Sprang forth with no branches or leaves. Small roots.
Bore mangoes, papayas,guava and bananas. Hybrid, mid limb grafting.
The trunk is a figment but it stands non less. You see
my family tree never was and always will be.
A roadside shade with low hanging fruit.

Was never planted.It was a deposit from the bowels of an exotic bird
of the jungles that sampled at leisure the offerings of the rain forests.
The Hardtack and marmalade came on ships with the kings business
Mixed with the Nigerian Fu-Fu  ,the Aztec maize the Mayan legumes.
and all points of the compass.

Old Joe Denegri, The Blancaneaux , The Cattouse, The Melado, The Pinks
The Flowers,The Orozco and more. And boundless from the ***** of opportunity.
Piecemeal and untethered. But it is the tree that I must cling to.
However rough the bark.

The sap runs heavy and slow in the humid Belizean heat.To meet the earth.
Cool breezes blow a haunting disharmony. A sweet unity in chaos.
The soil is rich,pungent and forgiving.  Soon, A bell tolls  in the distance.
The Sea mists my dreams.

A stairway of coconut fronds to azure skies.
Nighttime smells like creation.
The still slackened pace.
The small rat race.
Tempest in a teapot.
Urban-rural.

Coolie gal.
Creole boy.
New Chinese.
Old African.
Ubiquitous Espania.
Garinagu. Mosquito coast.
Children of Mennon.
Old Basque faces.
Things we call races left with small traces
of what?

My tree, her tree, histree.
I am you and you are me.
I see me in your face and you see me.
We are  and will continue to be.
Blended.
a hybrid. An orchid wild.

The Viet Nam era was a witches brew.Mission creep in  Saigon
The evening news brought the ****** trips stumbling into
my TV dinner, kicking over my Tang.

Bouncing Betty went bang
Beans and ***** out the can.

Guys in my age bracket  knew it was safe cause 18 was the magic Number.
RESPECT
Simon and Garfunkel ,The godfather of soul.
What we.
Had Here.
Was.
Failure to Communicate.

We were reaching for the stars with one hand and
squeezing of rounds with the other. Bobby was in the crossfire
Martin would retire,
I remember.

Guys slinking back home with broken minds
Baby killers all. No love ,No jobs. COMBAT FATIGUE.           PTSD     Came later.
Got a monster habit, Nose running of  like a racetrack rabbit.

Oh yeah Asian Strain Gonorrhea.
Penicillin
Penishmillin.  ***

Hendricks.

Africa. You are bereft. Africa means pain to me.
Too vast for sympathy past token.
Too old to not know better
Too wise to have no answer.

Much too late for Africa

****** mother Africa.
Bleeding from the eyes
Seen too much of suffering
Flayed to the bone then left alone.

What has not been said compared to what's been done.

Laying on a dusty road
At the easy leisure of the the passerby.
So vast, Primal still tribal and divided.
Africa you will endure. Pain. Africa.

The sweltering Jungle. The scorching sun.
Oh Africa.

You are Beautiful.
You are destined.
You are horrific
all wrapped in butcher paper.

Still to the highest bidder.
Numb to the lash.
Cries go unheard.
Gnawing at your limb gripped tight
in vise-like turmoil. Oh Africa.

I love you for what you have been.
I love you still for what you are.
I pray Africa.
Oh Africa.
Peace. Be still.

The Ashes of a million souls drift down to the Baranco Wall and Moorland.

Seventeen thousand feet is All
Deep and dead is the cap on Kilimanjaro.

If a tree falls in the Forrest. you will hear it on Kilimanjaro.

Haunting stones on Easter Island whisper in the dead of night
and speak to Kilimanjaro.

Pitcairn Island far and lost.

Fletcher Christians mournful ghost wails and screams as the Bounty burned
a light seen from The  Kilimanjaro.

Supai City Arizona in the bowels of the gaping gorge
looks out to Kilimanjaro.

Oymyakon Siberia. Minus 93 degrees. chatter and freeze
akin to The Kilimanjaro

World ends in the stratosphere
Fight for breath face you fears.
Where minutes pass like plodding years

in grasp of Kilimanjaro.

The ghost of Bill Kettchel still sits glumly on the bluff
Not but a few paces from where he  was fell
He has risen majestic at night from the well.

Still screaming out loud, Hey give em hell boys, give em hell

Dropped in head a foremost by the heel of his boot
Give em hell goes the echo, by god give em all  hell

The fields glistened  brightly with crimson and gore
The fighting was grisly like none seen before.
All stacked up  like cord-wood a good  ten foot high, they smote grey and  smote blue
by  the hip and by the thigh.

Give em hell boys by god, came the echoing cry.

Now musket ball splatter, now cannon grape rain.
March through the death gauntlet and line up again.
As the dying lie crying Under shade tree spread wide.


I'm a Yankee doodle dandy. Yankee doodle do or die.
A real live nephew of my uncle Sam born on the fourth of July.
Look away ,look away look away.

Dumped in head a  foremost  by foot and by heel. My self, Andy, Caleb  
Rest daily in the well. By day we lie peacefull, at night we rebell.
Especially those nights when the moon is aglow
We rise to the mouth and we holler and shout.

Give em hell boys  by god, just send them all straight to hell.