the starlight.
Pigs are like us from the inside. Every sparrow
Is history, and we must share our pages, lest
Prosperity's greed grow toxic. Mighty is the myriad
Harmonizing to bring each day to you who are so lucky.
Tune in and spend that music wisely.
Solar tide recedes, stranding heedless passed.
Survivors stealth against winter's deadly
Yawn. Streets empty in darkness as
Glaciers creep downstream. From its sharp side,
Natural harmony's reaper swings through all
Creatures, humbling survivors with afflictions fear.
Where there are no windows, swathed and swaddled,
Next season's seed is planted and the cradle rocks.
Burned and fallen, ashes dissolve into restoration.
Deep within the forest are places we leave untouched.
Precious wood is growing whose flower celebrates fallen
Sunshine and redemption of moldering leaves.
Woman, Do not make love to me
With rings upon your hand.
Though master of metal and stone,
My flesh is tender, and though I
Respect you, it is your softness I desire,
Longing to swim deep in warm
Water where no storm threatens
Paradise with echoes of other
Times or places to go. Sometimes
Slow is less safe than certain as
Life becomes a gamble upon reaching a
Distant shore, where we shall be last in line.
Though drowning against odds upstream,
I am grateful for shelter in God's harbors,
Where I have worshipped love devoutly,
Embracing thick in tender, sharing
Smiles and wet kisses where they belong.
Do not pull me under with your schemes.
Now That I Have Found You
A
song for Billie Holiday
Don't want to leave you.
Won't want to leave you.
Now that I've received you
into
my arms.
Please don't ever go away.
I want to have you every day.
And by your side I'm going to stay.
Take me into your life.
I never will deceive you.
I always will believe you.
Make what you want of me,
Baby
I'm yours.
I just want to stick with you.
Just want to get to do
All I'm supposed to do.
Love you, honey, love only you.
There is no place I would like to go,
If you're not there, honey, I'll just say no.
I only want to feel your touch,
To have your lips upon me, lovin' me so much.
Look in my eyes baby, you'll see you.
Love me lover. Love me true.
Each day and every night,
Don't have to dream with you holding me tight.
Don't want to leave you.
No, I'll never leave you.
I have received you into me
Man
of my life.
Removed of anthropomorphic bullshit,
Pagan crosses, idolatrous temples and
Succulent meat barbecued by rabbis,
God remains our storehouse of gratitude.
Elohim Adonois Allah, fruitful is this
Orchard. Where sky is not far, rain
Flourishes chemistry's beneficence,
Adorning Earth's own living flesh,
Evolving within its' own story, geologic
Epic. Thank light for privilege raising
Us from soil to see this life; To be
Amongst the myriad within this very moment,
Prefaced by all history and presaging
Every time to come. Rich with humility's
Power, where every story is illumined
By light of every star, no cup is empty
Who sees manna within ancient stone. Ours is
Prayer's answer, blessed with opportunity to
Tend the root and joy to be amongst
Leaves of Earth's own pasture; and when
Abscission recalls us to our dust, wealth of
Love will be passed on in that storehouse.
Between darkness and morning's skin,
Planet's vacillation, pendulum's wisdom wrings
Metaphysical moisture's beads, collected by night,
Returning to restless circles, resuming transport
Toward sea where homage pays tides' unending.
Respiration reverses itself.
Breath of darkness becomes morning dew,
Extirpating stains of a serpent's sojourn.
Nocturnal predators relinquish their terror;
Ghoulish dreamers awaken to become human again.
Footsteps of sunrise over horizon
Recall vivacity's forgotten hungers.
Day becomes ravenous, gorging itself upon
Tidings from our star. Dismembered nightmares
Dissolve, washed by saliva down.
Dawn embroiders day with cycloids.
Presentiment pulls toward twilight's conclusion.
Stories are being written by your footsteps,
Songs borne by your voice. Somewhere,
These days will be forever what they have been.
Only the living can die. Those of the dead have lived
What wind has been given the years to watch and
Whisper, telling its' self again and again.
Who are we that are risen and returned?
Stones shall know after words become unspoken.
The memory of mountains is long, yet
Someday to dust, they shall return with us.
For eventually the whole earth will die, but
Not until we've written a very good story.
Send me into battle without sword or buckler,
For mine is the true faith which fails to win
yet returns as an echo far, far into future.
Let this one note blend indistinguishable into harmony.
Faces of Earth change by inches each year as
All victories become regolith and vanity.
Effaced by wind and rain, at its core this
Planet is a dead star's memory scattered.
Histories become inevitable to make the future
Wealthy. Each here and now is triumph of time's
Rejoice. Eternity's patience is never spent:
Every possibility shall have its turn, and
Each being shall pass into having been
Told and retold until, of the story, neither
Sound nor listener remain. Yet will the story
Remain, stitched among all fibers. To be one
Thread of that cloth, woven within the sinew, I
Hold tight, happy to be part of a whole who is
Always. Grateful to be humble within infinity,
my joy is filled within reunion. Thank you,
I am your steadfast loving servant
I have mistaken clouds for rainbows,
And counted enemies among my friends.
Storms have caught me unprepared,
And I have suffered my own mistakes.
Yet, I have seen many rainbows,
And loved many very good friends.
Much sunshine has been given me, and
Happiness has come from every corner.
With Lex Luther in the White House,
And Ahab's Queeg at the helm,
Where is that mild mannered reporter?
Crime has its office at the court House,
But still practices the family business.
Thought the language changes, bootlegger
and Cop still go to same church where
Sin is forgiven and persecutions traded.
Let them eat shit but gargle with mouthwash.
Who knew that World War Too was
Intended to place US at center of Axis?
What Big Brother would not do for shoes,
Or price of bananas and pineapples,
He will gladly spend for clean death
Staged off-camera. Who creams his whores
With products of dead babies, cuts
Wage of slaves too less than debt needed
To almost survive, collecting the tax to
Pay for testimonials he has written,
Aspires to the crown of King Charles.
Please save us from management of mandarins,
White men who blame the blue, increasing
Denominator of pitiful fraction paid worth
While extending options and parachutes for
Moguls who sit and do nothing. Sweat is not
Enough. Piss in the cup or be fired without
Compensation to satisfy cowboy fantasies of
Accountants who sip company paid martinis. I
Have watched Ron Reagan shooting at John Brown,
Leading the boys into ambush at Little Big Horn,
And in Beirut. I heard him congratulate German
Nazis for good effort in a losing cause, and telling
Farmers to leave their land, building an economy
Based upon acquisition, foreclosure, and a properly
Knotted tie. Teach the american workman what
Real Chinese food is like, using the law to make
Everyone illegal, and sending secret police to shake
Down motorists and jews for more money to buy
Bullets and bombs for dictators. In a free country
Everyone must pay. If the air stinks, don't breath,
Or send it overseas, where lives of people are cheap.
Quality Assurance Representative
I was sent as an inspector by god's boss.
Nobody liked me. The bottom was too deep
For me to find. I came up firing my guns.
They gave me glasses and sent me back again.
Through lenses things looked better,
But I still couldn't stand the smell.
The star turned red;
So I went back to look once more
And this time found nothing wrong.
But memory of the smell made me sick
And I came up holding my air.
The breath which left me made me think,
So I went back to find my brother,
But money cheated kept me from it,
And love escaped me again.
So I tried to look deeper,
But all I could find was darkness.
Hope did not come soon enough to cure me,
And the tide took me away to another shore
Where I wonder, repenting my mistakes,
Suffering, paying for errors I have caused.
Time's progress has made me the loser but not a fool.
Disdain for me shall help keep the future clean.
To:
Artists like weasels, who steal the farmer's food,
Leaving their own beauty which cows don't eat, and
Priests who take the meat and blood, keeping
Best and exchanging the rest for permission.
Here's to the secretary who's too clean to speak
With the dusty worker who made her desk. Let's
Hear it for the office manager who pinches her ass
But can only fuck lying on his back. Cheers and
Hooray for bureaucrats who control the forms
Which determine who gets to live indoors.
Those rascals have stolen the farmer's pig!
Speaking of pork, let's not forget those who serve us
Summonses, postponements and fines, threatening
Jail and foreclosure. To the former champ who made it
Big, and rock stars who drive millions of teens crazy,
Thanks for taking all of the best for yourselves.
And who would want to forget the ordinary criminal
Who gives insecurity and unease at such small cost.
Last on our list, though not least in our hearts,
Is The Big Boss himself, wherever he may be.
We wish you the finest of jerk-offs, and
Best praise you may summon from your own heart.
We wish you all the happiness you deserve, and
Worry about why you can't take a decent shit.
We do not malign your stupidity, but
Will not be coming to clean the toilets today.
Plenty of good will, but not much to eat for you
In your fancy clothes. Sorry if it's broken, but
Maybe if you kick it…you'll be able to copy interoffice
Memos again, if that boy ever comes back with paper.
Pretty smart to have your girl on line waiting for gas.
Don't bother to worry about food you cannot buy.
They'll teach those damned unions a lesson! It's
Outrageous that this could be permitted to happen,
But it's happening, we must inform you, though mail
Is not being delivered. Thank God, TV still works.
Can't stand to hear wife and kids complaining about
Needing to fix the furnace. Tell them to put on more
Sweaters, superstar, while we look over your shoulder,
Laughing at your inability to handle that wrench.
From:
Good old guys and gals who weld steel and stuff P.C. boards,
Who pour concrete, hammer nails, and cut the meat you eat.
We are the ones who hoe, sow, and sew; who dig the ore and
Tend the root for your table. Let movers shake without maker
Of auto, wheel, or brick. Learn to clip your own and when all
Else fails; fix it yourself. Ha ha. You amuse us in your high
Styles without text. Glad you are turbines we built still run
but
Wish for milk in your coffee. Wash without soap or softener.
We tried to teach you, but you were much too clever. E we give
Is not for effort, but we are too generous to fail you. Just enjoy
Dessert. Lucky your lawn is so green and liquor cabinet so large.
From fruit pickers, bootlickers, label stickers and fishermen
you
Dickered: girls who used to slice your tomatoes and ones injured
Filleting chickens and shucking clams for soup: from old men who
Sharpened tools so keen and the qwik kid you were so quick to
fire:
Best regards. The plumber is here with us, so buy your own
Snake, if you want your filth to go down the drain. Too bad
There's no toilet paper, but it does make you appreciate dollar's
Almighty durability when that somber eye looks up yours,
Asshole. Garbage man is sure glad to be down here with us.
Someone who used to be a supermarket checker says she hears
It's pretty thirsty in LA these days. What has this world
Come to when even your complaints are ignored? Remember
That guy who worked on big machine down the aisle from your
Office? The one who never missed a day of work; look at this
Picture of him and his family in their bathing suits. He sends
Strung seashells, wanting you to know he likes the taste of fish.
God, I know that you are busy. We are
Only one of many places and peoples,
But here you are needed now.
We have made many mistakes.
Though entrusted to your plan,
In this time I am afraid. If it is not your
Intention to destroy us, please intervene.
Send your agents to pull their strings.
We are a clever but unwise people
Who will only be smart to get paid
What we squander without savings or gift.
Credit is nearing collapse and we know it,
Knowing not how to restore good faith.
Come to our hearts this evening.
Open the plan to our minds
That our hands be working with you.
We are good only for certain things,
Yet for certain things we are very good.
Use us within our limits.
Teach us to be what you want.
Here is a crown for all to wear.
Angels are standing beside you
Given all which has been and shall be.
Right beside you, wherever you see,
And where you don't see, each moment
Brought from eternity to you,
Returns to eternity with the blossoms
To be given reunion with all time,
Where every space is adjacent, and
Each being becomes within one soul.
To be so small is our blessing.
For so many are the brethren
That love cannot be exhausted,
Whose spirit is touching all places.
Is floating upon a carpet of dreams
Twenty years thick: like waiting for God
To come and having your patience rewarded.
Fragrance of wisdom is so sweet, so gentle, so
Strong, touching upon it once can never be
Forgotten. Finding green hills where before,
Despair of darkness reigned, is worth all
Which has brought us to be here, and
All this moment goes on to bring forth.
We are come to call upon our people
To bring forth their finest goodness
That our nation might come forward,
Leading the world toward happiness and joy.
Right must prevail within ourselves. Our
Heart's work must be performed by theses
Hands. Agree yourself to cooperate now;
Justice, and what is best for all,
Coming to mind before selfish accolade.
Be guided by your own true hopes
For the children's children. Bring
Spirit into deed, so when we
Join hands, we shall march forward
Together, strong in each place, building
Good tidings to which destiny aspires.
For this is the fulcrum:
We need not fight but merely go
Where God intends. We shall find
Peace alongside humble appreciation
When happiness of neighbors becomes our own.
Who will resist our joy? Prepare history,
Making life a temple for your good hope and deed.
Your people and mine are
Pilgrims in America as
We have been in other
Times and places again.
Teaching barbarians is not
Easy, needing constant patience
and repair. Yet, who else
Is to restrain theses greedy,
Destructive creatures? If
Burden of understanding joy
Is sorrow, consider cost of
Fun in ignorance of good, and
Be reminded of our gratitude
For darkness and light we are given.
Imagine you and me
Many years from now,
Beneath a willow tree,
Watching leaves of life
Floating downstream, seeing
Our reflections in the water.
Sing me your warm morning sunshine.
Bring evening's life giving rain.
Take me to where you have destined.
Lead me across your wide plain.
Sweet is the fruit of your orchard.
All life is spawned of your flesh.
To the harvest of every horizon
We are grateful to you for our breath.
Don't you know that I am your lover?
Sweet son, oh mother, I am your lover, Mother Earth.
Don't you know that I am your brother, sweet sister, my lover,
Daughter of ancient kings; I am our father's new son.
So sing me your sad lonely nighttime.
Show me your brethren above.
Take me as far as my passage.
If worthy, pleases send me your love.
I've tasted the gifts you have given.
You've touched me and made me your own.
I've given with what I've been given.
Your seed in your soil I have sown.
Don't you know that I am your lover?
Sweet son, oh mother, I am your lover, Mother Earth.
Don't you know that I am your brother, sweet sister, my lover,
Princess of human and slime; This is your father's own slave.
So bring me your storms and your sorrows.
Teach me the pain of your wrath
Take me on toward your tomorrow;
Please show me the way of your path.
I go to where you have chosen.
I'll be whatever you want.
I am but one you are using.
We serve you with all of our heart.
Don't you know that I am your lover?
Sweet son, oh mother, I am your lover, Mother Earth.
Don't you know that I am your brother, sweet sister, my lover,
Priestess of life and stone; I am my mother's own son.
Sing, people of the world, sing. A
Great song is being written by your voice:
Melody of all your deeds and feelings,
Strivings and disappointments, your own
Ambrosian chant. Euphony of joy, a
Chorus in harmony with melody of this world.
For all the world is singing. Listen,
Hear liturgy of stone's own largo.
Share elation of a budding green leaf.
Know the wind who blows in all places.
The land is alive and we are its brethren.
All of us are singing part of the same song.
So sing it through all your lives, and
Sing it so it sounds sweet to you.
All the world is listening, so make it
Be what you are. Hear yourself in harmony
With music of Earth. Your life is part of God's
Meaning, so sing it as good as you can.
Surely when eternal life's
Fragrance marries God's
Well humbled slave, this
Prince of flowers, Earth
Moves closer to harmony.
Toward the sunrise in the morning
is
what I long to be,
For the eastern sky recalls our mother's love,
But trees along this highway are speaking autumn's
Changes: what it is to be another year.
Working like a bondsman though no
fruit
shall bear my name,
Won't be my children walking by the shore,
Yet, I still have a vision of what that life can be,
And in my heart I know a day shall come,
When a child shall know the answers, and
by
her side shall be
All the children walking hand in hand.
'Cause a day is surely coming when everyone shall know
The spirit who is what we're meant to be.
Though when can't be for certain,
Won't swear what I don't know,
So let's just speak of what we can agree:
That each and all tomorrows shall come from this today,
And how you live is who you will have been.
So to sooner make it better, please
Listen, then in your life please sing.
Singing,
I am with you. You are with me.
Come to the levy. Help build the levy.
Help guide these waters to the sea.
Bringing,
I am with you. You are with me.
Come to the levy. Help build the levy.
Live toward the world you'd like to see.
Here I stand, an aged man,
Old before my time,
With nothing but me, myself,
And what I am that's mine.
I've squandered many fortunes
Just to watch those four wheels turn.
Yet, many are the crossroads
Whose songs that I have learned.
So here I am with empty hands,
A soldier of the wind,
But if I've lost, perhaps I've gained
What death cannot rescind.
Childhood friends all own fine homes,
But this whole land is mine.
My lovers all departed, I
Still sleep with the sky.
Who's to say where it will end,
This tide upon the years.
For if I sing of sweet lament,
The forest drinks my tears.
With no place but to carry on,
I carry what I can,
Listening to histories, and
Singing with their song.
Human Beings,
You are itching the skin of Earth.
She shall shake you from the edge
Scratching with pollution and plague.
Blaming but not changing, you shall
Kill each other and she will be relieved.
Back to your place, unwise creatures!
Learn to be small until your smart enough.
This world was not made for your foolishness.
Be humble and rinse your cup. Please
Don't multiply. There's already too many
People. Let's ease out of this mess with
Two should be enough for anyone. Don't
Wait for the reaper to trim your crop.
Like most of them, He
Came from Brooklyn but don't
Worry. It was before Dodgers
Left town. Unable to walk on water,
He learned to cross deep puddles
Without regard to comfort of his
Feet. Inspired by sleep, divinations
Foretold that if not by Christmas, nuclear
War would probably not come for the rest of
The year. Who's to say that he was wrong?
For if it had not occurred by then, it
Might not have happened before year's end.
Every yes is a thousand noes,
And heaven knows
I'll never go to everywhere.
Still I keep on moving toward the time
When another highway will be mine,
And the place where the sun falls from the sky.
The wind fills all my pockets
With moisture from the mountains
And memories of rainy afternoons.
Guess I'll never be the kind of man
I thought I'd be, but still I can
Be happy as the kind of man I am.
Nighttime is a haven for the weary,
Brother to the embers of a smile.
Morning is another day with a premonition on the way
Of a lover's song in an orchard by the sea.
Scores of tale are written by
Footsteps of a wayward eye, and
I guess my story's just another tale.
Still to walk beyond the blacktop
To that place above the treetops
Is fortune to a man who knows the way.
Knowing what I've had to do,
Is what I've done and being done, is
Fate's own key which opens every door.
For that final page will still be mine,
Poetry which needs no rhyme, but
Fragrance of my dreams along the way.
Winter is a long time on the prairie,
Riding through November morning snow.
But the eastern sky is a mother's love,
Mourning he whose heart has come
To her bedside in the sunrise of his doom.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Recycle what can be used.
Put the rest back in Earth, deep
Without a box. Sprinkle some lime
In the soil above and plant
A chestnut's seed over my heart.
Let this be my marker with no words.
I will be grateful for the song of birds
Someday in the branches of that tree.
The Good of the World
Is in your own Hands
Build with it.
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