Change of Shift

The sun as it fades in the mirror reminds
Of a friend who has just bade goodbye
Warmed by the light of this comrade’s alliance
I face the moon squarely on high

Mysterious reins pull the orb ever closer
Until it looks me in the eye
So many craters and so little glow
Just a shade of my vanished ally

With you I must wander in rough reverie
And your turbulence troubles my soul
But soon I will know you and knowing is triumph
And we, like the star, will be whole

House

The house where I lived as a child
Is mottled with shadows and light
In dreams alternating
Between terror and pleasure
On the shifting ether of the night

A vagabond since I was orphaned
And launched into space by my kin
I hold fast to sheets
That the sweat of flesh meets
And wrestle the angels within

Libido

The way this serpent moves within
Is far beyond my vision
I would surgically extract this thing
But I make no incision

A thief in the night overtaking reason:
Attribute to the moon
This cunning, reckless avatar
That sinks its fangs too soon

It leaves as swiftly as it comes
Befuddling my brain
And as the dawn appeals its case
I walk among the sane

Dream Garden

They’ve cut down all the roses here, my love
No really one knows what I speak of
The house where we once lived is falling down
The girl that I once loved is not around

But I don’t let you go
Your face to me will never harden
As all the angels surely know
We meet tonight in the dream garden

The sorrow here is laden in the mist
The trees even recall the night we kissed
But those were other trees and other times
And still the leaves fall down and ivy climbs

But I don’t let you go
Your face to me will never harden
As all the angels surely know
We meet tonight in the dream garden

So you are far away across the sea
But you are closer now than ever to me
The petals spill around the space you left
Still I will make a blessing from this theft

And I don’t let you go
Your face to me will never harden
As all the angels surely know
We meet tonight in the dream garden

No, I don’t let you go
Your face to me will never harden
As all the angels surely know
We meet tonight in our dream garden

Chevy Van

In 1975, worlds behind us, a little-known singer named Sammy Johns released "Chevy Van," an anthem for the carefree, laid-back, free-loving times we were just waking up from. "I gave a girl a ride in my wagon.......Like a picture she was laying there/Moonlight dancing off her hair/She woke up and took me by the hand/We made love in my Chevy Van, and that's alright by me."

Sad to say, the world is a slightly darker place now, Mr. Johns. Young girls don't hitchhike anymore. That Chevy you wrote about, its parent company has come on really, really hard times. That little move you made while she was sleeping might have life-altering reprecussions. And people don't find each other quite so freely. I hate to be an agent of gloom, but here is how an updated, slightly more realistic version of that song lyric might read:

Chevy Van, 2008 Version

I am alone
In the still of the night
Looking for answers
Looking for light

Moon through the windshield
Is hardly enough
Twists through my cornea
The wheel now feels rough

She was once here
With her smile and her touch
She’s taken the flame
The brake and the clutch

As I speed home in silence
In this metal morass
Who in hell listens
When the crash comes to pass

Way Back When

Back when the earth
Was a speckle in space
And the galaxies twirled on a string

Something let loose
From time’s guillotine
And splashed its rays on everything

Condensed in a star
With its light from afar
Irrepressible heat searing through

While all of this happened
So long, long ago
Even then I already loved you

As the World Moves Away

As the world moves away from the people
I sit and I pray for the world
Machines can best handle your problem
Machines are the light of the world

As the world moves away from compassion
I sit and reflect on the world
I knew when I once was a child
The world was all sinews and curves

As the world moves away from sanctuary
Toward plastics and silver and steel
I move to the shadowy window
Toward something that I still can feel

Alone on the Moon

Alone on the moon
Watching planets whiz by
The girl at a loss for the light

Digs craters for lovers
Whose faults she has measured
Before she was one with the night

While the atmosphere freezes,
She is still breathing
Alone on the moon, turning white

So Little Light

There is so little light
Coming in through these windows
One wonders where time spins its wheels

Surely not here
In this palace of shadows
Where the costume is all that one feels

On a serpentine night
With the moon pirouetting
The ocean proposes and kneels

To a kingdom of sylphs
Who are flitting in darkness
From the angel who opened the seals

WikiDefinition

Getting older: The gradual increase of the distance between the things you want to do and the things you can do.

A Day to Remember

So this is it—one way or another, history will be made today.
Not a single poll in over five weeks has put John McCain ahead. Both the electoral college and the popular vote tallies have Obama enjoying a comfortable lead, and even Republican strategists have publicly conceded the likelihood of a McCain defeat.

All of which reminds me that, should tomorrow come and McCain turn out to be on top, my darkest fears will have come true: once again, the elections will have been manipulated, twisted, and turned in favor of the moneyed party. I hate to even entertain the idea that we’ll see voter election fraud again—a la Bush 2000 and 2004—even after so many safeguards have been put in place, but then I remember this country’s history of racism, its adherence to a monolithic profile for its presidents, and most of all, the corruption of its incumbent party.

This is a day dreamt of by many for generations. Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, and a host of civil rights leaders past and present are surely rejoicing, wherever they are. Let’s pray that heaven is not betrayed by the specter of greed and dishonesty that hangs over us all.

One More Chance

I know that I have lost the key
To your heart and to your door
But if you give me one more chance
To show what love is for

I’ll love you like the water flows
Upon the riverbed
I’ll sing to you with velvet tones
To wrap around your head

One more chance is all I ask
To hold you in the dawn
One more chance is all I need
To take tomorrow on

Words have ways of letting down
The vows our lips might say
But words of pure devotion are
All I have left today

I’ll keep you till forever is
An ember in your eye
Embrace you till your fire
Hangs a rainbow in the sky

One more chance is all I ask
To hold you in the dawn
One more chance is all I need
To take tomorrow on

One more chance is all I ask
To hold you in the dawn
One more chance is all I need
To take tomorrow on

Phillies Fever

My hometown team, the Philadelphia Phillies, finally won the World Series—their first in 28 years. Naturally a flood of memories comes back to me in an event like this. In 1980 I was a freshman at Penn and went to the series parade with my mother. (?!) Jimmy Carter was the President, City Hall was still the tallest building in the city, and about half the guys on this 2008 squad hadn’t even been born yet.

The much-maligned Philadelphia fans finally have something to shout about. No city with a team in all four major sports had gone longer without a championship. For that, you have to go back a quarter of a century to the 1983 76ers of basketball. Since then, a number of near-misses have consistently broken the collective heart of the City of Brotherly Love. While I may not be the only person in Knoxville, Tennessee who watched every World Series game played in two faraway cities, I bet I’m the happiest.

Splashdown

That moment when my lips pressed against hers
Fire forever seared in my mind
Was when time stopped; I felt myself weightless
A long reentry back down to earth

Was it just this mirage I was kissing
Or an atmosphere outside my own
In my ocean where I landed senseless
I find myself still awed by her sky

Three Days No Dreams

Three days now no dreams
Could I recall in the morning
Though I sensed my mind jumping those nights

Leave them buried within
Subterranean caverns
Three days with no dreams in my sights

What happens to those
Driven out of the slipstream
Without any fuel through the days

The colorless world
Swims in silence beside me
Three days with no dreams in the haze

Out of Everything

Thank you for stopping in today
It’s wonderful to see you
Unfortunately, we are out of everything

The corn did not produce this year
As expected a lean year for beef
Milk was low with the blighted cows

Our shirts are out of makers now
The pants supply is low as well
No more workers down in sweatshop hell

Our entertainment aisle is dismal too
No more remakes to fill CDs
Nor could the movies copy any more

Since creativity was euthanized
Little art left to sell you know
The writers have run out of words

This cash register however is for sale
It’s quite a sleek electronic thing
As for our other stock, do stop back

We are out of everything

Absolute Blindness

Your absolute blindness dumbfounds me America
Blind to the idiocy
Of eight years in chains
Will you allow eight more?

Blind to the poverty
Blind to the slavery
Blind to your heroes
You want more

Blind to hypocrisy
Of leaders and banks
Blind to the ingrates
Empowered by zealots and whores

Your absolute blindness is killing me America
With your plastics and chips
And your cities of gold
Your blindness brings nothing but war

System of Man

My reflections on all this Wall Street grief--in song, as usual....

System of Man

It was a lightning connection
It was a surefire thing
It was a blue chip stock
I threw my hat in the ring

I had the car with the toys
I had my GPS on
Still I got lost on Broadway
And it was totaled before long

Just like everything,
Just like everything,
It came crashing down
There’s no use hanging around
It all just slipped through my hand
Another system of man

I was a big name on Wall Street
I was the one in the know
I took my winnings to Vegas
And we were rolling in snow

And then the big markets tumbled
My stock was not worth a dime
If I could just get it back
All this investment of time

Just like everything,
Just like everything,
It came crashing down
There’s no use hanging around
It all just slipped through my hand
Another system of man

I had enough to retire
I had my wealth in the bank
I had my days all planned out
I had accountants to thank

Well they had run every test
My health was golden they said
Until I felt some explosions
In my heart and my head

Just like everything,
Just like everything,
It came crashing down
There’s no use hanging around
It all just slipped through my hand
Another system of man

Just like everything,
Just like everything,
It came crashing down
There’s no use hanging around
It all just slipped through my hand
Another system of man

The World According to Angela

My 4-year old daughter Angela’s ineffable sagacity sometimes manifests itself in the most unpredictable ways…..The other day we got into a discussion about why things always fall down to the ground, and I was explaining to her about how a force called gravity makes EVERYTHING fall; I demonstrated: the crayons, the coloring book, the stuffed animal, even the leaves.

I should mention here that Angela is in the infamous independent, rebellious, you-say-black-I’ll-find-a-way-to-say-white stage. So she looked around and pointed out that the sun and the moon and the stars don’t fall down. I had a tough time explaining that….

We got a bird feeder on our front porch the other day, and lately she’s been marveling at the hummingbirds. They don’t fall down either, she observes. You can bet that when human beings figure out a way to fly, Angela will be among the first to flap her wings….

And God Said.....

Hedge funds
Junk bonds
Buyouts, bailouts, mergers
Subprime lending
Capital gains
Bull market, bear market
Liquidity, liquidity

Federal reserve and speculation
Adjustable rate estate tax
No points at closing
All of this way over your head
And over Mine
Come talk to Me when you need
Water

On the Precipice

Surely there are answers to this child’s questions
Too stark and cold for the innocent mind
But I do not know either why
God brings us into such joy and wonder
Only to diminish it year after year

Taking your azure blues and fire-truck reds
Turning them into smog and stop signs
Real fires taking desperate lives, burning down your dreams
I would like to stay here forever with you on this impossible precipice
But you too must join in this dance of illusion and sorrow

4 AM

At 4:00 a.m.
The computer sleeps
The neon dies
News shows loop
The freeway stills
The city snores
As darkness reigns
Moon cools all
But I am on fire
Awake and thinking
Of you

Pharmaceuticals

Side effects are rare:
If you develop a tingling sensation
Frequent headaches
An erection lasting more than eight hours
Blurred vision
Impaired reason
Loss of appetite, sudden weight gain
Increased appetite, sudden weight loss
Dry mouth, dizziness, or shortness of breath
Mild stroke or premature death
Consult your doctor

Body Farm

Today reading the grisly and sensational details of the Caylee Anthony saga, I learned that a DNA match was found for the little girl by investigators at the Body Farm right around the corner from me here at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.

While Memphis has Elvis, Nashville has the Grand Ole Opry, and Chattanooga has the renowned Choo-Choo, Knoxville, a town replete with ghost legend and lore, has the labs where they made the bomb that blew up Hiroshima in nearby Oak Ridge—and the Body Farm. This latter place is as grisly a claim to fame as one could ever imagine. Basically, cadavers arrive here from all over the country when the ways and means of the checkout have proven to be elusive. The scientists and their scalpels then have a field day upon the dead bodies, in hopes of providing the missing tidbit of evidence that will exonerate someone or have them locked away for life.

I couldn’t help deriving sick black humor out of this and have penned the following lyric, possible words for a future country song that might be produced in the sunnier part of the state, about this ominous corner of the UT campus—

Body Farm

I’m going to the Body Farm
They’re going to find out how I died
They’ll get to the heart of it
Who fired, who fell, who lied

I’m going to the Body Farm
Down in Knoxville, Tennessee
They won’t rest until they know
Who got the best of me

I was once a young buck
On the Reagan gravy train
Till they came here with their microchips
And scrambled up my brain

I’m going to the Body Farm
Down in Knoxville, Tennessee
They won’t rest until they know
Who got the best of me

I’m going to the Body Farm
When it’s over, I’ll be clean
They sort me out from head to toe
And every neuron in between

I’m going to the Body Farm
Down in Knoxville, Tennessee
They won’t rest until they know
Who got the best of me

I’m going to the Body Farm
Down in Knoxville, Tennessee
They won’t rest until they know
Who got the best of me

August

If April is the cruelest month
Surely August is the kindest
Benevolent air hangs cozily
Pregnant over golden hills
Winds its way around the clouds
Holding water, releasing rain
The natural flow of life itself

And yet time almost stops here….

No holidays to break the days
No schools, no labor pains
Just the diamond game of innings
That springs to life with no set end
Bright green grass and waves on water
Even senators home to be honest
In awe of the brilliant light of August

Love Must Wait

Love must wait in darkness
Love must wait in shame
Love must wait in limbo
Till someone calls love’s name

Love must live through scourges
Love must not despair
Love must look at shadows
Till someone finds love there

Love must take no prisoners
Love must find a way
Love must bear all burdens
Till love burns yesterday

Black in America like Anfernee Hardaway

This month CNN is airing a special called "Black in America." As much as I admire their intrepid journalism I wonder why the lens selectively devotes a month to "Black in America" to the exclusion of "Jewish in America" or "Gay in America" or "Latino in America" or "Native American in America"?? Are not the colors of our illustrious tapestry supposedly blurring?

One of the things that I personally have always found most interesting and paradoxical about the perception of blacks in America is the way some of the most racially bigoted whites I've ever known will turn a blind eye to color when it is time to idolize blacks as heroes of sport. THAT alone is their virtue; THAT is their saving grace.

I wrote a poem awhile back that sort of sums this up:

Anfernee Hardaway
Ole, ole; ole, ole
It’s getting late; I’m done for today
Anfernee Hardaway

No time left to myself today
Anfernee Hardaway
There’s a way that’s right today
Anfernee Hardaway

Anfernee Hardaway
Love the way that Negro play
Up and down and fast then slow
Anfernee Hardaway


Clarification of lyric:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLuRKDmNem0

As Katrina Fades

At home in New Orleans
The sound of the river
As it rushed through the levees
Was a tonic at the end
Of the workday

After the disaster
This river like all rivers
Is a nightmare that rushes
Unwanted through the brain
In the dead of night

And the dawn like all dawns
Since the day of awakening
Is a call to avenge
The ennui we feel
Across Lake Pontchartrain

Still Life Map

The map has not changed
Since Man stomped his way
Through the garden

Governments vie
Soldiers die
For these fine lines

But the map has not changed
Since Man stomped his way
Through the garden

Oceans of blue
Mountains and fields
All around you

Colombia

They were surrounded by guns
And sleeping in chains
In a land full of savages
Where violence reigns
With welts on their necks
And ticks in their feet
Nightmares and terrors,
Cauldron of heat
Concealing their faith
Where faith is destroyed
Thinking only of home
And not of the void
In the light of the dawn
They saw a rainbow appear
In the blackest of wilderness
Love conquers fear

The Wind

The wind has a secret
It carries within
All the cities and towns
Where it watches

The wind takes my dreams
To the palatine hills
And like pollen they spread
Through the flowers

The wind moves the waters
At dawn in the ocean
And wakes all the waves
With its rhythm

The wind is still willing
To whisper to strangers
The secret that waits
High in heaven

One Dangerous Summer

(For Ernest Hemingway)

The sky was entreating
Never so icy blue
I never imagined
Would be the last of you

The ocean was dancing
To a spirited song
The reeds, too, were whistling
And humming along

You were there flying
In this cauldron of heat
Far away from the city
Far away from the street

Yet I saw something chilling
In the glint of your eye
One dangerous summer
When you said goodbye

The clouds are relentless
And they threaten to flood
The sea now dumbfounded
And full of your blood

I remember the beginning
Never closer were we
In the folds of these dunes
There lies something of me

You were there flying
In this cauldron of heat
Far away from the city
Far away from the street

Yet I saw something chilling
In the glint of your eye
One dangerous summer
When you said goodbye

Dead Serious

I want what you have
And I am dead serious
You thought you knew me
The joke is on you
You have been blind
I have been fast
I am looking to the future
You are tied to the past
You have gone running
Just as far as you can
Enough of the mirrors, the vanities
And the lies
I want what you have
I am dead serious

Once You See

She is not the brightest star
But once you see her light
Transmitted from her deepest place
There is no such thing as night

A different light, a different glow
I feel her through my soul
Something hard to quantify
And harder still to hold

She is not the galaxy
But once you see her span
The diamonds fall from high above
And trickle through your hands

Almost Blind

Too many screens
Are burning my eyes
What is behind this mirage

Colors synthetic
Science so strange
What is behind this mirage

Too long a time
With this burning inside
To move me beyond this mirage

A garden, an ocean
A blue cloudless sky
Hiding behind this mirage

A kiss in the desert
A moment unseen
Nascent behind this mirage

The World is Away from Its Desk Right Now

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Go, Ted

I just read how over Memorial Day Weekend, Ted Kennedy was sailing his yacht in a regatta off of Cape Cod. Ted Kennedy—one week after a biopsy that revealed brain cancer. Kennedy, with wife and pals by side, out on the ocean. Kennedy’s attitude: “Cancer, shmancer.” It doesn’t matter that death is a week or a month or God knows how far away, Ted just wants to enjoy life while it’s here. Raising his right arm, previously feared incapacitated, when leaving the hospital. Reading the paper in the SUV like he just woke up on a lazy Sunday morning. And now, riding in his yacht on the ocean.

It struck me that this is exactly what we as Americans love most about the Kennedy clan. These are people who live life to the fullest, with gusto and vigor, whatever circumstances may bring. Say what you will about their politics, their boozing, their womanizing, their life of privilege—when you get down to it, it’s really their lust for life that fascinates us all. Two brothers’ lives cut short by assassins’ bullets. But oh, how they lived. You may not like it, but secretly you envy it. Scandal, broken back, trial and tribulation, all in the past: Ted just wants to go out with a bang. The world still needs more Kennedys.

Peace Message

George W. Bush was in Israel yesterday delivering a speech celebrating the creation of the state, and meanwhile a missile destroyed part of an Ashkelon mall. For some reason I am eerily reminded of reports of his reading "My Pet Goat" to kindergartners during the 9-11 disasters, and of his reluctance to leave the golf course after Hurricane Katrina struck. Is there no end to this man's disconnect? Is he living on another plane? Is he leaving on the next plane?

What Happens in Asia

It's another ho-hum week on the Asian continent: At least 22,000 died in a cyclone in Myanmar; some 44,000 more are missing, yes, that same Myanmar where only months ago there was a martial-law crackdown on religious expression by those violent Monks (MONKS!!); then over the Mother's Day weekend, you may not have heard, a 7.9 Richter-scale earthquake wiped out at least 10,000 in China....

Then again, I can understand why you may not have heard; the important thing you need to know tonight, according to Yahoo, is that Mariah Carey has made a video with her new hubby; meanwhile, the headliner on MSN.com is sage advice on how long it will take you to make your first million.

Is anyone else out there as sick of this blindfold that they have us in as I am? Amazing how we are "a smaller world" these days; a "global village," some have called it, thanks to miraculous new forms of telecommunications--yet you have to delve deep into the news to find out about disasters of epic proportions, disasters that make Katrina look like an outdoor picnic....hey, they're in Asia! Half a globe away!

Here in the good old U.S.A., it's still business as usual: If it doesn't pertain to the celebrity culture or the pursuit of millions, the majority of people just don't care.

The War on YOU

Welcome to the war on YOU
See the fire
All conspire
To bring you down
Your legions, your strongholds, your nation too

Escape if you dare the slavery of debt
Slip into something more comfortable
Chains on your mind
Every hour of the day
The prospering vile
The drones single file
Embezzle your time
Spies, informants at every turn
It’s at your door, it’s on the phone, it’s in the mail
The President is a traitor, too
It’s the War on Everything—it’s the War on YOU

Drumming into your brain
No one can explain
It came from within
It’s on the head of a pin
No angels here
This is the War on YOU

Aptly Titled

The Bush Era:
War for profit
Prophets for sale
Sales for stockholders
Stockholders for jail
Jails for terrorists
Terrorists for schools
Schools for shooting
Shootings for Americans
Americans for Paris
Imbeds, implants
Bored, beheaded
Working hard,
Doing hard work
Every page
Disaster
Someday good toilet reading.

(Epigraph: If it looks like a toilet, it is a toilet.)

Whir

Flash! Boom! Whir!
This is our generation
What we were
A raging conflagration

Down in flames
The motherboards and the pistons
Up in arms
Does anyone ever listen

Fading out
A star that has burned to its photons
Flash! Boom! Whir!
Not much left here to go on

Don't Assassinate Me

This mountain can be moved
In my visions, in my brain
This mountain can be moved
In this lifetime, on this plane

This bridge can be constructed
From your continent to mine
This bridge can be constructed
Over land and over time

These breaches can be mended
With diplomacy and love
These breaches can be mended
With the power from above

This ending can be edited
When history is new
This ending can be edited
When you believe in you

This kingdom can be sanctified
And you can hail this king
But not until this hatred
Is excised from everything

Back to Me

Deep in reverie tonight, this song lyric came to me, about getting back to the simple life....


I’m looking through the clouds and the fog and the smoke
Looking for anyone who might offer hope
Because I want to get back
Back to me

I hear the train whistling over far flung hills
I’ve been meditating and taking every pill
Because I want to get back
Back to me

The sounds of the rivers and the loves of my youth
The echo of something a little more like truth
They’re all coming back
Back to me

Back to me
Where the flowers blossom and the green grass grows
Back to me
Where I escape into the sunset and no one ever knows
Back to me
Somehow I’ve got to make it
Back to me

I’ve been waiting on the women so far from home
They tantalize my body but they isolate my soul
Now I want to get back
Back to me

Too long on the prairie where the wild dogs run
Too long with the shysters and the ladies and the guns
Now I want to get back
Back to me

I know the light is fading but I do believe there’s time
I see the looming mountain but I’m willing now to climb
Because I want to get back
Back to me

Back to me
Where the flowers blossom and the green grass grows
Back to me
Where I escape into the sunset and no one ever knows
Back to me
Somehow I’ve got to make it
Back to me

Becoming Water

Before all this madness
Surged into my life
Drowning all of the peace that I had

I could envision a river
Flowing to the horizon
It carried me over the past

The rush of this river
Is all that I crave
To feel myself fluid again

As I look on your face
As soft as moonlight
I am water as I was once then

Project Washington

Democrats and Republicans
Are fighting a war within Washington buildings
A microcosm of the war in the Middle East
Words instead of tanks
Cash instead of beans
This is the height of democracy
The republic’s final hour
Oh Washington:
Lincoln and Jefferson are turning over in their graves
An annihilated family in Fallujah has none

Super Bowl XLII

David slew Goliath
The Patriots fell
The Giants were David
The Pats went to hell

The brusque, haughty coach
His comeuppance was due
Manning the slingshot
Of Super Bowl 42

Perfection subjective
In this corporate game
A perfect commercial
For the one of meek name

Persevere

As we walk bewildered
In these times of subservience
To shadow governments
Corporations
Monarchies and monasteries
Secret societies
And collusions of dark forces
Remember that our souls
Are not complicit in this treachery
One day the clouds do lift
The sun appears unbridled
Shining truth where shade
Once solemnly stood

Ascent

Looking into these eyes
I see new worlds forming
Oceans dancing
Angels singing
Sunshine pouring onto an endless plain
The clouds dissipate
The rain disappears
The rays streak their light
Into the farthest-flung wilderness
You laugh
And God lowers the ladder
And I climb ever higher
Moving into your eyes

Crime Scene

This is a crime scene
The sickly yellow tape
Circumscribing the lot
Runs from China to New York
And back to the Wall
The murderous millions
Still creeping inside
An insidious mix
Of passion and pride
A crime scene not entered
By the angels who witnessed
The innocent pay with their lives

Rocker

The chair still rocks without you
Missing your name, your face, your frame
Leaden air pregnant with your return
By fire, by plane, by magic
Back and forth the wood on wood
Creaking in the darkness
No one sits where this chair stood
Rocking in my brain
Rocking the baby to sleep
Rocking wood to wood
Another floor
In heaven