Tag Archive: values


Weddings*

She danced

Holding her dress

💓

He danced

Holding her heart

💓

Weddings

A moment

A celebration

A birth

A birth of joy

💓

The young

Alcohol excited their exuberance

💓

The old

Alcohol excites their memories

💓

The band plays on

Playing songs that vibrate a chord

A chord in us all

The chord that all is precious

Laughter and tears

Are heard between sets

💓

Weddings are a precious gift

Between life’s sets

💓

*Dedicated to Mandy and Brian

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Marching

 

They should have left Jesus in his tomb

It would have served us well

Leave the dead

Sleeping in their coffins

The living would sleep better still

 

Serve the living

Glorify our heartbeats

Sing songs praising the universe

Write poems about justice

Celebrate humanity

Talk with the old

Play with the young

 

Onward marching soldiers

Marching hand in hand

With the mark of stardust

As our only brand

We, the loyal master

Leads against folklore

forward into kinship

See our banners flow

Praying Presidents

Photo: pieter pastoor

Praying Presidents

I guess certain prayers do work

Today only born again candidates want to be president.

Many have actually talked with you.

Tell me god,

Did you whisper in their ears to forget the homeless.

Did you send a heavenly email to call real sinners gay.

Did they get a note “from the desk of god” to ignore the poor.

Why are you sleeping with the rich, didn’t your son despise them?

Oh I see – its for the cause   –    cause ya love us.

                   †

The Grill

The Grill

 

I’m grilling tonight, the essence, so sweet.

Gently blowing the scent to my neighbors.

 

I wonder if she smells those puffs of dragon air.

I wonder if she cares.

 

Sometimes my other neighbors grill.

I smell the aroma in the air.

Instantly hungry, almost like a bear.

 

Tonight I wonder why none of us share.

Oma

Oma

My grandmother died of pneumonia.

In nineteen fifty three

I was seven

I hardly remember her.

So long ago

yet

I still feel her love.

Victor Jara

Untittled by Lilly Fenichel

Victor Jara

Positioned in front of an abstract.

An empty museum full of artists.

The treasure  before me has a story.

The abstract lines ask me,

ask me, for interpretation.

Soiled yellow covers the canvas.

Lines and spatters of black.

Gobs of paint still sit where the artist placed them.

Rifts of red like flashing lights of lunacy.

Disturbing wretchedness gallops at me.

 

The young man who created this is gone.

Now I stand where he stood.

I am in the place where he held a brush and made a touch.

In a past decade, these oils developed a declaration.

Abstract forms are revealing a struggle.

I sense tears dripping on the painters palette.

Fear jerks my hand, I want to escape.

 

The decade of the 60’s was not all love and not all free.

That decade gave us 10 years of

– war, a senseless one.

10 years of

– American leaders gunned  down.

10 years of

– so many deaths of our own black kin.

10 years of

– cities burning with bomb shelters to hide from our own man made sins.

 

How can abstract lines relay thought, struggle and pain?

I am aware of the artist’s arousing aversion.

It was just those emotions that guided his brush.

The yellow of war

The black of death and despair

The red, a call for all to react.

 

The canvas now shows a torso – mutilated by minds of madness.

Reminding us of  Victor Jara

Singing his song with shattered hands and splintered ribs.

Murdered by his own government, let me add, all supported by the CIA.

His death now in full display through other onus hands holding a brush

This colorful canvas coaxes us to continue.

 

Broken guitar strings make an appearance.

Twisted and curled incapable of producing sound.

Phil Ochs, like other troubadours, also silenced, his songs no longer sought to be sung.

Prophets of the present world show deeds that are a nations weeds.

 

Yes this display is a declaration of danger,

in company with other conceptions of art.

If you stand up for your conscience then beware.

Entire governments may be mobilized.

Your body and mind broken beyond repair

 

I touch the painting trembling as I sense the past

The rough rope reeks around my neck – this is how the artist left his spot in life.

My feet sense the floor but that painting has no door.

I understand why his tears wet my soul.

He was trapped in his term of truth.

Artists today exude similar emotions.

Emotions we all live with in our moment in time. 1

Trenches of Truth

Trenches of truth

Moonlight softens my face

Reflecting in a puddle of tears

Touching trembling trees

I ramble, not alone, in a forest, now ravaged.

Searching for a trench of truth

Where are the scouts to lead us

The rivers of righteousness are lost

The Potomac is poisoned

Once it nurtured a great forest

Now moonlight exposes greed, destruction and despair.

Occupy the forests, stake your tents, replace the stewards of our trees

Cleanse the Potomac

Let it once again baptize.

.

Action

Action

There will be a time when all will end

That’s far away, how bout your friend?

Care for him do what you can

Aids is his companion

Now is the instance

what will you do

Will you touch?

Do you

Know

Steve

Steve

A poet without words,

speaking a language prior generations never heard.

An artist without a brush,

paints a canvas of imagination.

A visionary, with boundaries he cut,

saw a future we could not.

A tycoon of industry,

yet, each customer felt Steve’s touch.

A man that ignored culture’s dogma,

taught us to follow a personal dream.

The Grill

The Grill

I’m grilling tonight, the essence, so sweet.

Gently blowing the scent to my neighbors.

I wonder if she smells those puffs of dragon air.

I wonder if she cares.

Sometimes my other neighbors grill.

I smell the aroma in the air.

Instantly hungry, almost like a bear.

Tonight I wonder why none of us share.