The Partaking

The coming legion, she said
{in radiant, radical optimism]
would convert the myriad pyramids
into one sphere – more
in keeping with our place here
in the universe

It would be a green party
with no pin or tailnipped beast
or blindfolds
just a colourful feast
and the music of birds in the trees
and the humming of a zillion bees
{all working for us!]
and the world would remember
how to partake – be generous
with fruits of field and vine.
None would screech It’s mine, It’s mine

Socialism
in its soul means
for the many
not the few, she said
quoting that real Labour guy
[who was half-quoting Shelley!]
as had those New York garment ladies
one hundred years before.
Wherever you go, seems
leaders shake their fists
but the people? People everywhere
want peace not war. Peace
always tops their lists.

Socialism
would resound, she said
like the the beating of swords
into ploughshares
the joyous sharing
of metaphoric milk and honey
more in keeping with our place
here in the galaxy

…and money? Money is only
a measure, a convenience, a tool
that can never replace clean air or water
and only a fool would fail
to see this.

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[I told the sun] from Poems for Saülé

I told the sun
I could tell she was there
that those clouds were too thin
[I mean, this side of threadbare]
to hide such a GLORIOUS BEING
as Saülé [Flattery works sometimes
even on a metaphysical plane]

It’s winter I said, remember?
and it is unkind of you to hide
It’s not like back in September…

when we were so foolish
as to take you for granted…

It’s winter I said again
and Saülé should come out to play
at least a few minutes a day.

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Solstician Ditty

My radio is blaring Tis the season to be jolly
I laugh to myself and think it’s always been the one
long before the Moses guy and Abrahamic folly
year-end has been feted since the cavemen tracked the sun

They noticed then the evening star
would dip for three days out of sight
and then return – hourrah ! hourrah !
and shrunken day’d then munch the night.

So here’s to all the pagans tying ribbons around boughs
and here’s to all the scowling faces arguing theology
People seem to tie themselves in slipknots anyhow
so please don’t expect from me a heart-felt apology

I’ll just wait for the radio and change a lyric here and there
and you may join me, if you like, in my humanistic air

We wish you a Merry Solstice
We wish you a Merry Solstice
We wish you a Merry Solstice
and a Happy New Year
.

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Late autumn rains

galvanized by
whipping winds
that magnify the chill
the land
answers well
and hopefully always will

after the pounding rains in the fall –
beneath its hectic collage
of crinkly coloured leaves
it says soil, dirt, ground, earth
and the subtext is always
the most profound yearning
that spring will bring rebirth

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76 Swordfish Street (8 1/2 bar blues)

donwanna come down hard
on the self-styled avant-garde
              nor would I join its ragged band
              to give decrepitude a hand
this keyboard here’s got only seventy-six keys
but likely as not, won’t be needin’ all of these
              for my little Bach preludes
              [to keep me off the quaaludes]
biddleybumpdeboom –  meant a staircase for Mel Brooks
a pleep was a strawberry …silken lines, silver hooks
               but it don’t really matter what poetic forms you choose
               you aingonna escape these declining empire blues

.

[silken lines, silver hooks……………is stolen from John Donne]

.  

[I will believe]

I will believe
against all evidence
that men are good
that by and large
they are elevated
and deeply satisfied
by simple gestures
of solidarity

twice blessed indeed
is all compassion –
healing the healer
enriching the giver

I will believe
against all evidence
that this is so
because I know
to what extent
men’s minds have been warrped
and bent by the strategies
of cleverly camouflaged tyrants

I hear the reigning tyranny
in every tv jingle

the majority are brainwashed
into believing they want and need
that in their fears and self-doubt
they may come to satisfy
a tiny minority’s unending greed

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To those who claim even Einstein was a believer

Einstein believed
in the god of Spinoza
not the god of Deuteronomy
to say the syllable
is not necessarily
to be unwilling to let go
of infancy’s invisible friends
but possibly to sense
a mathematical harmony
in the immeasurable
universe – the word
god for Spinoza
was interchangeable
with the word nature
and god’s law
meant quite simply
natural law…
and even the staunchest
atheist believes in that

/

/

where the secret lies

Why, do you suppose – or, perhaps, how is it  – that  never 
has there ever been a truly lasting peace on this earth ?
There does seem to be some concensus 
that if all humanity is ever to breathe free
walk upright – unafraid, unhungry 
then it is Love that must surely light the way
If this be so, then where does it lie
the kink in the machinery – 
the spanner in the works ?
Is it possible we use a word
that has no substance – or is it rather …
that the Love I speak of
is not the stuff that greeting cards are made on  
not something one gives someone  or gets from another
not a gift or a prize…but a form of grace born within –
truly inside – and this Love, this philos,
is brother to the elusive understanding
that no one is ever solely right.

There is no hard cold truth out there – no absolute certainty
there can’t be – for in every act of seeing
there is the seer – you cannot see the big picture
any more than you can see the back of your head.
Only when people come to accept this –  this undeniable reality –
that there can be no absolute certainty –
is there perhaps a chance that they will find 
not just the way,  but indeed the reason
to look deep into the eyes of an enemy

and if i believe anything, it is that
it is there – in that understanding
of unavoidable fallibility –
that this beleaguered race of warriors will ever find
the path to peace. 

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Breakfast, yes, but daybreak?

day doesn’t break
except towards the end,
to wit: at nightfall.
Mornings it breaks through
smitesas a savior might
– all
the spooky gloom – gate
crashes the dark
bullying convention –
affirming life by
its bright intervention.

Come let us celebrate
in renewed cheer
that the sun
[or at least
some half-baked grey light]
is still and once again here.

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