Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Zombies-version 2

Zombies (version 2)

There comes a time when dreams have turned to dust,
And humans lose their passion and their lust.
Then what they do, they do as zombies might—
Or robots—not from choice, but since they must.

Bereft of purpose, shorn of meaning’s might,
And so of all the vigor these had lent,
And lacking vision, robbed of thought and sight,
As husks, they know not where their kernels went.


What acts or words or thoughts can break that spell—
Release them then from that robotic hell?
They ask this question, with the ardor left
That wills can muster, from within that well.

They ask the question as a prayer, plea—
To find the clarity and wisdom then
That gives them sanity and sight to see
The path that takes them back to being men.


But then, they might at times remember this—
The precious thing that zombies surely miss—
Those moments, scant, retrieved from memory—
Those instants past of pure, essential bliss.

What presence then, except that essence fine—
As walls dissolved and pain had ceased to be—
That taste and scent, as if of fragrant wine,
That even zombies know, who once were free.

2018 May 22nd, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

Saturday, May 19, 2018

The Darkness of Noon

The Darkness of Noon

Bow to the ones who are rich, my friends!
Kneel for the ones who have goons on call.
These are the gods of our times, my friends.
Toil at the feet of our Pharaohs tall.

The human race is a servile one,
For those who had pride are dead and gone,
Except for the ones who have clearly won.
They straddle the land that we are on.


Gone are the ones who had striven and died.
Lost are the causes for which they fought.
Rich are the ones who had stolen and lied.
Poor are the sons of the men who rot.

The mothers had wailed and the daughters had wept,
But who can remember the reason they did?
The truths are forgotten, the falsehoods are left.
The darkness has gathered, the moon has been hid.


When will the clouds and the dark be dispersed?
Where is the courage and where is the truth?
Where is the learning with which we were versed?
When will the trodden be rid of the boot?

The ones who are workers can gather and rise,
And bring down the ones who have risen on high,
But first they should strive to be wary and wise,
To sift what is left of the truth from the lie.


Strive then, oh worker, to question and learn!
Learn to distinguish the fine from the dross.
Then you will see that your sense will return.
Then there’s a chance you’ll recover your loss.

You never will bow then to those who are rich.
Your knee will not bend for the lord or his goon.
The humble will smile, as you know which is which.
The Pharaohs will see then the darkness of noon.

2018 May 19th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York

Monday, May 7, 2018

Silly Sally in the Spring

Silly Sally in the Spring

As I was walking in the sun,
I heard a woman sing.
It was my neighbor Sally, who
Was singing of the spring.

And here’s the silly song I heard
My neighbor Sally sing.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
What a glorious day in May!

“The flowers, see, are blooming in
the yards along the street.
The cold and snow are gone and oh—
The warmth and sun are sweet!

“Like children, silly adults too
Are simply having fun—
So some like me are singing and
are dancing in the sun!

“The sky is blue and clouds of white
Are slowly sailing past.
The winter has departed and
The spring is here at last!

“In Brooklyn, here in Bensonhurst,
The ocean breezes blow.
In slanting sun, the newborn leaves,
Like jades and sapphires, glow.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
  What a glorious day in May!”

I heard this song that Sally sang,
And then decided—what the hell!
So like my neighbor, Sally, I
Danced a jig and sang as well.

And others, sillied by the spring,
Joined with us as evening fell.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
What a glorious day in May!

2018 May 7th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York  

Friday, May 4, 2018

I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring

I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring

I met my darling at the start of spring
And dallied with her till I tired of it.
And then I killed her, so I could again
Have other darlings, till I waned in wit.

But then I met another lissome lass,
Who reeled me in as if I were a catch,
Then struck me hard and set my heart aflame,
And tossed me off, as if I were a match.

And so I perished and was born again,
Forgetting all my sins and suffering.
And growing then to youth and middle age,
I looked to fall, while looking back at spring.

And summer, winter and the seasons all
Of all my lives appeared to coalesce.
And those I’d wounded, those who’d wounded me—
Were none, I saw, but I—no more, no less.

2018 May 4th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

Monday, April 30, 2018

Angel’s Wings

Angel’s Wings

The monster of the west takes off its mask
And bares its demon face for all to see.
And now the deeds it did in darkness are
Exposed to light for those like you and me.

But does the public in the homeland flinch
At seeing that their nation long was ruled
By those of devilish heart and mind, who yet,
That public, with their call for “freedom”, fooled?

What freedom was it then, as it is now?
The liberty to ravage lands afar?
The freedom granted then, and vaunted still,
To crush resistance with the force of war?

Alas! The public now is split indeed,
But mainly, from the news we get, between
The ones who’d crush a country A and those
Who’d bomb a B for reasons most obscene.

And still those reasons aren’t fully shown.
What’s said in private, in the central rings,
Cannot be heard by those more distant, who
May think their devil still has angel’s wings.

And so we race towards apocalypse,
With minions cheering as we near the brink.
The hounds of horror, scenting mayhem, bay,
As those who fed them hear and nod and wink.

The hunt is on, across the globe, for those
Who still may dare to try to curb the beast.
The monster of the west has bared its face,
And who can stop or slow it in the least?

2018 April 30th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York


Saturday, April 21, 2018

So Is It Spring?

So Is It Spring?

We see the tulips, so we know that this
Is springtime, though the winter tarries still.
And here's a tree that dresses now in white—
And down the street, another, blushing pink.
And others yet are still without their leaves,
But spread their twigs to taut, expectant buds—
Or tiny leaflets, shyly peeking out.

And seeing all of this, we know that spring
Is here, though winter works its stubborn will—
So nights are close to freezing and we wear
Our heavy garments, huddled, to our work.

And here and there, on bushes evergreen,
We see the newest leaves, in varied hues
And backlit glory, as they rise and glow
Like votive candles, in the afternoons—
And so, from this and more, we know that spring
Is with us, though the winter does not leave.

So children now are playing in the streets.
And in the parks, the squirrels peek from trees
And little birds are chirping, “This is spring!”,
As mothers wheel their still well-bundled kids.

The season stays and tries to work its will,
As nights are crisp and close to freezing still,
So weather men and women talk of snow
As April's done and May is at our door—
And out in Minnesota all is white,
For winter, peeved, is venting still its spite—
But here in Brooklyn we are sensing spring,
And fancies, like the birds, are taking wing.

“But is it spring?” we ask, and wonder why
The winter, old like us, will still not die,
But lingers, as we do, although our times
Are up, and all that's left—are weary rhymes.

So leave, old winter, leave—and take us too—
For spring is here to drive us out—with you.

2018 April 21, Sat.
Bensonhurst Park
Brooklyn, New York

Bensonhurst Park, Brooklyn, New York. 2018 April 21 Sat.
(On a good computer screen, click on the image for a better view.)

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

The Blight / Diamonds into Dust

The Blight / Diamonds into Dust

The things that once lit up our eyes may leave
Us later quite unmoved, except in memory—
As even curiosity recedes
And what had meaning seems as meaningless.

And then we look around us and perceive
The tawdry nature of the lives we lead
And so are filled with such a hopelessness
That remnant zests are turned to apathies.

The things that needed our attention seem
Undoable, as tasks neglected grow
To mountains in our minds. We cannot climb
These obstacles—and slide towards despair.


And some of us are graced or cursed in that
We see the grays between the black and white,
And this may give us insight, tolerance—
But also predispose us for the blight.

And that’s the cheerless gray that stalks the men
And women—even children—of our times,
And rarely leaves the elder folk untouched—
The blight that turns our diamonds into dust.


How many children’s eyes, in war and peace,
Have lost their brightness and been dulled by time?
How many men and women trudge the streets
Or sit or lie—and wait for their release?

What cure is there for this—our malady
That might be masked by all the razzmatazz
That passes for modernity—the jive
That hides the plagues to which it always leads?

Well surely, dropping all the plastic cheer
That’s manufactured in our modern mills
Might be a step towards that sanity
Whose absence leads to mayhem—and to this.

2018 April 17th Tue.
Brooklyn, New York