The Time IS Coming ...

They say the time is coming in my lifetime. I want a revolution but there’s not quite enough desperation yet although everyone’s in a state of exasperation – I get the impression through open discussion that there’s been no preparation for any revolution. Our great nation under direction of a new world order. I’d like promotion of peace to be the solution to the problem and I try my best to add my contribution to the plate.

I wonder how we’ll have peace without a fight for our rights? They’re not gonna give us what’s ours because they want it and they got the power. At first I thought the new world order was a joke, with the growing euro the new world order is a threat to our economy.

Puppets run our government. You tell me how many of the current run of presidents emerged from the slums or city streets?

We’ve never even had a Jewish president and probably never will.

Global warning is a conspiracy? That’s what your government wants you to believe. How can all the harm we cause our mother do her no ill? We pull her insides out – all her hidden jewels and resources and tell me this doesn’t affect our earth?

You stop drinking your one large cup of coffee everyday and tell me you feel nothing?

Everything is connected somehow – is it free will or coincidence? I like to meld between the two.

Do you think there are no connections or is it all random selection?

Gehinnon is only 12 months not eternity like for Christians and you have to do so something unforgivably bad – some big sin that most of us won’t do I like to think so anyway

I keep promoting peace in spite of people telling me revolution is blowing in the wind

Caught in a tailwind spin, we’re all blind on a work grind, and stabbed from behind. Everyone knows being taxed this way is illegal and was meant for corporate America not us poor working class shmucks who can barely pay our rent.

view of washington heights in NYC on a snow day

Shirk A Hard Day’s Work

Night filled with red light energy from softly lit candles all aglow
Smell the spell of delight, a complimentary southern belle
Cell phone perfect in my sight, a knight without his armor – it’s worth another write
No sense being polite when I’m shaking with stage fright
Uptight dwelling in resort new york, my crash pad my quarters my crib
Just because I’ve been a good little soldier all these years doesn’t mean I wasn’t tired of it
Let loose is what I say
As the intruder compels me to my computer
I have the link whaddaya think?
the living never run out of to do's,
only the dead do, got to keep up with the joneses – no flaccidity only morbidity
run the washing machine with some caffeine sprinkle of morphine
I wasn't here - brought the cats to get them care
If you go to jail don’t depend on me for the bail
My new york voice jams with music for free provided by gcast puts me on blast
Hark the herald angels sing – glory to a newborn king
I left my grad degree in Tennessee for all the good it does me
I had my first degree from the school of hard knocks
I’m not suicidal – my life’s a tidal wave – I’m a matinee idol who’s homicidal
My crows’ feet don’t impress, I’ve lost the scent as I bless the winter cress and pray for a stress less success to reassess I won’t confess – I’ll digress again
My bridal suite awaits, no more tweets, it’s not a balance sheet of vanilla velvet draperies
My new wedding dress, the press release went out yesterday
The ring's a perfect fit – diamonds are a girl’s best friend
The noblesse requests to attend, progress to a soft caress, a recess to excess, suppress the acrid taste of fecundity laced with equal parts serendipity and alacrity, laudably posted digested and vested accessibility perhaps a touch of civility blended with acceptability
The North Star, a bright white light providing the spark to find my way home in the dark

ADVANCING ON SATORI

Been waiting all night 

to hear your poetry, I said 

You’re that beat generation 

spewin that heat and light

Pure energy, that scene 

You were on the bus or off it 

I should’ve been there 

with ya’ all back then 

You were hardly born then, you answered 

probably just born in tha sixties 

No, I said, I could’a been there 

I was born in ‘50 

I shoulda’ been there 

But somehow I never went anywhere 

I admit it tho, 

I wanted to Be On The Road. 

And one day I almost took 

The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test 

But on that day, I was absent from life. 

I should’a been there 

But somehow I never went anywhere 

I cud tell you sometime, ya said 

why you never went anywhere 

You, with your omnipotent self 

How would you know anyway? 

I wondered, Did ya really know 

why I never left home? 

It was a prison 

     built of fear 

         loneliness 

             emptiness and despair 

I never had a life 

A child’s needs unmet 

never given what I longed for 

I couldn’t have what wasn’t there 

Fuck it, I’ll say it, it was 

     abuse, neglect 

     comes in so many forms 

        eats away your self esteem 

Made me weak, 

     slow, scared to go 

Robbed me of my faith, 

     my soul, my glow 

My inner harmony, 

     my sanctity 

     my sanity

I was a prisoner of fear, 

     a prisoner of war. 

I met you, read your sixties words 

your suffuse charm 

emanating from your Hobo soul 

I wanted to possess your poetry 

    your style 

         the 60’s and the 70’s 

         poetry of hope 

         An air of romance 

         a taste of escape 

A breath of fresh air 

     from a smog-filled street 

     the smoke and stink 

     rising slowly like gases 

     from the filthy pavement 

I was a prisoner of war 

Your words bring back the time ... 

Words like book, crib, jibe 

a stone’s throw away 

the sun low-fives the trees 

God damn! Your words excite me 

    Sex talk, like poontang, tallywhacker. 

    Wow man, I never heard it, 

But it’s cool, I understand it. 

Your blatantly primitive lust 

your licentious eyes

devouring me 

Staring at my sagging breasts 

cruising over my body 

    smoothly, 

as though it were highway 59 

Resting on my nipples 

    tingling 

like a jellied door buzzer 

my fallen butt and 

orange peel thighs 

Only served to fuel your lust 

my allure waved strong 

snagged by your naked desire, 

    your lust 

as you gorged on my scent 

teasing my libido 

A test in trust 

Your tongue flicked against your upper lip 

What’re ya’ havin’ babe, ya’ said 

No thanks, refused the drink 

Been waitin all night to hear your poem 

a moment abundant with heat 

stifling humidity 

complaints about intensity 

panties clinging damply 

Unbearable, prolonged 

I want to hear the poem 

my date languishing in time Y

our glass passed to my hand 

Contact, your eyes implored 

    lust and soul 

Give me sixties or give me death 

symbols of peace, 

Baby you’ve got heart, 

Go with the flow 

no looking back 

no sorrows or regrets 

resolute to recreate 

a life renewed

reincarnate 

more chances to fulfill the goal 

Don’t hesitate 

Go on! Get on the road 

Don’t worry if the bus is full 

Symmetry of faith 

advancing on satori 

will get you there 

    explore, 

search for more 

no more prisoners of war 

First published in 1995 in Grist on Line one of the first online poetry mags that came into being. At that time several people accused me of being a "post modernist" and I had no idea what that was so or more importantly who it included. I immediately began reading post modernists to understand what I was being accused of.  I couldn't format this right for blogger but on the linked version above, the formatting is correct. This poem is a throwback to the sixties generation