Dr. Ron, a Maulana appointed
was an Afrikan king (self-anointed).
While his roots went un-vetted
his followers fêted . . .
But Kwanzaa was somewhat disjointed.

Bored, uninformed
Like an outdated explosion
Tense, musty,  forced silence
Going down the long slide -  voices without faces
Large scale versus, seemingly at random
So permanent, blank and true
We avoid them as unlucky places
Where promises are kept...

Gypsy

Christmas marks the turning of years
the sparkle on this one is made with tears!

Dim the lights
Close your eyes
Try to sleep
Begin to dream
Clouds of pink
Rivers to drink
Music to dance
Lovers hold hands
Instruments can fly
Moon can rise
Stars glow bright
Two souls reunite
No pouring rain
Or horrible pain
Dim the lights
Close your eyes

Release the mind and find
that earthly care is merely air
a puff of wind blown through your hand
a ripple over passing sand
for then we fully understand
our worries were the drifting snow
which covers all but quickly goes
revealing faintest hopes of spring
this final song we learn to sing
in peace that only death can bring

I hear you creeping through the night
spindly fingers reaching closer
whispering in my ear
reminding me why I should be afraid

If I look round, you're not there
But I can feel you in the prickles on my neck
You're in the goosebumps on my arms
You step to the beating of my heart

The light chases you away,
but I can't always find the switch
Even when I open my eyes
you're still waiting for me

You live in the corner of the room
the one with cobwebs where the light doesn't go
In the shadow that nothing casts
And the scraping in a forgotten room

I can't run away from you
You're everywhere I go
Always right behind me
Breathing down my neck

You don't yell, you don't speak
Your voice is only a whisper
That's all it needs to be
To make me afraid of you

America, is that you?
Your stars are looking dim.
Stripes look nice on prison clothes,
but yours are wearing thin.

America, is that you
there behind the mask?
Of course, I too, am wearing mine.
You don't need to ask.

America, is that you
angry in the street,
smashing windows, spreading fire?
And is your dream complete?

America, was it you
I saw on evening news
dancing like a circus monkey,
speaking as you're cued?

America, is that you
propped up by the wall
with little men surrounding you,
waiting for your fall?

America, use your voice
and let me know it's you.
I can't hear much over the noise
that's coming from the zoo.

America, it must be you,
though I can hardly see.
I'm feeling for you in the dark.
America, it's me.