Regret

Regret,
Seeps into my head like noise.
Like what should have been.
        What never was.
        What was.

Snapshots from the past.
Visions of a woman
She's seeing the ocean for the first time.
It was Santa Monica.
The pier was behind her.
Feet in the water,
Shoes in hand.
Huge smile on her face.

Christmas Eve in L.A.,
We're watching the homeless people.
She asks me what they would do for Christmas
With so much sadness in their eyes.
"Probably the same thing they do every day."
I replied.

We had our own problems.
Christmas dinner on milk crate tables,
A little Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
She always did her best
To make our little space a home.

The time I had a reading,
She didn't want to go
So she threw plates at me.
When I left she said she wouldn't be there
When I got back.
So on the way home
I bought ice cream for one
To eat away my sorrows.
She was mad that I didn't get her any,
So we walked to the Seven-Eleven
And got her favorite kind.

The day she left,
She swore it was a new beginning.
I knew it was the end.
Selby's pick-up truck
Sped through the streets to Union Station.

When she got on the train I cried.
Selby gave me a hug,
He knew it was the end.
He took me to the bar
And bought me beers and shots,
Asked me how long I expected
To hang on to a woman like that.

Two years later,
In Philadelphia
I show up on her front doorstep.
She was not happy about it.
She had told me not to come.
But I had to end this
One way or the other.
The baby was aborted.
There was nothing left
To keep us together
Except our own passion.
I guess that wasn't enough.

9:34 PM - 9 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

Culture Of Violence

I am concerned of the world
And it's violent nature.
I remember the two young men
At the stoplight last night.
One of them pointing
A gun at our heads.
I wonder just how sick
The world really is?
I wonder what it would take
To pull the trigger
And execute someone you've never met?
What is it video games,
                 TV violence,
                 Gangster rap,
                 Not breast-fed enough?

I am concerned of the world
And it's violent nature.
I think of young men
That are sent to war.
I wonder what would it take
To pull the trigger,
And execute someone you've never met?
What kind of training does that require?
How much hate does it take?
What is this wartime mentality?

Poets we've put down our pens
Trusting it is mightier than the sword.
Praying that it's really true.
But it's not the pen that's the weapon,
Or the ink inside of it.
It's the intention behind the Poem.

1:25 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

As We Drove Home

As we drove home
We stopped at that last light
John was too drunk to notice
The two young dark skinned boys,
Stopped in the car beside us.
Pointing a gun at
Both of our heads.

I didn't react.
I guess that took the fun out of it.
He calmly lowered the gun.

Living in these desperate streets,
Is a game of chance.
Every day you put
All in.
Survive to gamble
Another day.

9:00 PM - 5 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Poem For The Nameless

Let us agree,
                    We will never see the end of war.
It gives us a reason
                     To always pray for Peace.
Poets and the people
                     Shall pray eternally.
Send out Poems like prayers
                     Into the void.

Sadly,
          There will always be
Tyrants with huge egos
          Playing chicken with Armageddon.
Or the fear of it at least,
          Wartime anxiety.

And the one in the big white house
Has a poet laurite lapdog.
A court jester
That's not that entertaining.
I don't even know
Who the poet laurite is right now.
I know they do not represent me.

From Iraq our soldiers
Come back in boxes.
Their names broadcasted
Like the national anthem.
They are given heroes names,
As the nameless are eliminated.
These names will never cross your
Screen or lips.
Death has served over a million
And it is still serving.

Media echoes corporate anthems,
Feel good stories
Tugging at heartstrings
To go with the gladiators
Into the coliseums.
Beamed into your living room
In high definition.

Me one with the knowledge
Of the impermanence of it all.
Tyrants and their empires
Always
            Fall
                  Down.
Even hell will have its day.

I only question
The balance of the world.
Why does it seem
The poor always suffer
When these tyrants
And their egos collide?

Poor american kids
That found the only job they could.
Promised a future,
And fed a noble cause.

The nameless Iraqi
Who was just
In the wrong place
At the wrong time.

Truth is we will never see
The end of war.
It always leaves us
With Peace to work for.
What do these tyrants lose?
One lost his life.
But it was quick by hanging.
Even if people did
Heckle him as he walked to the gallows.

The other steals elections,
Makes billions
On nameless peoples suffering.
People that are less than him.

8:05 PM - 1 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Dead Voices

Dead Poets voices echoing
Louder than live.
There is so much history here.
So much work to do.

They demand we write
In their honor.
For they are not dead
But may still be read.

I've got worlds of words,
On a shelf and it's growing.
Running out of room.
There is never enough Poetry.

1:18 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

America At It’s Best And Worse

There are parts of me that are
Hopelessly American.
The dissent that I was raised in.
Stretching free speech to the limit.
I believe in America
The multicultural melting pot.
To me this is America at it's best.

Today I gave a friend
A ride to a nationalization ceremony.
Because he had to write a story on it.
We both agreed that in our
Seventy plus years combined
As americans, we had never seen one.

It was a beautiful thing.
To watch forty-four people sworn in.
Every culture come together as one.
All mixed up in the melting pot.
This was America at it's best.
Before all of the individual
Conditioning and prejudice comes in.
While it is still just a concept.

I stood when the pledge of allegiance began,
Which is a lot for me.
Which led right into the national anthem.
Where the lady behind me
Asked me to remove my hat.
At this point I was reminded
Of the dark side of america.
The land of the free
That expects mandatory compliance,
Especially in a time of war.

I turned to her and said,
"Who are you the police?"
Stood there with my hat on.

At the end of the show,
I watched that lady scowl at me.
I watched these forty-four people
Walk out excitedly
As Americans for the very first time.
Something I never had to work for.
There was a light in their eyes.
They carried their packages
Which contained their certificates
And a small american flag.
A kind of
"Welcome to the country"
Package.
As they rushed into the new world.

3:32 PM - 5 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

What I’ve Learned

Truth undistorted is sad.
This is why we must see it
Through corporate media filters.
Better than looking right into it.
If you seek the truth
Be prepared for it.

Living outside of the system,
One must follow the rules,
Make no waves,
Just a simple quiet life
With little attachments.
Learn how to stay portable.
Return to the system
For whatever you need.
Blend in,
Don't stand out.
There is nothing romantic
About this boring life.

To be truly selfless
One must let go of ego,
The concept of ownership.
Learn to fade into the background.

This is what I've learned
At this point of the journey.
I am still learning
As I walk this path.

8:32 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Before The Reading

 Outside a man with a can
Asks a cigar smoking Poet for change.
The cigar smoking Poet
Waves him off blowing smoke in his face.

Inside a Poet tries to serenade
The cute punk waitress
With a Poem.
She demands he call her mistress.
He replies, "Yes mistress."
They both cackle with madness.

This Poet sits
Flipping through his work
Trying to decide what to read.
Soaking in the crazy energy.

3:42 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Demolition

Backhoe digs
Into the side
Of an old abandoned
Apartment building,
That someone said
Outlived its usefulness.

Huge gaping hole
Dug into the side.
Bricks and mortar
Fall to the ground,
Broken window glass
Falls to the ground,
Concrete from the floors
Falls to the ground.
Creates a huge dust storm
Creeping into the Toledo streets.

A man stands on the side
With a single hose,
Spraying to keep the dust down
Like it's doing anything.

1:16 PM - 6 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Imagine

Only in books
Could I imagine a place
Where parents bring their children
That are named after a Poet
To meet a Poet.
Like he was a hero.
Like an american athlete,
Actor, or rock star.

Today I caught a glimpse of this.
Just a flash in your verse.
Enough to make me smile,
And the world was good. 

Currently reading : The Republic of Poetry: Poems By Martin Espada

9:41 PM - 12 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment