Menagerie II
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Tribute to Gordon Lightfoot
Minstrels of this age
Salute you Mr. Lightfoot!!
For melody refined,
broad and true.
Elegant, haunting harmony
and beautiful rhythm.
The TRIAD.
Well-seasoned tales of the mountain
and purple sea.
Of skipper, captain and fool.
Yours is the well-tuned craft,
yours is the minstrelsy.
We are but dreamers
who make homage
to the minstrel of this age.
Salute you Mr. Lightfoot!!
For melody refined,
broad and true.
Elegant, haunting harmony
and beautiful rhythm.
The TRIAD.
Well-seasoned tales of the mountain
and purple sea.
Of skipper, captain and fool.
Yours is the well-tuned craft,
yours is the minstrelsy.
We are but dreamers
who make homage
to the minstrel of this age.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Last Leaves Rattle
Last leaves Rattle
children 'round the glimmering lawn tattle.
Steely birds wheel in December's sky
It's far too late,
far too easy to say 'goodbye'.
To say what cannot be fathomed
to tower over hours of words
then die.
It's far too easy to hate
far too late to say 'goodbye'.
To fracture my mummy's tomb
perpetually born into a narrow room
Mountains to the blue clouds cry.
It's far too early
and far too soon to say 'goodbye'.
Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.
Walls upon walls in the wreckage
sharp screaming walls
will not fly.
It's far from morning,
and too late to say 'goodbye'.
Echoes fail to answer
echoes have no home
echoes pulse in silence.
There is a song
but it it's too late to say 'goodbye'.
Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.
Hope finds hope
words run like fire like light
like sky.
In an eternity of darkness
it's too late to say 'goodbye'.
Treachery, war:
unprovoked, eternal,
without cease from Eden until we die.
There t is late
far too late to say 'goodbye'.
children 'round the glimmering lawn tattle.
Steely birds wheel in December's sky
It's far too late,
far too easy to say 'goodbye'.
To say what cannot be fathomed
to tower over hours of words
then die.
It's far too easy to hate
far too late to say 'goodbye'.
To fracture my mummy's tomb
perpetually born into a narrow room
Mountains to the blue clouds cry.
It's far too early
and far too soon to say 'goodbye'.
Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.
Walls upon walls in the wreckage
sharp screaming walls
will not fly.
It's far from morning,
and too late to say 'goodbye'.
Echoes fail to answer
echoes have no home
echoes pulse in silence.
There is a song
but it it's too late to say 'goodbye'.
Say Goodbye to inverted worlds of dream
where we walk on shiny streets of fire
past midnight
fall from sight
All that is is stone.
Hope finds hope
words run like fire like light
like sky.
In an eternity of darkness
it's too late to say 'goodbye'.
Treachery, war:
unprovoked, eternal,
without cease from Eden until we die.
There t is late
far too late to say 'goodbye'.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
The Whole Shooting Match
"Things ain't what they used to be;
Got this new surveillance state.
Things are gonna get better..."
"Man I can hardly wait!"
You know something good's hard to catch
That's the whole shooting match.
Wolf Blitzer in Tel Aviv,
Geraldo in New Orleans
Billy Jo and Buffy in Gitmo
trying to unsnap his jeans.
Good news is hard to fetch.
That's the whole shooting match.
Rocky in Falluja
keepin' the insurgency low
Scooter and the architect whisper
In an all night casino.
Deals like that are tough to patch.
That's the whole shooting match.
When all the fights for freedom in the dump of history tossed,
then we'll flip a coin and see who won and who lost.
In the meantime...
Corporate cats skin the goats
to win pygmies to TV
vaseline, buttercream
to find a dream that matches.
Cool dreams are getting hard to catch.
That's the whole shooting match.
Got this new surveillance state.
Things are gonna get better..."
"Man I can hardly wait!"
You know something good's hard to catch
That's the whole shooting match.
Wolf Blitzer in Tel Aviv,
Geraldo in New Orleans
Billy Jo and Buffy in Gitmo
trying to unsnap his jeans.
Good news is hard to fetch.
That's the whole shooting match.
Rocky in Falluja
keepin' the insurgency low
Scooter and the architect whisper
In an all night casino.
Deals like that are tough to patch.
That's the whole shooting match.
When all the fights for freedom in the dump of history tossed,
then we'll flip a coin and see who won and who lost.
In the meantime...
Corporate cats skin the goats
to win pygmies to TV
vaseline, buttercream
to find a dream that matches.
Cool dreams are getting hard to catch.
That's the whole shooting match.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Winter Storm
Emerald blue chunks of dipping ice
in aquagreen Lake Michigan.
Words swirl up from my heart echoing and whispering
Never arriving to the glory of the day.
O mighty oak plying your silver fingers to the raging sky!
Silver cloud clutches you in his palm
like a Schoolboy and his yellow marble
Then he tosses you into emerald blue night
Over the frozen sea
Flying you gently home.
I am reaching for you and flying
My words gather me from the street
But my flight is pretended,
I have not left my seat.
Snow madly dances beyond my silent window;
The blizzard blows,
In the winter storm that is your love.
in aquagreen Lake Michigan.
Words swirl up from my heart echoing and whispering
Never arriving to the glory of the day.
O mighty oak plying your silver fingers to the raging sky!
Silver cloud clutches you in his palm
like a Schoolboy and his yellow marble
Then he tosses you into emerald blue night
Over the frozen sea
Flying you gently home.
I am reaching for you and flying
My words gather me from the street
But my flight is pretended,
I have not left my seat.
Snow madly dances beyond my silent window;
The blizzard blows,
In the winter storm that is your love.
Snegoruchka
From my window I recognize her in the flesh!
Green swirl of ecstasy
Struck in wonder I stumble
Oh, worlds that tumble by!
Oh, treasure in her laughing brown eyes!
She was Summer to me
And I would fain to believe
To see her when the creeks were crusted
In jagged ice.
She gathers the light that filters through Topol trees
Carrying the Summer back to me.
Rivers and streams are drunk in blue
Lolling heavy beneath the willow’s jagged hand.
Heavy crystal clutter
Mesmerizes my soul
I submit to this grey sterility as to slumber.
Snegoruchka, the Winter Princess is captive
To howling, aching fright
To pound every strong drink that Old Winter brews
This tipsy snowfooted muse!
Merry o’er the woodlands we go
Laughing and dreaming and singing!!!
Winter calls out in a tinkle of bells:
“Who goes there in the openness of day?”
“Those who believe in Light,” we cried.
Winter curses and summons legions
Of winter nymphs, and winter demons, and little itsybitsy
Devilkins
To stall the winter wanderers in their joyful step.
When Jack-in-the-Green
Has led his leafy company
To a dull retreat
‘neath December’s earthen fleece;
Father Christmas rouses
From his elemental sleep
And gathers little beasts
And tender green boughs.
Green swirl of ecstasy
Struck in wonder I stumble
Oh, worlds that tumble by!
Oh, treasure in her laughing brown eyes!
She was Summer to me
And I would fain to believe
To see her when the creeks were crusted
In jagged ice.
She gathers the light that filters through Topol trees
Carrying the Summer back to me.
Rivers and streams are drunk in blue
Lolling heavy beneath the willow’s jagged hand.
Heavy crystal clutter
Mesmerizes my soul
I submit to this grey sterility as to slumber.
Snegoruchka, the Winter Princess is captive
To howling, aching fright
To pound every strong drink that Old Winter brews
This tipsy snowfooted muse!
Merry o’er the woodlands we go
Laughing and dreaming and singing!!!
Winter calls out in a tinkle of bells:
“Who goes there in the openness of day?”
“Those who believe in Light,” we cried.
Winter curses and summons legions
Of winter nymphs, and winter demons, and little itsybitsy
Devilkins
To stall the winter wanderers in their joyful step.
When Jack-in-the-Green
Has led his leafy company
To a dull retreat
‘neath December’s earthen fleece;
Father Christmas rouses
From his elemental sleep
And gathers little beasts
And tender green boughs.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Apocalyptic Ballad No. 12
Grief comes at dawn before the first light
A dream---her eyes
Dark stones in the square before the cathedral.
In the mighty forest
we hear a dull metal roar endlessly rolling
The devil’s diamond fingers scrape the earth
Hammering a thunderous music.
The tallest oaks are falling
Thunder roars
the valley shakes
Fires leap up into the sky
Silver clouds roll on forever
But the streams have lost their way.
So valiantly gleaming
Over the ramparts we watch.
Night’s early prowl
into the valley.
Her wings torn on jagged rocks
Pale evening flees to twilight.
A dream---her eyes
Dark stones in the square before the cathedral.
In the mighty forest
we hear a dull metal roar endlessly rolling
The devil’s diamond fingers scrape the earth
Hammering a thunderous music.
The tallest oaks are falling
Thunder roars
the valley shakes
Fires leap up into the sky
Silver clouds roll on forever
But the streams have lost their way.
So valiantly gleaming
Over the ramparts we watch.
Night’s early prowl
into the valley.
Her wings torn on jagged rocks
Pale evening flees to twilight.
Old Folks Lament
Leaves beat down
Grey clouds threaten the first snow
“What did you say?”
“I can’t hear you.”
Like rattling branches.
Beaten down by life
Talking past one another
All of our vital connections behind.
Grey clouds threaten the first snow
“What did you say?”
“I can’t hear you.”
Like rattling branches.
Beaten down by life
Talking past one another
All of our vital connections behind.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
crunchkin
Hitler Weeps
*Prelude *
The final poet
lays the final wreath
upon the final altar
of the final idol
from whose broken side pour grey ashes…
The milky morning flutters overhead
and mingles in the rivers of Babylon.
1.This story cannot end
history neither advances nor falls
with the stroke of a pen,
or the folly of little men;
but writes her lines for the wise
in the dimming tide
when prophets speak and poets sing.
Michel de Nostradame
With beauty and elegant rhyme
Described the suicide of the
“Captain of Greater Germanie”
in a lowly Berlin bunker.
But leagues of prophets
Who mingle futures in their mindseye
scarce foretell
when Hitler weeps.
2. Seven fighter planes prepare for battle
over a winedark sea to distant, desert lands,
Dominoes one by one to fall.
Peacekeepers praise the war to end all wars,
But now I know the present war will never cease
Nor will midnight’s black hand retire nor rest
But the silver angel brings swift news---
Sadam Hussein laughs and laughs
At jokes no one else can share,
As the Fuhrer laughed at Berchtesgarden with Eva Braun.
But now it is all too clear that Hitler weeps.
3.Tears/ mighty beacons of regret
that shine and swell
bespeaking
volumes we cannot tell
like laughter and screaming,
joy over the water.
A metallic sky mists with radiated waste
Children with fresh tongues taste
And shriek the meaning of the many ways we weep.
Sorrow which memory contains
And won’t release
As divinities guard mountain keeps
where eagles peer from craggy peaks.
Will Wotan and Thor release their captive wings to glide?
Time is turning. He has been set free
From the silence of the stony gods
Without reason, without hesitation
Alone in his cave,
Hitler weeps.
4. After 50 years nature is all but forgotten---
Along the swift autobahn
sleek Mercedes shine and roll
reflecting the yellow of the sun
on roads that snake and never seem to end.
Streams mingle with wasting heaps which run
In aqueducts beneath motortrucks.
Dead fish rest with whited bird bones
And rainbow oil streaks
Each a symbol of this age.
Every word deceives and flees.
Ashes to ashes and rust to rust.
From a distant glutted sky
Hitler weeps.
5.Music on the radio blares
grinding a metallic symphony,
strings soaring, cellos waving in counterfeit harmony,
drums pounding out another volley and rattle…
This composition falling apart at the seams
once gave beautiful themes,
of mental order and emotion
Decorously wrought.
But no music can echo the pain
When Hitler weeps.
6.The human path is long
a rocky road to hoe.
Alone on a spinning wheel within a wheel.
What dreaming cannot speak
Morning muttering awakes
To understand that this man cries
And know how Hitler weeps.
7.Silence has left her vigil
by steely midnight’s gate…
Hearken now
the silver winged angels wait
at the poet’s oaken door.
Mountains mutter
Oceans roar.
Silence is long enduring
But silence keeps her faith no more.
At first a wisp of metallic mist
Wakening wide,
I am not mistaken
Fifty years have flown
In the homeland,
Now the earth sings a haunting refrain,
Uncontrollably now,
Hitler weeps.
*Prelude *
The final poet
lays the final wreath
upon the final altar
of the final idol
from whose broken side pour grey ashes…
The milky morning flutters overhead
and mingles in the rivers of Babylon.
1.This story cannot end
history neither advances nor falls
with the stroke of a pen,
or the folly of little men;
but writes her lines for the wise
in the dimming tide
when prophets speak and poets sing.
Michel de Nostradame
With beauty and elegant rhyme
Described the suicide of the
“Captain of Greater Germanie”
in a lowly Berlin bunker.
But leagues of prophets
Who mingle futures in their mindseye
scarce foretell
when Hitler weeps.
2. Seven fighter planes prepare for battle
over a winedark sea to distant, desert lands,
Dominoes one by one to fall.
Peacekeepers praise the war to end all wars,
But now I know the present war will never cease
Nor will midnight’s black hand retire nor rest
But the silver angel brings swift news---
Sadam Hussein laughs and laughs
At jokes no one else can share,
As the Fuhrer laughed at Berchtesgarden with Eva Braun.
But now it is all too clear that Hitler weeps.
3.Tears/ mighty beacons of regret
that shine and swell
bespeaking
volumes we cannot tell
like laughter and screaming,
joy over the water.
A metallic sky mists with radiated waste
Children with fresh tongues taste
And shriek the meaning of the many ways we weep.
Sorrow which memory contains
And won’t release
As divinities guard mountain keeps
where eagles peer from craggy peaks.
Will Wotan and Thor release their captive wings to glide?
Time is turning. He has been set free
From the silence of the stony gods
Without reason, without hesitation
Alone in his cave,
Hitler weeps.
4. After 50 years nature is all but forgotten---
Along the swift autobahn
sleek Mercedes shine and roll
reflecting the yellow of the sun
on roads that snake and never seem to end.
Streams mingle with wasting heaps which run
In aqueducts beneath motortrucks.
Dead fish rest with whited bird bones
And rainbow oil streaks
Each a symbol of this age.
Every word deceives and flees.
Ashes to ashes and rust to rust.
From a distant glutted sky
Hitler weeps.
5.Music on the radio blares
grinding a metallic symphony,
strings soaring, cellos waving in counterfeit harmony,
drums pounding out another volley and rattle…
This composition falling apart at the seams
once gave beautiful themes,
of mental order and emotion
Decorously wrought.
But no music can echo the pain
When Hitler weeps.
6.The human path is long
a rocky road to hoe.
Alone on a spinning wheel within a wheel.
What dreaming cannot speak
Morning muttering awakes
To understand that this man cries
And know how Hitler weeps.
7.Silence has left her vigil
by steely midnight’s gate…
Hearken now
the silver winged angels wait
at the poet’s oaken door.
Mountains mutter
Oceans roar.
Silence is long enduring
But silence keeps her faith no more.
At first a wisp of metallic mist
Wakening wide,
I am not mistaken
Fifty years have flown
In the homeland,
Now the earth sings a haunting refrain,
Uncontrollably now,
Hitler weeps.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
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