From my good friend in poetry, Thom the World Poet, http://worldpoet.blogspot.com/
The numbers of dead still shocking-
what struck to the bone is this
one third of all dead were just children
who could not escape this
Not boys in body bags from wars still boiling
not child soldiers in wars still fighting
more those poor you see in all Third World photos
born into life as short as they are
gone from us.Never known now.Mass graves,ungrieved
buried at the speed of waves rising on blue days
in random numbers.Held under in waters
rising above their small sizes.They could not run
fast enough away.Their bodies matchstick stay
until burial among all the detritus of this day-
Kyoto Protocols,Global Warming,Greenhouse Effects
and every scientific warning (posthumous)
which locates the source of the wave
and the cause of their graves
in those First World emissions
from SUVs and coal mines
denuding of forests
black strap highways
cities of heat emitting waves
that drown our own children
make Third World slaves
of a dinosaur lifestyle.
They died out too(over time)
Time has run out for our children
and that fossil fuelled motor engine
THOM GRIEVING DECEMBER 29,2004
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Bohemian Groves
© 12 December 2004, The Griot Poet
Santa’s tree land…
Row after row of phalanx symbols…
The prophylactic bedecks the representative
Fertility symbols in Trojan ribbed silver and gold.
A pentagram affixed
Atop the green Richard
Plants the seed through
The obligatory
Orifice Holly Wreath
Under the aphrodisiac
Mistletoe.
Flip the script
On the ‘n’
In Santa’s name:
You get the adversary
Up to the same old game
“He comes as an angel of light.”
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzon,
And Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer:
All just Pan without Peter on
Four instead of two cloven hooves,
The messenger, Gabriel
Gave the news to Mary
Of the virgin pregnancy
In the sixth month
Of ELUL,
Superimpose the Hebrew
On the Julian
Calendar – we’re talking
August – September.
Unless
We believe Jesus was a “premi”
That puts the divine birth
In May or June!
This
Is a ritual, kept alive not to pay homage
To Palestinian Prophets
Or Saturnalia:
But to Mammon and to
Maximize to gorging
Fourth quarter corporate profits!
We cannot rail against
Skull and bones
Selections
Masking as elections,
Against world elites
Hiding in robes,
Sacrifices of children
In effigy “cremations of care”
And Iraqi reality
To Moloch’s
Flames
If we are not
Willing to dismantle
Our own
Bohemian Groves!
Santa’s tree land…
Row after row of phalanx symbols…
The prophylactic bedecks the representative
Fertility symbols in Trojan ribbed silver and gold.
A pentagram affixed
Atop the green Richard
Plants the seed through
The obligatory
Orifice Holly Wreath
Under the aphrodisiac
Mistletoe.
Flip the script
On the ‘n’
In Santa’s name:
You get the adversary
Up to the same old game
“He comes as an angel of light.”
Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzon,
And Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer:
All just Pan without Peter on
Four instead of two cloven hooves,
The messenger, Gabriel
Gave the news to Mary
Of the virgin pregnancy
In the sixth month
Of ELUL,
Superimpose the Hebrew
On the Julian
Calendar – we’re talking
August – September.
Unless
We believe Jesus was a “premi”
That puts the divine birth
In May or June!
This
Is a ritual, kept alive not to pay homage
To Palestinian Prophets
Or Saturnalia:
But to Mammon and to
Maximize to gorging
Fourth quarter corporate profits!
We cannot rail against
Skull and bones
Selections
Masking as elections,
Against world elites
Hiding in robes,
Sacrifices of children
In effigy “cremations of care”
And Iraqi reality
To Moloch’s
Flames
If we are not
Willing to dismantle
Our own
Bohemian Groves!
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Opportunity
© 21 October 2004, The Griot Poet
I have the ability to teach martial arts and life’s lessons.
I deliver poetry pieces with the fervor of the preached Word.
Yet, my confession is, when I’m stressing I find the opportunity to stray within reach.
I’d just have to stay mum, publicly treating my undercover like my female chum.
By vanity, I’m flattered that at forty-two, I’ve “still got it.”
My past reality is the memories of empty one-night stands,
Bland pick-up lines that most likely NEVER worked!
Sleeping with the wives of 7 men: one the wife of a very close friend, causing much hurt.
Feeling like a curse or worse, I painted over each reflective surface of my living space with the color of my soul’s mood: black.
For I lacked spiritual insight, as my third eye was blind: “eye wide shut.”
So, I know before we chance this intimate dance where this broad road leads.
Though an affair would renew me; sooth me, like crack cocaine, your pheromones will map their way to my brain, wrapping my medulla oblongata with the “one more hit” refrain, driving a brother insane.
I have a woman that despite these faults truly loves me!
Now, I’ve planted the seeds of men and I want to lead them by my example.
I want to metaphysically pry open their third eyes with ample amounts of Living Water Visine ® – I want my sons to be FREE!
Though by vanity, at forty-two I’m flattered that I’ve “still got it,”
I say this with all sincerity, ignoring my smaller head’s testosterone masculinity as I say this through gritted teeth spirituality:
NO!!!
I have the ability to teach martial arts and life’s lessons.
I deliver poetry pieces with the fervor of the preached Word.
Yet, my confession is, when I’m stressing I find the opportunity to stray within reach.
I’d just have to stay mum, publicly treating my undercover like my female chum.
By vanity, I’m flattered that at forty-two, I’ve “still got it.”
My past reality is the memories of empty one-night stands,
Bland pick-up lines that most likely NEVER worked!
Sleeping with the wives of 7 men: one the wife of a very close friend, causing much hurt.
Feeling like a curse or worse, I painted over each reflective surface of my living space with the color of my soul’s mood: black.
For I lacked spiritual insight, as my third eye was blind: “eye wide shut.”
So, I know before we chance this intimate dance where this broad road leads.
Though an affair would renew me; sooth me, like crack cocaine, your pheromones will map their way to my brain, wrapping my medulla oblongata with the “one more hit” refrain, driving a brother insane.
I have a woman that despite these faults truly loves me!
Now, I’ve planted the seeds of men and I want to lead them by my example.
I want to metaphysically pry open their third eyes with ample amounts of Living Water Visine ® – I want my sons to be FREE!
Though by vanity, at forty-two I’m flattered that I’ve “still got it,”
I say this with all sincerity, ignoring my smaller head’s testosterone masculinity as I say this through gritted teeth spirituality:
NO!!!
Monday, November 29, 2004
Fond Memories
© 10 September 2004, The Griot Poet
A open letter to the president and his political opponent:
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
Of the draft and a war
Started on the “lie of Tonklin”
From another Texas president.
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
Yet: my brothers, cousins were not as fortunate
To have family connections
With Lieutenant Governors
For “Champagne Squadron” appointments.
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
I have the vivid memories of mothers’ tears;
More that one Rachel crying: “my babies not here!”
While you missed
Legal drills,
Your opponent, frat brother and blood relative
Swift-Boated the Mekong Delta
Four months
For thrills,
Medals and
Future political
Appointments.
Not a gray hair
On either of you is out of place,
Yet, no space in print or cyberspace
Mentions long Skull and Bones
Affiliations of the country’s
Next president.
Connie Chung, anyone?
My cousin Willie
Came back from ‘Nam
Staring into space,
LSD addicted,
With three personalities.
My friend Cleo
Died from leukemia
From Agent Orange
Defoliation not long
After my 16th birthday.
An open letter to the president and his political opponent during this “lie of Iraq engagement”:
I was too young to go and protected from harm,
But, I have very fond memories of Vietnam!
A open letter to the president and his political opponent:
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
Of the draft and a war
Started on the “lie of Tonklin”
From another Texas president.
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
Yet: my brothers, cousins were not as fortunate
To have family connections
With Lieutenant Governors
For “Champagne Squadron” appointments.
I have fond memories of Vietnam.
I was too young and protected from harm
I have the vivid memories of mothers’ tears;
More that one Rachel crying: “my babies not here!”
While you missed
Legal drills,
Your opponent, frat brother and blood relative
Swift-Boated the Mekong Delta
Four months
For thrills,
Medals and
Future political
Appointments.
Not a gray hair
On either of you is out of place,
Yet, no space in print or cyberspace
Mentions long Skull and Bones
Affiliations of the country’s
Next president.
Connie Chung, anyone?
My cousin Willie
Came back from ‘Nam
Staring into space,
LSD addicted,
With three personalities.
My friend Cleo
Died from leukemia
From Agent Orange
Defoliation not long
After my 16th birthday.
An open letter to the president and his political opponent during this “lie of Iraq engagement”:
I was too young to go and protected from harm,
But, I have very fond memories of Vietnam!
"If"
© 3 August 1999, The Griot Poet
If I could...
I would break down the wall of expectations
And limitations between us as I listen to your voice caress English prose.
If I could...
I would touch you and allow your touch on me
Igniting electric currents birthing Goosebumps on brown skin hot for such
A touch.
If I could...
I would have us spill into an embrace that would allow our heartbeats
To synchronize their rhythms into one pulse, one hum...
If I could...
I would pull lips into a sweet caress that would last for hours and breathless days
As we melded into each other's visage, the lines an indistinguishable pretzel...
If I could...
I would rip off my garments in rash abandon at your invitation to love
Anoint your skin with edible oils and fragrances - manicure your fingers - pedicure your toes
And bless each one with a kiss,
My actions a gift: "This is my body I give unto you..."
If I could...
I would sip sweet wine on weekend mornings lying naked by you reading Voltaire, Tolstoy and Blair,
Engaging between chapters in acts making the Kama Sutra pail in passion's compare.
If I could...
I would spend an eternity - treasure a moment as eternity feeling your body tremble,
Hearing the sweet voice of... your climax.
If I could...
I would make myself a rich and perfect man, giving myself to you fully and
Count it a blessing that the last sound in this life be the laughter of children, the music from your speech.
If I could...
I would write a poem of prose for your clitoris, caresses for your gifted mind that would make love to your vicariously
Since your employment and mine allows us not such freedoms,
If, only...
If I could...
I would break down the wall of expectations
And limitations between us as I listen to your voice caress English prose.
If I could...
I would touch you and allow your touch on me
Igniting electric currents birthing Goosebumps on brown skin hot for such
A touch.
If I could...
I would have us spill into an embrace that would allow our heartbeats
To synchronize their rhythms into one pulse, one hum...
If I could...
I would pull lips into a sweet caress that would last for hours and breathless days
As we melded into each other's visage, the lines an indistinguishable pretzel...
If I could...
I would rip off my garments in rash abandon at your invitation to love
Anoint your skin with edible oils and fragrances - manicure your fingers - pedicure your toes
And bless each one with a kiss,
My actions a gift: "This is my body I give unto you..."
If I could...
I would sip sweet wine on weekend mornings lying naked by you reading Voltaire, Tolstoy and Blair,
Engaging between chapters in acts making the Kama Sutra pail in passion's compare.
If I could...
I would spend an eternity - treasure a moment as eternity feeling your body tremble,
Hearing the sweet voice of... your climax.
If I could...
I would make myself a rich and perfect man, giving myself to you fully and
Count it a blessing that the last sound in this life be the laughter of children, the music from your speech.
If I could...
I would write a poem of prose for your clitoris, caresses for your gifted mind that would make love to your vicariously
Since your employment and mine allows us not such freedoms,
If, only...
[Badly] Needed to be Said
© 28 June 2004, The Griot Poet
"I think that most of my colleagues felt that what I had said badly needed to be said, that it was long overdue."
VP Cheney, defending his use of vulgarity in remarks to Democratic Senator Patrick Leahy in the Senate chamber.
Fornication
Under
Consent
of the
King... George W. Bush
and his
"Fellowship of the Ring"
of Ali Baba thieves
Conceived a
Project for a
New American Century
That needed
No ties to
Reality or
Democracy
In the hypocrisy
Of FOX-y’s
“Fair and Balanced”
JedI
Mind trick
Declaration of
The latest KKK
Florida
Election
Fix!
We were
Dick-ed as
Harris, Jeb,
Baker-Botts
And Cheney
Fixed some election
Chicanery
Tossing out the
Sons and daughters
Of former slaves
Ballots
That weren’t going
To vote for them
Anyway!
Yet,
These are the
Adults
Who
Promised
“Honor and integrity”
And a return to
Civility
After a
$54 million dollar
Kenn Starr
War
Witch hunt
That took our eyes off
The ball of
Twin tower
Fires planned
By former
Bin Laden
And Saudi family
“Friends”
Closely tied
In oil business
And government
Cabals.
“We the People”
Have no right at all
To read those
Who YOU felt
Needed on
Energy policies
WE pay for!
I deplore
Garrisoned
Governments with
Snipers on the
People’s house
Resembling
Ancient & fallen
Babylon governments
Making death
Covenants
With
Orwellian
Perpetual wars
And bogeyman
Threats.
Yet,
These are the
Adults
Who
Promised
“Honor and integrity”
And a return to
Civility…
I have not
Found the
“F-word”
In the
66 books of
The canonized
Bible.
Yet,
You
Vet vulgarity
Without libel or
Apology,
As my brother and sister
Astrologies
Put star dreams
On hold
Fighting over
Sands of Eden
For an ancient
Resource: OIL!
Yet,
The party that
“Co-opted God”
Won’t apologize
Or recoil
From the obvious
Avoidance
Of Halliburton
Contrivance
In no-bid
Contracts.
Since
“Honor and integrity”
Are locked away
On a dark shelf:
Mr. Cheney -
Why don’t you
Make a plaster cast of
Your
Napoleonic,
Less-than-an-inch long
Insignificant
Male member,
Pull your pants
Down in your
Secret bunker
And joyfully
SCREW yourself!
"I think that most of my colleagues felt that what I had said badly needed to be said, that it was long overdue."
VP Cheney, defending his use of vulgarity in remarks to Democratic Senator Patrick Leahy in the Senate chamber.
Fornication
Under
Consent
of the
King... George W. Bush
and his
"Fellowship of the Ring"
of Ali Baba thieves
Conceived a
Project for a
New American Century
That needed
No ties to
Reality or
Democracy
In the hypocrisy
Of FOX-y’s
“Fair and Balanced”
JedI
Mind trick
Declaration of
The latest KKK
Florida
Election
Fix!
We were
Dick-ed as
Harris, Jeb,
Baker-Botts
And Cheney
Fixed some election
Chicanery
Tossing out the
Sons and daughters
Of former slaves
Ballots
That weren’t going
To vote for them
Anyway!
Yet,
These are the
Adults
Who
Promised
“Honor and integrity”
And a return to
Civility
After a
$54 million dollar
Kenn Starr
War
Witch hunt
That took our eyes off
The ball of
Twin tower
Fires planned
By former
Bin Laden
And Saudi family
“Friends”
Closely tied
In oil business
And government
Cabals.
“We the People”
Have no right at all
To read those
Who YOU felt
Needed on
Energy policies
WE pay for!
I deplore
Garrisoned
Governments with
Snipers on the
People’s house
Resembling
Ancient & fallen
Babylon governments
Making death
Covenants
With
Orwellian
Perpetual wars
And bogeyman
Threats.
Yet,
These are the
Adults
Who
Promised
“Honor and integrity”
And a return to
Civility…
I have not
Found the
“F-word”
In the
66 books of
The canonized
Bible.
Yet,
You
Vet vulgarity
Without libel or
Apology,
As my brother and sister
Astrologies
Put star dreams
On hold
Fighting over
Sands of Eden
For an ancient
Resource: OIL!
Yet,
The party that
“Co-opted God”
Won’t apologize
Or recoil
From the obvious
Avoidance
Of Halliburton
Contrivance
In no-bid
Contracts.
Since
“Honor and integrity”
Are locked away
On a dark shelf:
Mr. Cheney -
Why don’t you
Make a plaster cast of
Your
Napoleonic,
Less-than-an-inch long
Insignificant
Male member,
Pull your pants
Down in your
Secret bunker
And joyfully
SCREW yourself!
Chagrin
© 3 February 2004, The Griot Poet
Lady Justice and Janet share the same sin:
A bared breast causing much chagrin.
The first not animated; the second broadcast live,
in a bump-and-grind seen on MTV, BET and "Sex in the City."
The self-righteous, ultra-right in Ashcroft's vein use the timing to shout their disdain
despite the bared breast in Somalia, Mogadishu, Iraq and Afghanistan
that can no longer nurse without the fear of passing the curse of
depleted Uranium, diarrhea and Kaposi’s Sarcoma... from war.
World Bank and IMF looting leaving children without parents;
mothers without life-sustaining AIDS vaccines to sustain their lifeline.
We build oil pipelines to sift/thieve oil from the Congo;
we search lice and WMD in the head of that louse Saddam: a strongman long ago.
To steer clear of prewar intelligence inquiries,
we pretend to despise what caused most men watching the staged conflict to shout and grin.
Janet and Lady Justice share the same sin:
A bared breast causing much chagrin.
Lady Justice and Janet share the same sin:
A bared breast causing much chagrin.
The first not animated; the second broadcast live,
in a bump-and-grind seen on MTV, BET and "Sex in the City."
The self-righteous, ultra-right in Ashcroft's vein use the timing to shout their disdain
despite the bared breast in Somalia, Mogadishu, Iraq and Afghanistan
that can no longer nurse without the fear of passing the curse of
depleted Uranium, diarrhea and Kaposi’s Sarcoma... from war.
World Bank and IMF looting leaving children without parents;
mothers without life-sustaining AIDS vaccines to sustain their lifeline.
We build oil pipelines to sift/thieve oil from the Congo;
we search lice and WMD in the head of that louse Saddam: a strongman long ago.
To steer clear of prewar intelligence inquiries,
we pretend to despise what caused most men watching the staged conflict to shout and grin.
Janet and Lady Justice share the same sin:
A bared breast causing much chagrin.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Doublespeak Good
© 20 November 2004, The Griot Poet
Inspired by Jonathan Schell article, “What Happened to Hearts?”:
http://www.tomdispatch.com/index.mhtml?pid=2014_
we will fight
with the steadfast resolve
of an unusual, artful draft dodger-in-chief
along with his veep
who both couldn't be bothered
when they were young men
to shed blood
for a war in Vietnam
that they steadfastly
believed…
in others bleedings.
we will fight
with strong delusions
guiding our common sense,
lies becoming truth
as greater than seventy percent
still believe Saddam was a threat
and involved in the attacks of 9-11
despite his rival Osama
referring to him
as an infidel.
oh, well!
we will fight
the constitution
with Patriot Acts I, II, and III,
calling it democracy.
we will fight
and twist words of peace
from Palestinian Prophets
into what Cornell West would call
"Constantine Christian"
diatribes, slogans and dogmas
to shepherd
Noam Chomsky's
"bewildered herd"
into the accepted
brainwashed,
corporate-controlled
network germ:
"war is peace.
"freedom is slavery.
"ignorance is strength."
we who bubble forth like fountains
see George Orwell's prophesy
becoming reality,
and General Tacitus'
observations
becoming most poignant in this season:
"they made a wasteland, and called it peace."
Inspired by Jonathan Schell article, “What Happened to Hearts?”:
http://www.tomdispatch.com/index.mhtml?pid=2014_
we will fight
with the steadfast resolve
of an unusual, artful draft dodger-in-chief
along with his veep
who both couldn't be bothered
when they were young men
to shed blood
for a war in Vietnam
that they steadfastly
believed…
in others bleedings.
we will fight
with strong delusions
guiding our common sense,
lies becoming truth
as greater than seventy percent
still believe Saddam was a threat
and involved in the attacks of 9-11
despite his rival Osama
referring to him
as an infidel.
oh, well!
we will fight
the constitution
with Patriot Acts I, II, and III,
calling it democracy.
we will fight
and twist words of peace
from Palestinian Prophets
into what Cornell West would call
"Constantine Christian"
diatribes, slogans and dogmas
to shepherd
Noam Chomsky's
"bewildered herd"
into the accepted
brainwashed,
corporate-controlled
network germ:
"war is peace.
"freedom is slavery.
"ignorance is strength."
we who bubble forth like fountains
see George Orwell's prophesy
becoming reality,
and General Tacitus'
observations
becoming most poignant in this season:
"they made a wasteland, and called it peace."
Friday, November 19, 2004
In Memoriam
In memoriam: This is from a friend and fellow poet, Ron Horne about the passage of a light in poetry, Ana Rose, also known as Phoenix. This touched me because we don't talk about depression. I'm old enough to remember Donnie Hathaway (R&B singer, Roberta Flack duets) and his similar demise.
We don't as a culture like to talk about depression or suicide. It's unfortunate that many creative types like Donnie Hathaway, Curt Cobain (Nirvana) and Phoenix feel that they have no hope when their words have given people so many memories; so much to live for.
A reminder: give your flowers to your friends in THIS life!
My Brothers and Sisters in Poetry-
The news filtered up to me here in Austin that a Sun Poet, Ana Rose, aka Phoenix, took her life on Friday, leaping from the roof of an office building in San Antonio. Phoenix was a young woman, 30 years old or so, bright, bubbling, full of life and always out supporting both poets and musicians. She could be found at poetry venues and band gigs throughout San Antonio as well as on the road. She was a kind and caring spirit.
In her wake are the common questions: why did she do it, who knew she was that desperate, if I had only known, if I only had . . . . There are probably many things many of us could have done, but without really knowing her strife, there is little any one could have done . . . However, as members of a very unique family, the family of poetry and verse, we could have spoken to her, and others like her, both directly and through our art, to let her know that we have ALL been in desperate situations and that there is ALWAYS someone to turn to, even if only for a moment. The closeness and support we have in the poetry community is tighter than some people have in their biological families. We have the unique ability to reach out through our art to touch those around us, to let them know that as bad as it may seem, the beauty of what we do can bring something positive to their lives.
It pains me to know this young life was lost in despair. None of us are mind readers so there is only so much we can do. But let’s try to remind each other as often as we can that every time a day ends, on the next day new life begins. With that, I present two poems in honor of the Phoenix; may her spirit arise in all of us. I send this to you in the hope that between all of us, wherever we are, we don’t let another bird of paradise get away:
FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX
They say that every Phoenix rises
But when life provides no compromises
It should come as no surprise
That a Phoenix is nothing more . . . than a sparrow
Seeking crumbs on narrow streets
Flying from the tip of tall buildings
To the hard concrete
Succumb to defeat
Rather than suffer the constant struggle
The battle of tug of war
Is just a metaphor
Where there can only be one winner
The kind and compassionate
Are the perpetually condemned sinners
Heartache the blood thinner
That turns cool breezes into artic winds
Causes a young life to rescind
Her covenant with her glory
To hear she took her life
Tore me and all that knew her apart
Didn’t she know that the community of art
And love covet her departure?
Because now only the angels will know
Why the Phoenix flew away
Ron Horne
I KNEW HER AS ROSE
She came to be known as Phoenix
But I first knew her as Rose
And little did I know
That she was in the throes
Of a struggle with life and death
So on that humid August night
As we all skinny dipped
How could I know that in her mind
The scales would tip
And she would slip
Down a slope
That at its depth lacked the hope
She needed to keep going
How could I know that
As she placed her tiny hand in mine
The cosmic design
Had a disturbing fate in place
Where she paced back and forth
Between the door to existence
And the door to extinction
To learn that she found not distinction
Between the two
Leaves me to ponder
My own bouts with suicidal ideation
Those times where I lamented whether
My own creation was a mistake
Ready to preclude another candle
Impaling my birthday cake
Break the cycle of constant misery
That seemed to plague me daily
Yes, if it weren’t for poetry
I would have missed the gallantry
Of my son’s well and hard fought triumphs
I would have forgotten the fact that it is enough
To be loved without necessarily being the beloved
That the joy of life is toughing it out
Long enough to see the BIG picture
So, as the regret flows
The fire in me grows
To spend life on my tip toes
Reaching for the light that glows
She came to be know as Phoenix
But to me, she was a perennial Rose
Ron Horne
We don't as a culture like to talk about depression or suicide. It's unfortunate that many creative types like Donnie Hathaway, Curt Cobain (Nirvana) and Phoenix feel that they have no hope when their words have given people so many memories; so much to live for.
A reminder: give your flowers to your friends in THIS life!
My Brothers and Sisters in Poetry-
The news filtered up to me here in Austin that a Sun Poet, Ana Rose, aka Phoenix, took her life on Friday, leaping from the roof of an office building in San Antonio. Phoenix was a young woman, 30 years old or so, bright, bubbling, full of life and always out supporting both poets and musicians. She could be found at poetry venues and band gigs throughout San Antonio as well as on the road. She was a kind and caring spirit.
In her wake are the common questions: why did she do it, who knew she was that desperate, if I had only known, if I only had . . . . There are probably many things many of us could have done, but without really knowing her strife, there is little any one could have done . . . However, as members of a very unique family, the family of poetry and verse, we could have spoken to her, and others like her, both directly and through our art, to let her know that we have ALL been in desperate situations and that there is ALWAYS someone to turn to, even if only for a moment. The closeness and support we have in the poetry community is tighter than some people have in their biological families. We have the unique ability to reach out through our art to touch those around us, to let them know that as bad as it may seem, the beauty of what we do can bring something positive to their lives.
It pains me to know this young life was lost in despair. None of us are mind readers so there is only so much we can do. But let’s try to remind each other as often as we can that every time a day ends, on the next day new life begins. With that, I present two poems in honor of the Phoenix; may her spirit arise in all of us. I send this to you in the hope that between all of us, wherever we are, we don’t let another bird of paradise get away:
FLIGHT OF THE PHOENIX
They say that every Phoenix rises
But when life provides no compromises
It should come as no surprise
That a Phoenix is nothing more . . . than a sparrow
Seeking crumbs on narrow streets
Flying from the tip of tall buildings
To the hard concrete
Succumb to defeat
Rather than suffer the constant struggle
The battle of tug of war
Is just a metaphor
Where there can only be one winner
The kind and compassionate
Are the perpetually condemned sinners
Heartache the blood thinner
That turns cool breezes into artic winds
Causes a young life to rescind
Her covenant with her glory
To hear she took her life
Tore me and all that knew her apart
Didn’t she know that the community of art
And love covet her departure?
Because now only the angels will know
Why the Phoenix flew away
Ron Horne
I KNEW HER AS ROSE
She came to be known as Phoenix
But I first knew her as Rose
And little did I know
That she was in the throes
Of a struggle with life and death
So on that humid August night
As we all skinny dipped
How could I know that in her mind
The scales would tip
And she would slip
Down a slope
That at its depth lacked the hope
She needed to keep going
How could I know that
As she placed her tiny hand in mine
The cosmic design
Had a disturbing fate in place
Where she paced back and forth
Between the door to existence
And the door to extinction
To learn that she found not distinction
Between the two
Leaves me to ponder
My own bouts with suicidal ideation
Those times where I lamented whether
My own creation was a mistake
Ready to preclude another candle
Impaling my birthday cake
Break the cycle of constant misery
That seemed to plague me daily
Yes, if it weren’t for poetry
I would have missed the gallantry
Of my son’s well and hard fought triumphs
I would have forgotten the fact that it is enough
To be loved without necessarily being the beloved
That the joy of life is toughing it out
Long enough to see the BIG picture
So, as the regret flows
The fire in me grows
To spend life on my tip toes
Reaching for the light that glows
She came to be know as Phoenix
But to me, she was a perennial Rose
Ron Horne
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Post Selection, Post 9/11
GriotPoet
I work as a full-time business owner and part-time at UPS from 3 AM to 9 AM most mornings. I have a friend that works as a store manager at 7-11. I have another female colleague that works at a grocery store and another part-time job. We all contributed to the robust job report post election. We're all former engineers from the dwindling high-tech industry in Austin and America.
This is George Bush's America, post selection, post 9/11. The decision did not have to go to the Supreme Court this time. It was finally a majority: based on yellow and orange alerts and fear of "boogie men" in flowing robes and turbans that -- as a wealthy man -- is most likely NOT in a cave in Tora Bora!
It is a selection of values: gay and lesbian marriage, abortion equals anti-family. The Catholic Church came out with a diatribe denying any parishioners the sacraments if they supported the right to choose. Three points: 1) abortion has been practiced since the Roman Empire, not an endorsement, but nothing new; 2) it will be interesting to see if with a majority in all branches of government and no reelection to focus on if the procedure will actually disappear; 3) isn't this the same Catholic Church that had a major problem with pedophilia in the pulpit?
To paraphrase the Vice President's comments on deficits, "The facts don't matter." Abu Ghraib. Guantanamo Bay. 1,100 plus lives. A war based on lies. Part-time jobs that pay less than the previous professions. The market surges; a job is a job.
By definition, both candidates were products rolled out to market. As market-driven commodities, the best explanation of the election is the public went with the easiest and simplest digested message. No complexities of gray: black and white, good and evil, us and the "evil doers."
The second terms of Johnson, Nixon, Reagan and Clinton historically have not been as good as the first. I have witnessed the death of intellectualism for market-driven dogma and slogans. Time will tell if it means the death of democracy as well.
I work as a full-time business owner and part-time at UPS from 3 AM to 9 AM most mornings. I have a friend that works as a store manager at 7-11. I have another female colleague that works at a grocery store and another part-time job. We all contributed to the robust job report post election. We're all former engineers from the dwindling high-tech industry in Austin and America.
This is George Bush's America, post selection, post 9/11. The decision did not have to go to the Supreme Court this time. It was finally a majority: based on yellow and orange alerts and fear of "boogie men" in flowing robes and turbans that -- as a wealthy man -- is most likely NOT in a cave in Tora Bora!
It is a selection of values: gay and lesbian marriage, abortion equals anti-family. The Catholic Church came out with a diatribe denying any parishioners the sacraments if they supported the right to choose. Three points: 1) abortion has been practiced since the Roman Empire, not an endorsement, but nothing new; 2) it will be interesting to see if with a majority in all branches of government and no reelection to focus on if the procedure will actually disappear; 3) isn't this the same Catholic Church that had a major problem with pedophilia in the pulpit?
To paraphrase the Vice President's comments on deficits, "The facts don't matter." Abu Ghraib. Guantanamo Bay. 1,100 plus lives. A war based on lies. Part-time jobs that pay less than the previous professions. The market surges; a job is a job.
By definition, both candidates were products rolled out to market. As market-driven commodities, the best explanation of the election is the public went with the easiest and simplest digested message. No complexities of gray: black and white, good and evil, us and the "evil doers."
The second terms of Johnson, Nixon, Reagan and Clinton historically have not been as good as the first. I have witnessed the death of intellectualism for market-driven dogma and slogans. Time will tell if it means the death of democracy as well.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Chance
Chance
© 3 November 2004, The Griot Poet
1 : 59 billion.
The odds that two guys
With the same background, same frat
Could run
Tit-for-tat
For the presidency.
Most likely,
Some Bonesmen
Skullduggery
Decided this selection
In corporate boardrooms.
This is NOT democracy!
This is incorporated reality TV:
“Survivor”;
“The Apprentice”;
“Big Brother.”
Some other…
Big business,
Political-religious
Government merger
THING
Did this,
Taken over…
I can’t afford
Prayers on tele-evangelist
Prayer cloths to Cornell West's
Constantine Christian
Gods, crossed fingers
Or find 4 leaf clovers.
NEWS FLASH: Jesus did NOT come
To establish empire!
He did aspire
To establish and confirm
Prophesy against
Loud praying,
Pharisee parasitical &
Roman government
Hypocrisies.
His zeal threw
The corporate thieves
Out of the temple.
Confrontation of evil
Face-to-face in
Wildernesses of sin:
It’s not as simple as
Paid speechwriters peppering
Your tone with the
Appropriate biblical catch phrase:
“Wonder working power.”
Problems are not
Simplified into black & white,
Good & evildoer world views.
It’s not as simple as
Stealing mineral spoils
From Venezuela or Iraq;
Drilling the Artic Preserves
For more oil:
Only so many dinosaurs
Contributed to that spoil.
We are in the last act;
The last hour of an
Apocalyptic play that
We blind ourselves to
With dogma, slogans and sound bites.
The recipe for disaster:
377 tons of unaccounted for explosives
Not only help an insurgent’s plight,
It is the right cocktail
For your VERY own
Miniature
Tactical nuclear
Bunker buster
Without the need for
Multi cluster
Missile delivery systems.
Roll the dice
On pre-emptive strike symptoms:
India and Pakistan’s
Ability to keep
Their nuclear arsenals
From incinerating
Each other
In South Asia.
Because we are
Instinctively frightened
Of the soon-coming reality:
“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were PASSED away; and there was NO MORE sea!”
© 3 November 2004, The Griot Poet
1 : 59 billion.
The odds that two guys
With the same background, same frat
Could run
Tit-for-tat
For the presidency.
Most likely,
Some Bonesmen
Skullduggery
Decided this selection
In corporate boardrooms.
This is NOT democracy!
This is incorporated reality TV:
“Survivor”;
“The Apprentice”;
“Big Brother.”
Some other…
Big business,
Political-religious
Government merger
THING
Did this,
Taken over…
I can’t afford
Prayers on tele-evangelist
Prayer cloths to Cornell West's
Constantine Christian
Gods, crossed fingers
Or find 4 leaf clovers.
NEWS FLASH: Jesus did NOT come
To establish empire!
He did aspire
To establish and confirm
Prophesy against
Loud praying,
Pharisee parasitical &
Roman government
Hypocrisies.
His zeal threw
The corporate thieves
Out of the temple.
Confrontation of evil
Face-to-face in
Wildernesses of sin:
It’s not as simple as
Paid speechwriters peppering
Your tone with the
Appropriate biblical catch phrase:
“Wonder working power.”
Problems are not
Simplified into black & white,
Good & evildoer world views.
It’s not as simple as
Stealing mineral spoils
From Venezuela or Iraq;
Drilling the Artic Preserves
For more oil:
Only so many dinosaurs
Contributed to that spoil.
We are in the last act;
The last hour of an
Apocalyptic play that
We blind ourselves to
With dogma, slogans and sound bites.
The recipe for disaster:
377 tons of unaccounted for explosives
Not only help an insurgent’s plight,
It is the right cocktail
For your VERY own
Miniature
Tactical nuclear
Bunker buster
Without the need for
Multi cluster
Missile delivery systems.
Roll the dice
On pre-emptive strike symptoms:
India and Pakistan’s
Ability to keep
Their nuclear arsenals
From incinerating
Each other
In South Asia.
Because we are
Instinctively frightened
Of the soon-coming reality:
“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were PASSED away; and there was NO MORE sea!”
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