Poetry

Poetry

A Visit – By Mary Getlein
The Blind Waltz – By Miles Krumpak
Not Responsible – By Alan Lewis Rodman
The American Dream Scheme – By Marty Liboff
Yo Saturnalia! (the original Christmas) – By Jim Smith
Roger Houston
—————————————————-
A Visit
By Mary Getlein

do you think:
jesus christ would refuse a visit?
1. a visit for a mother, who’s been told she’s no good
a visit for a mother – who just wants to hold
her child and smell her delicious smell
to hold her child & count the seconds, till she has to leave.
2. do you think jesus christ would refuse a visit?
a visit to a lonely guy, wasting away in prison?
put there because they slapped an answer on the
question of guilt – yeah, he did it –
he’s Black, uneducated, no lawyer, no advice
took the first deal they gave him
after keeping him awake for 2-3 days & nights?
do you think jesus christ would refuse a visit?
3. do you think jesus christ would refuse a visit?
a visit to an old and lonely person
who can barely see, or hear, or taste anything?
who wants only to complain
when her daughter calls, she gets overwhelmed with guilt & hangs up
The old folks living out the rest of their days
in isolation –
don’t know how to make friends anymore
they have a group they can go to, a senior place
but don’t want to take that first step
out of isolation and into a circle of friends
we all need friends –
the liar and the cheat
the liar and the media clown
the liar and the one who believes his own P.R. work
the man or woman who turns their back on one in need
you – who won’t see the homeless, the hungry, the scared
won’t see the “throw-away” youth that had to leave
because there was no choice?
getting beat up every day, sexually molested or raped
who never felt wanted or needed or loved
who believed their lies, any lie
to talk themselves into staying
only to be brutalized some more . . .
would jesus christ refuse a visit?
No, he would open up his heart chakra &
take them all in –
The Kingdom of Heaven is NOW. Now in this moment.
the homeless on the street
every day & every night, people living out their days
on Thanksgiving Day they can eat –
many loving people bring food & sometimes clothes to the homeless
but they are cold and hungry all the other days
What about those days?
The rich move in for their ocean views
and what they really get to see are the homeless
stacked up like firewood, against their huge heavy doors.
They have to leave their mansions by the back door
so many homeless have taken up residence on the front door
hoping for a glimpse of their good life
hoping someone sees them as a person –
a moment of recognition –
“This is me, mother-fucker!”
“I’m alive out here & I’m losing my mind
and there is no way out of here -”
do you think jesus christ would refuse a visit?
would he be alarmed at what he saw right in front
of him – a man, a woman, a child
being refused a visit, from humanity.
—————————————————–
The Blind Waltz
By Miles Krumpak

This is how the poor dance, the blind, the deaf
the dumb. The ones who sit on top of newspapers
and sleep under them too.
Why change clothes, why get up, why sit down
why play the blues, if you’ve never heard them in all your life.
And there he was on the steps
a metallic coffee jar taped to the top of the guitar
see through pink sunglasses. to cover but show
eyes that never have seen.
Casual he played but a tremendous amount of sound came out
and they say that in the absence of a sense or two
the others they become stronger.
I stopped to listen, behind a church pillar
where he could not see me. But a street dog
he had become and he could sense my presence
with the presence of his animal instincts.
He played the latin blues, I think it had an A min
and a C and an F, and perhaps a B7
or something like that, and after each chord
was a gentle melody that crawled up the neck
and told the story of life in Costa Rica
living on a farm riding horses, plowing fields
all by touch because touch is what’s real.
That is what the streets are missing: the touch, the feel
there is plenty of noise, some taxi driver somewhere
is shouting “mister! mister!” and then saying the wrong price
another one is honking his horn
at the bus trying to squeeze through a very small space
while somewhere out there lightning is in the distance.
There are lots of colors, variants of green
but also bright oranges and yellows
that painters try to imitate with their brushes.
And here is this man, unknown with his grey cap on
that says San Francisco and shows the lines where sweat reached
on hot humid days, and he has what everyman wants
for when one hears his music, one knows
exactly where it comes from, exactly what he wants to say
that he is from the earth and now lives on the street
that he knows better than anyone what happens there
that he need no newspaper, no radio, no cell phone
that he is the city and that is why his coffee jar
never gets filled.
Starving, deaf, dumb, blind, in good spirits
in good health, and otherworldly sense to feel
just what is going on, in San Jose
in Costa Rica
in America
in the world.
————————————————-
Not Responsible
By Alan Lewis Rodman

Not Responsible
Not responsible for lost or
stolen Oracles.
Rider assumes all risk
or benefit
of any unforseen eventuality
due to weather,
serendipity or
Act of God, whichever
comes first.
No addition or subtraction
can be made
to or from the
incomparable perfection of
who you truly are.
————————————–
The American Dream Scheme
By Marty Liboff D.2014

The rich get richer
The poor get poorer
The middle class
Get it up the ass!
The system is stacked against you
Ya gotta slave till you’re black & blue.
Ya have to fuck for a buck
The poor have no luck.
Yet the buck flies away
The capitalist dollar won’t stay.
Your kids are naked and need food
While your boss & the banks are just rude.
All your money just to survive
Doesn’t matter how much you strive.
We’re brain washed by movies & TV
You starve while the rich travel & ski.
The American Dream
Is just an evil scheme
To keep ya slavin so others get rich
Ain’t it a bitch!
The rich hate food stamps & welfare
They call it a commie scare.
The media continue the corporate lie
While the poor & homeless die.
Money, money everywhere
Yet all ya can do is stare, it ain’t fair.
Corporations get all the dough
While the homeless have no where to go.
The police & army to keep the masses down
They pay them well to protect the iniquity in town.
More & bigger jails for the have nots
While in crumby schools your kid rots.
Giant mansions, jets & a yacht
You’re judged by what ya got.
The rich say pick yourself up by the bootstrap
While they cruise all over the map, it’s all crap!
They say a rich man’s heaven is a poor man’s, hell
The rich spoil the earth & make it smell.
Work, worktill ya die
While your children cry.
The rich only want tax breaks
While they drink fine wine, lobster & steaks.
They claim this is a free country
But you’re only free ifya have money …
The rich get richer
The poor get poorer
The middle class
Get it up the ass!
———————————————-
Yo Saturnalia! (the original Christmas)
By Jim Smith

At the bottom of the year
we are soaked with fear

of economic loss throughout the land
and no leaders who will take a stand

The days dwindle away
And night comes to stay

Then festive Saturnalia arrives
and the social world comes alive

Yes, it’s true, this land is now quite a fright
But a new year is being born this very night

The Sun – and days of revels – are coming again
in our happy land where love is not a sin

A toast to a new year of kindness and peace in faraway lands
And all across our fair city, to the poor, a helping hand.

Citizens of the World, let’s end the strife
and enjoy another year of light and life
—————————————————-
14:41 Monday, December 22nd, 2014, Adullam
By Roger Houston, post-beat romantic

….. You’re right around the corner.
Januaire. You’re sure to flex your muscles. One to dare. To enter. Roaring.
Rattling your cage. You’re here before the ink dries on the page. Dear January.
Bringing a new year. And lots of rain and snow. A deluge. Here. It’s in your
nature. So predictable. It’s senseless to resist you. Hear the call. The slow
parade of months. Let us prepare. To welcome you. Professing that we care. But
should your sojourn turn into a siege. I hope that you won’t escalate and rage.
Well. Do your worst. In truth. Don’t really care. We’re waiting for you. Darling
Januaire ….. Happy New Year!

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Categories: Poetry

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