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Aug 2023 · 281
Inner Passage
I’ve entered the Inner Passage

Thought of as the safe route to Alaska
Protected by friendly coves and sheltered bays
Shields voyagers from the uncertainties
Of the tectonics of a heaving Pacific

The Inner Passage
A compass point of
Jack London’s imagination
Spinning fantastic adventure yarns
of audacious Sea Wolf sailors
And rugged fortune seekers
Answering the call of the wild

The Inner Passage
Fraught with hidden shoals
And submerged rocky promontories
Lay just below the water line
Jutting on the steep banks
Of a glaciated mountain lined sea

The Inner Passage
Precludes an easy escape
To the boundless freedom
Of the open seas
One cannot sail away
One must firmly
grab the wheel
Guide the rudder
map the terra firma
Of a misconstructed life
The hazards and mishaps
Buried in the unconscious sands of the mind
interred to protect the heart
From the walking ghosts
Springing to life
The daily aches of living

The Inner Passage
Seemingly the safe route
Yet the hidden shoals
The ship wrecks
crews of stranded castaways
Call out for recovery, resurrection,
Watchfulness and recognition
Careful navigation is required
To salvage the wreckage
Rescue the unfortunate victims
Of the disasters and gales
I engendered along
my life's journey

The Inner Passage
A promise of rebirth
Reconstitution, recovery
“Can a man enter the womb again?”
The Gospel writer asks.
This inner passage may yet
Deliver me to a reinvigorated life
Let me uncover
What lies deep
In my tell tale heart
Let me tame
the mighty beasts of the sea
That rule the fathomless waters
Of my tumultuous emotions
May Thy Will and a better course
Heal my restive soul
My I finally free
my grounded vessel
From the false sanctuary
Offered by shallow shoals
Freeing me to dive deep
Into the hidden reefs
Of my heart and mind

May this pilgrim make good progress
May I accept life on life's terms
May I practice a well considered
engaged stewardship
May I never arrive at a staid place
And become wholesomely satisfied
with a serene state of being

The Inner Passage
Indeed a difficult voyage
Is underway
a new course mapped
I will pass through
The dark ranges where the
Commanding heights of
Fear, anger, resent and regret
Become nothing more
Then the precipitous peaks
Of a harmless silhouette
Fading away into the mist
Of yesterday's twilight

The Inner Passage
Aboard the Kennicott
Near Ketchikan, AK

Michael Nyman
The Piano
a note made on the Kennicott...
Apr 2020 · 1.8k
Mood Indigo
street lamps
ionized the
indigo blue
haze charging
the night air

sparking the
city’s eclectic
currents coursing
through the
abandoned raceways
and empty streets

energizing the
phantoms of
the city’s
restive spirits

the ghosts of past
Great Falls Fests came
jitterbugging back
to life

veils lifting
and falling
with it, a voltaic
indigo blue
billowed out of the
abandoned stadium
pouring smoking
oboe moans
into the cavity
of the great gorge

“I was one of the last
to perform at
Hinchliffe Stadium”
Duke proclaimed
with his usual  
distinguished air

“it was also one of my
last concerts”, he added
with a tinge of
sorrow in his voice

“the band was rockin
the Art Deco tiles,
splintering and shattering
into bits of earth toned graffiti
the last vestiges of
a bygone Jazz Age
dissolving into the
disco fizz of the

the indigo mood
clamoured off
the rocks absorbing
the sonorous waves
like a stand of

“I’m trying to
remember what
my last tune
was that night.

was it Caravan?
or a Prelude to
a Kiss?  No no
too mellow
we always ended
on an upper
a real crowd pleaser,
I recall the boys swung
a medley before the grand finale
that medley included
Mood Indigo, Caravan,
Sophisticated Ladies,
Prelude to a Kiss.
We opened with Kinda Dukish
Rockin and Rhythm
we closed with
Satin Doll
Yes I’m quite sure
I waltzed them
off the floor
that night with
Satin Doll”

Duke ran his
fingers through
his processed hair.
He grabbed my shoulders
raised his baggy eyelids
And looked me straight
In the eye

“Yes, we followed
Tito Puente, he killed it
we upped our game
He was just starting out
But at this time Silk City
was going Caribe
Juan Tizol was
out of his mind that night,
I thought him and Babs
we're gunna jump ship
and join the Salsa Circus
Yeah El Rex and Celia Cruz
were that good

El Rex had the place
jumpin and jivin
it was a glimpse of the old days
livin in the here and now
just like the old days
I couldn't compete with that
so I waltzed them off
the floor with Satin Doll
a little cheek to cheek swoon
maybe some guys got lucky that night
and maybe some girls fell in love
Yeah Paterson was changing,
the ***** Leagues long gone
the last ****** Auto Races
crossed the final finish line weeks before
when the raceways in the stadium
replaced the raceways to the factories
we knew it was coming to an end
and with it all the good paying
jobs, whatta shame
just like me and the boys
watching El Rex
the Duke was dethroned by a King
just like Silk City
we had our day in the sun too
a Satin Doll Sun
Those were some good times,

Duke scratched
his head,
and he looked down into
the swirling noise
of the Great Falls
“on a night like this
the mood indigo
takes you into the
darkest hues of blues”

fragment from
Silk City PIT 6:
The Great Falls

Duke Ellington, Coleman Hawkins
Mood Indigo



Part 6 of extended poem Silk City PIT.  PIT is an acronym for Point In Time.  PIT is an annual census American cities conduct to count the homeless population.  Hope and Labor is the city motto of Paterson NJ, nick named The Silk City.

Part 6 of extended poem Silk City PIT.  PIT is an acronym for Point In Time.  PIT is an annual census American cities conduct to count the homeless population.  Hope and Labor is the city motto of Paterson NJ, nick named The Silk City.
Apr 2020 · 727
Rooftop Angel
Xmas light angel sparkling bright
Walkin on the rooftops
Got someone in sight
Gunna flitter and flutter
All through the night
Eyeing a weary sparrow
till all is well
till all is right
till that lil sparrow
be ready to take flight

Bonnie Raitt &John Prine
Angel From Montgomery
inspired by an Xmas light rooftop angel perched atop a roof during an early April twilight
Apr 2020 · 573
Behold San Gabriel!
Behold San Gabriel!
the far mountain is
stunningly ascendent
the city's smog
dissipates into a
a welcomed hiatus
white glaciated peaks
bespeak nature’s regency
a City of Angels’ crowned
in a mystic halo once again

Thunderous roads are silent
highway death tolls nose dive
life expectancy for the driven grows
Mother’s cry a million less tears
Tollkeepers palms are left wanting

For the uberites
the celestial scales
of supply and demand
have tipped gas prices in our favor
A litre of petrol costs but a few pesos

cars roaring down side streets
coating curbs with
noxious exhaust has stopped
Street running stick ballers eye
2nd base manhole covers
as safe to steal again

Some have been granted
A reprieve from a harried life
vexations of frenetic ways dwindle
The welcomed respite of downtime
Salves a bruised and battered soul

We’re invited  to dip our toes
Into small pools of leisure time
Escape to a hobby’s fascination
luxuriate in childlike frivolity

Time has opened for families
An evening’s repast
is holy communion
The wholesomeness
of a home cooked meal
Manna from heaven our daily bread
We share a sip from a cup of salvation

Climb up slide down
some shoots and ladders
Gingerly remove a funny bone
Without the red nose buzzing
Spend time in Abuela’s old kitchen
Learn her secrets of family recipes
Passed down from ancient
Borinquen forebears

Challenge creative sensibilities
Let the muse whisper a song
Into your willowy ear
Draw a portrait of a loved one
wash a buena vista watercolor
Compose a poem of perfect simplicity
record the glorious fictions of family history
Place yourself at the center of its epic struggle
Go noodle a tune on the old upright
Dust off that old guitar and flash some new hot licks
Take out the bongos and bang away
The blues are routed for another day

Sing a family circle song
where Daddy sings bass
Take an afternoon nap,
let the cat purr you to sleep
Enjoy the escape
of an afternoon delight
Than walk the dog afterward
in warm eventide twilite

The skies are resoundingly silent
Gushing engines contrail plumes gone
Jets blessedly overthrown by
silhouettes of crows on the wing
Listen to a new meditative lullaby, the
splendid symphony of avian adagios

Plug in to your body electric
Learn to breathe as deeply as you love
Listen to the rhythms of your heartbeat
And fine tune the condition of your soul

Eschew usurpations of politics
And tyrants that cajole to oppress
Seek solidarity in common citizenship
Take refuge in the courage of integrity
And dwell in the unity of the holy spirit

May a pandemic of love consume you
May your crisis open a portal of grace
May the closeness of friends and family
Restore you to a much better place

San Gabriel Mountains beckon
His halo crowns us all
stirred by the trilling trumpet
Wholly affirmed and filled
We answer his call

Bob Dylan: Thunder on the Mountain

Puyallup WA
pandemic downtime affords some time to reflect and open portals to new places....
Aug 2018 · 11.2k
Valiant Bulldog
We were teammates
We suited up
We showed up

We weren't stars
But we rolled in the dirt
With the best of them

Our blood ran red
Like the rest of them

Our sweat tasted salty
As the most athletic of them

Wounds and bruises
Ached like the most
Stalwart of them

We were Bulldogs!
We anted up our
Gifts and talents to
Forge a winning season

A flair for humor
Wry observation,
Encouragement, fortitude
And intelligence were as
Valuable as speed,
Agility and strength

We all pined for the
Affection of cheerleaders,
Bandmembers and the
Adoration of fans

We equally joined
In the chorus of
locker room banter
And honored the
Confidence of camaraderie
Such intimacy bares

We endured thankless
Adversity, while wending
through anonymous toil

As brothers
We grudgingly drank
From the vile cup of defeat

And passed the chalice
Of victory among us
To share the savory
Taste of triumph
As champions

The Duke of Wellington
Said “the battle of Waterloo
Was won on the fields of Eton”

I trust my teammates and
Not forgotten friends
Tasted sweet victories of
Happiness and success
As they coursed through
Their prodigious fields of life

And at games end
I hope their heart swelled
With pride to know they were
A beloved and Valiant Bulldog

David Irving Korsh #75
BCSL Champion 1973
Rutherford Bulldogs

Well done Valiant Bulldog

God bless and Godspeed

Music Selection:
Bruce Springsteen
Thunder Road

the passing of a former teammate
Jul 2018 · 1.2k
see something say something
I saw a banner
“See something say something”
bestriding a Union City street
raising eyebrows of suspicion
in a hood’s ***** retreat

I see blood red MAGA caps
embolden distemperate fits
ready to answer jingoistic dissings
with an *** kickin liberty chit  

I see a Blue Line stained flag
It slices a field of united states
a wall to seperate us from them
God save us from reprobates

I hear shouts hailing militarism
saluting troops marching to war
Patriots offer sons and daughters
from families of the nation’s poor

I see a hoisted Gadsden Flag
boasting Don’t Tread on Me
true liberty a hissing asp
venomous country tis of thee

I see the stirring marches
aggrieved white nationalists sing
Confederacy of Blood and Soil!
cries for freedom ring

Lotte Lenya in Alabama Song
by Kurt Weill recording 1930

George Grosz
Vienna Street Fight

i saw something
i said something
just saying
Jul 2018 · 689
I am a refugee from the City upon a Hill.

My homeland once a resounding light to the nations; has become a convulsing black hole, threatening to devour any semblance of civility.

My City, once a radiant promontory of enlightenment, its illumination of liberty’s searing torch revered, it’s practical striving for democratic wisdom shaping the long arc of the moral universe emulated by people of good will across the globe; now lies in state as a mordant corpse, serenaded by a funereal chorus of laughing griffins, a dead patriarch surrounded by the ruins of a once opulent now sacked city, a bygone home to the scattered disassemblage of a once noble people.

I recoil from the rancor of extreme partisanship, the gerrymandered apportionment of citizenship rights, the buoyant vindictiveness celebrated by small minded ignorance.

The blind allegiance to jingoistic nationalism, the adulation of Blueline authoritarianism, the fealty to imperial militarism and the dangerous trajectory of it’s awful consequence yet to come, enthralls me with dread.

Compelled patriotism enforced by threats of faux patriots, amoral ammosexuals, their small hands stroking quick triggers of long guns, genuflecting in mastabutory glee to the preeminence of 2nd Amendment atrocities, angling crosshairs of resentments to firmly fix a promise of ghoulish body counts, a rationalized apocalypse a captive people must suffer to underwrite profiteering gunrunners who blindly defile the constitutional tenets of life, liberty and happiness, the blood splattered keystones of our true exceptionalism.

Xenophobia and racialism, are stoked and celebrated by the City’s chief executive, his impish smile mouths Blood and Soil sloganeering, he solemnly salutes the Confederate flag while cheering torchlight processions of enraged White Nationalists marching to the drum of the Grand Republic’s midnight dirge along the once hallowed trail of Jeffersonian Democracy and a sacred place of secular enlightenment and higher learning. His gleeful decrees tweet the destruction of families and his police agents mouth holy scriptures to justify the imprisonment of children.  These vandals rhapsodically paint images of phantasmagoric nightmares trampling and mocking democratic ideals, resurrecting long settled conflicts, terrible tests a once great City rose to extinguish, now swelling numbers of craven citizens ardently embrace Klansmen, insurrectionists and ****’s as righteous brethren.

The madness of chauvinism and racial supremacy has fully metastasized within the body politic, polluting the mind, infecting the bloodline with a virulent strain of a white blood cell disease coursing through the veins of republican citizenship.

A City stolen from the Native inhabitants, ethnically cleansed and its former inhabitants remanded to the prisons of reservations, a City constructed on the backs of chattel slaves, erected on the graves of exploited wage laborers, provisioned by the ruthless denigration of the earth’s bounty, law and order mandated by criminalizing the marginalized, repressing the civil liberties of outliers and subjecting women to a perpetual status as the second *** underclass; has failed to repent and steadfastly refuses to make reparations for its sinful past has made the City uninhabitable.

The embrace of tolerance and diversity is the balm, the curate that can salve the oozing sores crippling the City. Nativist prejudice is a long protracted path that City citizen’s find impossible to exit. The malevolence that consumes the mind and moves the soul of a desperately spiteful people, who take delight and find it necessary to dehumanize and imprison alien races and creeds to maintain vapid notions of superiority, profane the ideals of a republican calling. They ruefully ignore the beacon of light warning of the dangerous shoals that lay ahead. The ideals of the great democratic experiment on course to be dashed on the jagged rocks of ignorance, fear, and anger. The doomed City has set a course that endangers its embargoed citizens. Travelling in steerage, a captive body, believing they are on a course for the rebirth of the City’s greatness are emboldened and chained by the delusions of their self destructive steadfast resentments.

My home City has become unknown to me.  I have become a stranger in this strange land. What was once beloved has become insufferable. What was once treasured has become burdensome. The familiar has become fully alien. A terrible avenging apparition haunts and mocks people of good will. My heart is disheveled. My spirit bruised. My body literally aches from the wounds exacted from the deconstruction of my beloved metropolis.

I stand stranded at the border of incivility. Bewildered I peer through a protective wall of concertina wire, eyeing the imprisoned haughty souls of fully enfranchised citizens, bellowing self righteous psalms, singing interminable lamentations of terminal ignorance.

Condemned by their belief in the salvation of violence and recrimination, secure in their faith that their moat of self righteousness shelters them from the gulags of perdition they eagerly proclaim for others, feeling recused from the bane of sinfulness by meager tithes, tumidity and scriptural specificity and the sweet delusional conviction they are the chosen tribe of God’s favor; their aspirations viscerally dashed in blizzards of metaphysical illusion strewn like meaningless confetti onto a passing parade of barbarians who have taken the City as its grandest prize.

Sadly I must withdraw from my beloved City. I retreat to a refuge where the barbarians dare not enter. Their ignorance and stasis weds them to a place far from my sanctuary of choice. May my sanctuary restoreth my soul!

I find refuge in the temples of jazz. I sing arias of lucent improvisation. The freedom of unbridled expression reinvigorates the mind, alighting the emanation of our better angels. The music calibrates my soul with the syncopated beat of an irrepressible life force, the humanity of my welling heart swells on the sonorous oxygen of a lyrical free spirit.

I take refuge in our vanishing mountain wilderness. The natural world offers a solace of solitude, a unrequited impression of scale and a transcendent communion immune from the trampling cacophony of gleeful vandals running rampant through the streets of the City. In winter the summits are capped in crowns of viginal snow, spring awakens a dormant flora, autumn leaves shout the chorus of a seasons glory and summer flowers bloom in multitudes of brilliant colors marking a startling contrast to the fifty shades of gray tattooed onto the City’s restive souls by the purveyors of power.

I find respite on the friendly banks of rivers and breeze swept ocean shores. The perfume wafting along a rivers streaming eddies or a briney snort gulped from the foam of a cresting wave invigorates the lungs, strengthens the heart and clears the mind. The flow of living water heals lifes wounded spirit. It quenches a thirst for justice and nourishes the hope of freedom for all incarcerated souls. The ceaseless roll of the ocean waves prove the enduring power and inevitability of liberty.

I find a good refuge in books. Here I discover a fleeting glimpse of our forgotten love of knowledge and pursuit of truth and rational thought. Enlightenment is the plot of every storyline.

I take refuge in art. I escape into the multiple dimensions of aesthetic beauty trouncing the twittering banality of fad, pornographic affectations and consumer fethishism. Glimpsing beauty while beauty is there to behold and the diligent practice of its creation is an answer to a higher calling.

I take refuge in my dog. Unconditional love and trusted friendship are values at peril in a transactional world; virtues nobily demonstrated and freely given by our canine and feline friends.

I take refuge in late night comedy. Working the midnight shift, whistling past the graveyard with a hearty laugh helps to while away the desperate hours. The rancid fruits of our labor leave a bitter taste in our mouths, humor is the bread of life that clears the palate and makes the terrible sufferable.

My lasting sanctuary is the stronghold of faith, forbearance and tolerance. I trust the long arc of justice will bend toward the righteous and offer a pathway of redemption for all desecrated souls.

I take refuge in the Blues. Let my lamentations turn to songs of joy and deliverance.

I take refuge in prayer. May my places of exile restore and heal my denigration. May God deliver us to a good destination. May our generational wanderings in the desert of desolation end in the discovery of a good place of habitation.

In the solitude of prayer may I experience catharsis, may my petitions find an open ear, may I achieve clarification, may my pious supplication be genuine , my conviction firm, a direction found, a decision made, a call to action clear.  May I become a healer of the breach.

May Your grace be sufficient for me.

I declare my exile over. I will return to my City. I will attempt to rekindle the extinguished flame of liberty to dispel the darkness enveloping my City.


Mark Almond: The City

Sep 2017 · 872
monk cent 10 I al
monk jumps
trinkle ****** trane
criss crossin time
aboard idiocentric planes

whacky Hackensack moods
near my mysterioso home
round bout midnight gleaning
brilliant corner poems

hummin blue monk blues
i surrender dear
Bemsha swing cast away
Friday the 13th fears

melancholy ruby swigs
straight no chaser shots
just let's cool one
at the red hot 5 Spot

rollins and griffin jammin
hudson riverside house
Weehawken royalty bows
to a spiffy charlie rouse

we remember mintons
a vast creative flood
monk be boppin on stage
when in walked bud

red rooster clucksters
raising town hall roofs
consecrating spaces playing
Monk's hallowed tunes

"pianos don't play no wrong notes"
we heard Thelonious once say
his utterances on the upright keys
ingenious music maestro on display

Music Selection:
Thelonious Monk:
In Walked Bud

Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial
10/10/17 - 10/10/17
The centennial of the birth of  Thelonious Sphere Monk, master musician and composer, creative giant in the creation of modern music is 10/10/17
Sep 2017 · 861
Wildfires in Cali
wildfires in Cali, nukes threaten LA
dreamers dead in DC and Irmas on her way....
****** Hairs in the White House, Houston's flooded still...
Afghan be bleedin...I feelin the big chill...
GOP be crazy...Dems dead as a rock...
Amerika be reeling...Doomsday clock tick tock...

Music Selection:
Alvin Lee,
I'd Love to Change the World

getting ready for the rapture....
travelin north on rumblin boxcar trains
soft iron rails confess syncopated pains
slow rhythmic rush of spinning paddlewheels
full immersion baptism in Big Muddy swales
feint clip clop thoughts of ol Bess fade fast
hum a hue of delta blues to hard times past
I lift a quiet prayer to my Lord’s willowy ear
to quell the ugly whispers of yonder city fears

Jacob Lawrence
Panel 23
Migration Series

Duke Ellington:
Daybreak Express

a snippit from a long essay The Path of Totality Part 2, "The Fire Next Time"
Sep 2017 · 1.7k
DC Traffic Jam
Its 8:30 in the AM
The Corn Moon
is being routed by a
Manassas cloud bank

NPR be barking
Irma this, Irma that
my tremblin Rav4
stuck in the rush
is idling behind
a pair of gray hairs
leaded premium
out the back
of a big old black Buick
sportin Florida tags

inching north up I95
I’m relieved to be
a thousand miles
ahead of the
monstrous *****
denuding Barbuda
deflowering the
****** Islands
and threatening to topple
the last vestiges of
Castro’s Dynasty
by disrupting upscale
bourgeois markets
for cafe Cubanos,
cool Cohibas and
bold Bolivars

she’s a CAT 5
spinning catastrophe
churning through
the Florida straits
bending steel framed
Golden Arches
shaking the tiki shacks
gobbling lives
defiling tropical dreams

the best
meteorological minds
on the Weather Channel
plug the Euro model
to plot a choreography
of Irma’s cyclonic sashay

they predict she’ll
strut her stuff
up a runway  
that perfectly
dissects the  
Sunshine State
the topography
venting carnage
like battalions of
badly behaved frat boys,
schools of guys gone wild
sophomores, wreaking havoc
during a Daytona Beach
spring break
droolin over *******
popping woodies at
wet tee shirt contests
urinating on doorstoops
puking into Igloo Coolers
and breaking their necks
from ill advised
second floor leaps
into the shallow end
of Motel 6 pools

but I’m rolling north
into the secure
arms of a benign
Mid Atlantic Summer
like other refugees,
my trunk is
filled with baggage
of fear and worry
if there’re be anything
left to return to
once Irma
has spent herself
with one last
furious ****
against the
Chattanooga Bluffs of
Lookout Mountain

Morning Edition
Is yodeling a common
seasonal refrain
the gubmint is
just about outta cash
congress needs to
increase the debt limit

My oh my,
has the worm turned
during the Obama years
the GOP put us through a
Teabag inspired nightmare
gubmint shutdowns
and sequestration
shaved 15 points
off every war profiteers vig
it gave a well earned
long overdue
take the rest of the week off
unpaid vacation
to non essential
gubmint workers
while a cadre of
wheelchair bound
Greatest Generation
military vets get
locked out of the
WWII Memorial on the
National Mall

this time around
its different
we have an Orange Hair
in the office and there's
some hyper sensitivity
to raise the debt ceiling
given that Harvey
has yet to fully
drain from the
Houston bayous

the colossal cleanup
from that thrice in a
Millennial lifetime storm
has garnered bipartisan support
to  clean up the wreckage
left behind by a
badly behaved
one star BnB lodger
who took a week
long leak into the
delicate bayous of
Southeast Texas

yet we are infused
with optimism that our
Caucasian president
and his GOP grovelers
now mustered
to the Oval Office
will slow tango
with the flummoxed
no answer Dems
to get the job done

pigs do fly in DC
Ryan and McConnell
double date with
Pelosi and Schumer
get to heavy pettin
from front row seats
beholding droll  
Celebrity Apprentice

The Donald, Nancy and Chuck
slip the room for a little
menage au trois side action
transforming Mitch and Paul
into vacillating voyeurs
who start jerking their dongs
while POTUS, and his
new found friends
get busy workin
the art of a deal

rush hour peaks
static traffic grows
in concert with
a swelling  
frenetic angst
driving drivers
to madness
they won't
get paid if
the debt ceiling
don't rise
they honk horns
rev engines
thumb iPhones
and sing out
primal screams

unmindful drivers
piloting Little Hondas
bump cheap Beamers
start a game of
bumper cars
dartin in and out
of temporary gaps
uncovered by the
spastic fits and starts
of temporary
ebbs and flows

A $12 EZ Pass
gambit is offered
the fast lane
on ramp
has few takers
just another
pick your pocket
gubmint scheme
two express lanes
lie vacant
while three lanes of
non premium roadway
boast bumper to bumper
wasted fuel
declining productivity
the  wisdom of
the invisible hand doesn't
seem to be working

DOJ bureaucrats
In Camrys and Focuses
dial the office
to let somebody
know they’ll
be tardy

gubmint contractors in
silver Mercedes begin
jubilantly honking horns
NPR has just announced that
Pelosi and Schumer
joined the Orange team
the rise in the debt ceiling
will nullify their 15%
sequestration pay cut

NPR reports the
National Cathedral will
deconsecrate two hallowed
stained glass windows of
rebel generals R E Lee
and Stonewall Jackson
it's a terrible shame that
the Episcopal Church
will turn its back on the
rich Dixie WASPS
who commissioned these
installations to commemorate
the church's complicity
in sanctifying the
institution of slavery,

as I ponder
this Anglican
conundrum another
object arrests my
streaming consciousness
upsetting an attention span
shorter and less deep
than the patch of oil  
disappearing under the front
of the RAV as I thunder by
at 5 MPH

to the left I eye a
funny looking building
standing at attention
next to a Bob Evans

I’m convinced
Its gotta be CIA
a 15 story
gubmint minaret
a listening post
wired to intercept
mobile digital
from crawling traffic
inching along
beneath its feet

this thinking node
pulsing with
reeking with
the tautological
guarantees the
stasis of our
national consciousness

strategically positioned to
tune into the
intractable Zeitgeist
culling meta code
planting data points
In Big Data
data farms
running algos
to discern bits
of intelligence
endeavoring to reveal
future shock trends
knows nothing
reveals less

the buildings cover
is its acute
gray steel frame
silver tinted glass
multiple wireless antennas
black rimmed windows
boldly proclaim
any data entering
this cheerless edifice
must abandon all hope
of ever being framed
in a non duplicitous
non self serving sentence

the gray obelisk a
national security citidel
refracts the
fear and loathing
the sprawling
global anxiety
our civilization's
playing out
in the captive
soft parade
ambling along
the freeway jam
at its stoop

Moning Edition jingle
follows urgent report of
FEMA scamblin assets
arbitraging Harvey and Irma
triaging two
tropical storm tragedies
and a third girl
just named Maria
pushed off the Canaries
and is on its way to a
Puerto Rico

gubmint  bureaucrats
anxiously push on
to their soulless offices
the rush hour jam
has peaked
is having a
nervous breakdown

next lane over
a guy in a gold PT Cruiser
is banging on his steering wheel
don’t think this unessential worker
will win September's
civil servant of the month award

Ex Military
K Street defectors
slamming big civie
getting six mpg
lobby for a larger
of mercenary dollars
for Blackwater's
global war on terror

Prius Hybrids
silently roll on
politely driven by
EPA Hangers On
hoping to save
a bit of the planet
from an Agency Director
intent on the agency's
the third 500 year hurricane
of the season
is of no consequence

GMC Jimmy’s
are manned by
Steve Mnunchin
the frugal
treasury dept
ledger keepers
pour good money after bad
to keep the national debt
and there clanking
jalopies working

driving Malibus
DOL stalwarts
stickin with the Union
give biz to GMC

nice lookin chicks
young coed interns
with big daddy doners
fix their faces and
come to work
whenever they want

my *** is killing me
I squirm in my seat
to relieve my aching sacroiliac
and begin to wonder if my name
will appear on some
computer printout today?
can’t afford an IRS audit
maybe my house will
be claimed by some
eminent domaine landgrab?
Perhaps NSA
may come calling,
why did I sign that
Save The Whales
Facebook Petition?

The EZ Pass lane
is movin real easy
mocking the gridlock
that goes all the way
to Baltimore
a bifurcated Amerika
is an exhaust spewing
standing condemnation
to small “R”

glint from windshields
is blinding
my **** is hurtin and
gettin back to Jersey
gunna take a while
GPS recalcs arrival time

an intrepid Lyft driver
feints and dodges
into the traffic gaps
drivin the shoulder
urging his way to the
Ronnie Reagan International
I'm sure
gettin heat from
a backseat fare
that shoulda pinged
an hour earlier

Irma creeps
toward the Florida Keys
faster then the
glacial jam
befuddling congress

I think I just spotted
Teabag Patriot
Grover Norquist
manning a rampart
bestriding a highway overpass
he’s got a clipboard in hand
checking the boxes
counting cars
taking names
who’s late?
who’s unessential?

whatta jam we're in

Music Selection:
Jeff Beck: Freeway Jam

written as im stuck in jam headin back to jersey
Jun 2017 · 859
Colour My World
When class let out at RHS
we'd head over to the Roadrunner.

We sipped cokes, smoked and told jokes.  

We gab away about the breaking scandals,
foibles and doomed love affairs vexing ourselves
and fellow classmates.

Cartoons danced on the back wall
fully animating the teenage angst
running rampant in the room.

In between bites of Mr. Snyder's
delicious French Fries and
charbroiled burgers,

Beamie would share her wise counsel,
opening an understanding ear while
offering an obliging shoulder
for tears and comfort.

Sharing with Beamie,
a trouble disclosed was instantly halved,
joys were resoundingly doubled.

Beamie’s resolute friendship
was beautifully wrapped
in the simple gift of her presence.

The loud jukebox would blare
Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen”
Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” or
The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”.  

Beamie didnt care much
for hard rock so she
sidle up to the juke,
drop a dime and play
Chicago’s “Colour My World”.

Beamie loved the song.  
She’d get lost in the rapture
of its ethereal melody.  For her,
I believe the song reflected the empathy
and deep emotional connection she so cherished
with friends and the people she deeply loved.

So to honor our dear friend, I plunk
another dime into the juke to spin
her favorite tune once more.

...As time goes by,
I realize, just what
You mean to me…

Dearest Beamie,
we marvel at the
rich abundant life
you crafted for yourself
and all who were blessed
to be touched by your love.

You leave this world
surrounded by a
thriving family and
a diverse community
of friends authored
by the love you so
shared through a
selfless life…

...And now
Now that you're near
Promise your love
That I've waited to share...

Beamie, you have kept
every promise, every pledge
you made to Lou, Michelle,
Jessica, Mason, Haley
Julio, Norberto and
your diverse group
of colleagues and
beloved friends.  

Your love created a
new generation that carries
the blessed DNA of a vibrant

It will grow and illuminate
the pathways and hearts of
many successive generations.

...And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you...

Beamie, you lived
a well lived life.

As your travel back
to the *****
of eternal love,
your spirit walks
with all who you
loved and all who
deeply loved you.

The hues, palettes
and rainbow of colors
you generously painted
onto family and friends
indelibly marks our identity

The memory
of your perfect
alabaster smile
ignites a instant joy
at the mention
of your name.

Your round brown eyes
manifested the earthen
wisdom you generously shared.

The scarlet flame
of a fully bloomed
summer rose
recollects your open heart
and sacred home
and the warm hospitality
offered to all who were
blessed to knock on your door.

The emotional avowal
of your ebullient embrace
chased away the blues
of doubt on many occasions
and reassured the
affirmation of friendship.

The silver strands
of your noble tresses
crowns your being
in maternal saintliness.

Dearest Beamie,
So many in this
drab gray world
have been colored
by the brilliant palette
of your blessed life.
I know you added
some wonderful
pictographs to the
multicolored mosaic
of my life's story.

I bless you for
our golden friendship.

Well done beloved.
God Bless and Godspeed.
love, mac

Kathleen P. Bumpass
3/25/56 - 6/1/17

Music Selection:
Chicago, Colour My World

Long Branch
written for a beloved friend
and recited at Beamie's funeral service 6/5/17
Apr 2017 · 962
I Am Here
I am here

I was there
when you died
a handful of yards
from where I stood
on the most perfect of days

I now stand
on a seaside boardwalk
reciting your names
reading thumbnail bios
you liked the sun,
sea, surf and shore
you deeply loved
your family and
carried this place
within you as a
sacred sanctuary

But for that awful day
I would not know you

The day that bowed
Trinity’s holy spires
the clattering commotion
the destructive noise
tumbling, collapsing, splintering
our civic civility
consuming you
dashing many
seashore dreams

Yet your love
was not consumed
in the flames of acrimony

Your names
forged in bronze
etched on boards
written in sand

in wounded hearts
of those you loved
and blithely spoken
by a lifting chorus
of ever present waves

Righteous Brothers,
Ebb Tide

(double click image to read the names)

Holy Saturday 2017
municipal memorial for 9/11 victims
Apr 2017 · 689
a closer walk
a bird on a wire
anxiously tweets
outside my
Good Friday

The Carl Vinson
battle group
plies the China Seas
rolling through waves
like a deadly

MOABS plaster
commanders are
certain the right
bomb, for the right job
produced a righteous
body count

Tomahawks strafe
another Syrian
neighborhood, already
desperately choking on
the stench of corpses

“Crucify Him!”
They shout
“We want blood!”

“Give em a
good scourging”

Before we place
a crown of thorns
on his head

Let the blood drip
pierce him with
a pike, let it all
spill out

The pundits
sanctify the
of death with
strategic acuity

Just another day
in a closer walk
with Thee, for the
Pilgrims of Sorrow

Music: Soul Stirrers,
Pilgrim of Sorrow

The Road of Sorrows
Nina Marchenko

Good Friday 2017
Lavallette NJ
Apr 2017 · 2.7k
Prayer of Dry Bones
May the words of my mouth
and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight, LORD,
my Rock and my Redeemer.

Good Morning Beloved

It is good to be among you this morning.

Let us pray….

Gracious Lord

As we sojourn the pathways of life
You have brought us to the places
Of ecstatic splendorous peaks

You have blessed us with resounding joys
You have filled us with good things
The grace of your unconditional love
Is made manifest in the abundant life
you have promised to all your children
We bless you Lord for your provision
And your unfailing unrequited love

You have also humbled us Lord
With times of perplexing trial,
deep sorrows and pointed loss

Our earthly journey
has led us to places
of dread, devastation
sickness and pending death

Our plans and aspirations
Have turned to dust
Our eyes fill with tears

Our crestfallen hearts
have hardened
We fail to receive the
balm of love

We have been routed
We have lost the battle
We have been conquered
by separation, sin and despair

The spirit of life
Has evaporated
From our bodies

All that remains
Are dry bones

Scattered in the
valley of death

hidden by the shadows
In the nadir of our lives

Yet your abiding love
remains the
strong Present Helper
calling us to your light

May we rise from our
Afflictions as Lazarus
did when called by his
beloved friend Jesus

May your grace anoint
Our ears with the sound of
The Great Resurrectors voice

May you stir our hearts
With the wisdom of your will

May you bless our lips
With the grace of prophecy

That we may
Prophesy to the broken
And brittle bones of our lives

Prophecy to the bones
so they may be joined
With sinew and flesh again

May your words
Become flesh

May we walk again
In the land of the living
And rejoin the beloved
At the table of
Your abundant grace

In The Good Deliver's Name
We pray...


Eric Dolphy, Come Sunday

Ezekiel 37 The Valley of Dry Bones,
John 11, The Death of Lazarus

Prayer of the Dry Bones
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette NJ
4th Sunday in Lent
Lenten Prayer, Valley of Dry Bones, Raising of Lazarus
delivered 4th Sunday in Lent
Faith Lutheran Church
Lavallette, NY
Mar 2017 · 1.2k
I came to the place
you were last known to be

On the anniversary of the date
you were last seen

I bring offerings
of long stemmed
dried flowers
accented with
baby breath and
a clay fired cross
tinkling and jouncing
in a clear concave
glass vase

Gathered from the
floral arrangements
of memorial services
for dearly beloved
kindred and friends

My oblation,
aged, simmered,
distilled with the
resonance of tears
and cured by
ruminative airs, now
fully curated with
the balm of time

On this solitary
Monmouth beach
the March Lion
roars snow squalls
intermittently blowing
away the cold sunshine
from the Saturday sand

Sounding a
somber reminder
of the rise and fall
of life's tempests

We hope for beach days of
Sun kissed faces and
warm limbered bones
reposed in blessed rest
upon blankets and chairs

Yet today the sun can’t
temper the numbed
fingered wind chill,
placidity escapes
into the sonic rush
of skirling gusts
lifting, splashing,
cracking crescendos
of building waves

Inert gulls flock
near a black jetty
their feathers
a taught plumage
trimmed to deflect
natures howling whirl
their silent shrieks
swallowed by
the days bluster

Crossing the beach
I cradled the vase
in the crux of my arms

My shoes taking
on sand, the cross
clanking a toll
against the thin glass
as the dry blooms
whisper winded secrets

As I approached
the ebb of the sea
a furious gust of wind
splintered some of the flowers
into a flurry of  swirling petals
while lifting two long stemmed
yellow roses that land
intact near the ocean's edge

Like frenetic sparrows
the liberated petals
flew into the ocean
settling into a
contented pool
anointing the water
by softly grazing on
supple undulations

Lifting a yellow rose
from the vase...
I touched the thorn
but it had lost its sting

Setting the rose aloft on
the wings of an
insistent onshore wind
it took flight toward the sea

Landing on a placid pool
gently rising and falling
on the relaxed roll of the water

It mounted each gentle curl
moving with an easy buoyancy
over each rippling crest

Navigating the friendly sea
with the skill of a
seasoned mariner
plying forward
eager to meet
the next tender roll

It is thought by some
that my daughter
walked into the sea
on a lonely
March night
at this very spot

Yet the two
long stem roses
that leapt from the vase
still gently lay
at the water line
as if placed on a table
by lovers during
an intimate dinner

Despite a stiff
onshore wind
the waves do not
swallow the flowers
but ease them back
toward the vase
planted on the shore

I gathered stones
and shells to fill the
emptying vase,
as I grabbed a handful
at the wash line
my foot was subsumed
by a wave

I was startled
by the bite of the
frigid water,
shaking my
arousing an
affirmation of
disbelief that
Meggie surrendered
her soul to the sea

On this cold
windswept shore
a Nor’easter
creeps its way
up our fragile coast
begging an uncertain

I stand in your

of what I should do

Unable to pray
the words bespoken
In my heart

I am here, frozen,
frail, frigid, flummoxed

My aching fingers
beg me to go
I release a final
white carnation

It springs to the sea
I pick up my vase half
full of shells and stones

I commend the two
long stemmed
yellow roses
marking the

I resolve to return
some sun kissed day
with blanket and chair
in the company of
friends, brothers,
sons and daughter

Music: Fleet Foxes, Grown Ocean

Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum
was last seen on video at
Pier Village Long Branch NJ
on March 11, 2015

Long Branch
Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum
was last seen on video at
Pier Village Long Branch NJ
on March 11, 2015
Mar 2017 · 2.2k
Grand Isle
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing

a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards

The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”

on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet

Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone

I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement

“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask

“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.

“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five.  The ******
******* took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”

She went back to
tilling the sand.

Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf

standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands  grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche

the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting  
seaside symphony

the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes

grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary

Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo

Grand Isle
Grand Isle, Cajun, Deepwater Horizon, ecological distress, Gulf of Mexico
Feb 2017 · 1.3k
Rue Bourbon Moment
A couple wuz beading up
for a chi chi day
She drunkenly laughed
**** stained her dress

A olive skin woman
in golden glitter pasties
Offered neon *** shots
near 10 in the morning

A chubby girl dressed
in a black fishnet body suit
selling face paintings
while her supple *******
Jiggled in your face

A black man occupied
A most different plain
Sat behind two chess boards
wasn't gettin paid

Two SAP cars parked
At Royal Sonesta curb
idling to taxi exec sappers
back to the friendly skies

****** whippin glitter girl
Shakin her money maker
Lookin hard at her wares
What the hell she sellin?

Across the street
miked up bible thumper
Doin his groove thing
Raged against the ***** show
Ca ching ca ching ca ching

I ducked a bity bee
Flying at my face
I'm walkin Bourbon
Full of mighty grace

Hard Rock Guys
selling cannabis lollis
crowded corners bumpin
Ain't no trollies

boom box blastin
back beat samples
Who Dat Jazz?
muskrat rambles

Three card monte
Obstructive beggers
Kids banging on
5 gallon drums
Gimme a dime mister

Louie Armstrong Park
Congo Square
Where it at?
Gotta get there

***** Glitter still barking
Mardi ****** Gras tees
Snapchat Me Your *****
Ducked another bee

Kid put his two pails
In mid of the rue
Gotta pay the toll
Whatcha gunna do?

Mardi Gras Music

From NOLA Notes
scribbled from notes of jazz hajj
Feb 2017 · 1.6k
I Am The Carnage (WIP)
I am the carnage
dripping with emoluments
reeking of duplicity
occupier of cities
torturer of insurgents
ruler by decree of tweets

A grand vision of myself
is forever fixed
in my mind’s eye

I am the zeitgeist
my murmuration
through every
media channel
dazzling the
dizzy digerati
diligently tweeting
my precious

I descended from
my gilded 5th Ave tower
conveyed by a downward escalator
to save the common mass
from devastation and destruction

sweeping across
magnificent porticos
making grand entrances
through marine guarded gates
the glint of a rising sun
highlights the halo
of my golden coiff
and the fortitude of
my deep red power tie

I survey the global landscape
that fellow elites and I
have assiduously crafted
to loot unfathomable wealth
to indulge our idiosyncratic whims

The perpetual war
Toppled soverns
The viral terrors
The blighted cities
Ineffectual schools
Strangling bureaucracies
Egregious taxation
Omnipotent corporations
Offshored industries
Meager wages
Balooning wealth gap
Industrial stasis
Imminent domaine
Deteriorating health
Withering private life
Fractured families
Ubiquitous addictions
Stultifying work
Environmental degradation
Consuming violence
Government  spying
Police State repression
All was created by me
For the benefit of me

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created for our sole benefit

I understand the peril of
The Forgotten Man
He is under siege  
Hiding in the bowels
Of violent cities
He is foreclosed in
Shuttering suburbia
He is lost in the changing
Ethnicity of our homeland
He's been abandoned
By the perpetually elected
Politicians beholden to the
Monied interests
He is set adrift    
To wander among
the tombstones
Of a dying America

We are under siege
By Illegals stealing jobs
Victimized by their crime sprees
They live off the public dole
They undermine America
aided and abetted by the liberals
Who like the terrorists
Are waiting to pounce
with blood dripping fangs
to further their
UnAmerican agenda

I am the corruptor
I bought the politicians
Skidded the regulations
evaded taxes
cut corners
pushed every
envelop to
advance the
cause of me
-the devoted profiteer-
the dissolution
of Atlantic City
is the hallmark
of my handiwork

I gorged myself
at the public troughs
Reaping tax abatements
my skilled hand
always extracting
concessions and coinage
from the public purse
a clever businessman indeed

I am the art of the deal
the bankrupter of businesses
prince of crooked commerce
Defaulter on debts
Whelsher on payments
to workers for service due
I am the darling of the
double dealing derring-do

I am drawn to the beautiful
I am enamoured with me
My favorite pastime,
Watching Celebrity
Apprentice reruns
-the highest rated show
of all time… (a curious alt fact)-
more people attended and
watched my inaugural address
then any other president
throughout history….

I have a proud collection
of trophy wives ….
the purpose of my family
is to affirm and flatter me
I agree with Howard Stern
that Ivanka is a piece of ***
I wish I could date her

As I walk the fantastic
performance stages of my life
I am radically entitled
to gleefully grab *****
insult disgusting subordinates
castigate uppity females
like Rosie and Megyn
while remaining
a titillated ******
visiting teenage
beauty pageant
dressing rooms

I am a committed
serial adulterer
that staunchly upholds
the sanctity of family values

I made my fortune
Extracting rent
trafficking in vice...
gambling and circuses
For the masses
These are my specialties
and I ***** my name
to all licensees
willing to pay me
to brand any
faux luxerient

I alone can fix the carnage
I and like minded confederates
so cleverly created
for our personal benefit

Tax me with requests
for insights to whom
I am and with whom
I do business
I will offer nothing but
the impenetrable

Look into the mirror
Every base impulse
Every fear, prejudice
Resent you discover
You will find me

I am settled into
every ****** crag
Every worry line
searing your brow
Skillfully plained by me

I am a paradox
wrapped in the
enigma of self
aggrandizing deals

I am the
daring deconstructor
of public schools
Rent seeking
holy privatization
will enrich fellow elites
together we shall
gleefully grease the slide
of the dumb down ride
abhorring facts
ideology, opinions
and optics rule

I cultivate a
suspicion of science
Preferring the superiority
of suspicion in service to
A bloated gut feel
as the ultimate arbiter of
The course to pursue

I pledge allegiance
to the ruthless exploitation
Of Mother Earth
Like a juggernaut
I will roll over the
Standing Rock Protectors
And any opposition
to the extraction
And distribution
of fossil fuels
I'll Frack
the republic to pieces
Direct my armies
To conquest oil rich nations
to quench my insatiable thirst
For the fuel of all capitalist tools

health care is not
a universal right
I care only for
The health of my own
and the welfare of
the privileged few
I promise to *******
Many with my Trumpcare

I am the defiler
of sanctuary cities
Disruption is my pleasure
the route of humanity
Tramping through
this burning world
Is welcomed to my hell

I distrust unity
I slice through cohesion
At ribbon cutting ceremonies

I drain The Swamp
And fill it with quicksand
I Enable anger
It's a sign of manliness

I collaborate with
a rising Confederacy
The Altright promises
To undermine the Union
With assault and battery…

My pout crowns
a cunning heart
My scowl is
the router of joy

Purple bunting
Perpetually hangs
On my heart

The blue line
Is not blue enough
the lawless half
Must be cowed
Into submission

I vow to scrub
The institutional memory
Of the Federal system
and all democratic tradition

I exalt  the fantasies
Of the forgotten man
I will fill his long memory
With fables of his foibles
And litanies of my
next great conquest

My Scepter of deception
Anoint the fictions of me
Attesting to my greatness
My craft is vanity

Putin is my model
I empathize with
How he deals with
dishonest journalists

I am empowered by the
Apartheid of Zion
I too am a builder of walls
Celebrant of separatism
Suspicious of the other
I burn the bridges
Severing all connections to them

Duplicity is our new national religion
My thumbs are bloodied by furtive tweets
My mind is pinched by anguish
The weight of myself
Strides across our
denigrated landscape
like Goya's Colossus
I am the carnage  

Music; Led Zeppelin
When the Levee Breaks

composed after the Women's March
to honor ****** Hair,
the 45th President of the US
Feb 2017 · 731
Time to Dance
I stand on the eastern side
of the rainbow bridge
without a passport
I cannot cross

The sunless day offers
slate gray backdrops
to white billows
rising from roaring falls

During the night
I watched the towers
of the city on the opposite shore
it's lights sparkled
throughout the evening
illuming descending flurries
like bits of pastel graffiti

On the morn of my birthday
the snow squalls rise and fall
suspending snowflakes
in an aerial dance

Yes, it is time to dance....

Music Selection
Yo Yo Ma & Rosa Passos
"O Amor Em Paz"

Niagara Falls
my birthday poem
composed at Niagara Falls, NY
May 2016 · 988
200,000 Reads
200 K
200 thou
Reads as of today

I wrote of Orion
And silly sleigh rides
Wrote about hometowns
And passionate nights

****** damnable wars
And narcissistic politicians
Wrote sorrowful elegies
Extolled the human condition

Offered odes to loved ones
And critiqued the powerful
Celebrated the splendor of nature
And children most wonderful

Honked loud about jazz
And hot improvisation
Poked fun at the MoMA
Held deep blue introspection

We got many more reads
Than actual likes
I’m growing concerned
That I have more dislikes

But here is one more
Silly trite poem
I hope you like it
You can read it at home

Thanks for all your support….

Simon and Garfunkel
Poem on the Underground Wall

Love Mac…..
Apr 2016 · 655
i primitive





















Music Selection:
Opening Scene
Stanley Kubrick's
2001 Space Odyssey
Richard Strauss
Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Feb 2016 · 3.6k
you arrived midwinter
into the loving embrace
of young able parents
eager to nurture and
prepare you for a
hard edged world
filled with trepidation
and uncertainty

boasting citizenship
of two great nations
your honored presence
fearlessly extends
the lineage of proud  
ancient clans

you are a favorite son
hailing from two continents
and a beloved descendant
of two joyous families

your face is a monument,
perfectly chiseled,
expressing the
bold features of
resilient ancestors
rich in the history
of struggle, conquests,
sorrows and countless joys

your blue streaked
eyes reflect the
gleaming vistas
of timeless
ancestral journeys
guided by high ideals
and noble aspirations

your suckling lips
bespeak smiles
of happiness
born from the
achievement of
a successful birth
and the warm embrace
from the ***** of  
parental love

your blithe hair exudes
the fragrance of
melodious Irish poetry

your gifted hands
appear eager
to grasp the promise
of fine Bavarian

your strong legs
limbered by
Scottish Highland trails
stand ready to conquer
the grandest Alpine peaks

your nose is filled
with the briny snort of
great expectations
European immigrants
inhaled during intrepid
Transatlantic passages
making a way to a New World
marking a family presence
that bestrides the expanse
of a great ocean

in your infant heart beats
with the possibilities
of our family’s
greatest aspirations
and fondest hope

within your DNA
stirs the passion of artists
the fortitude of workers
the faithfulness of farmers
the courage of warriors
the prayers of POWs
the casualties of war
survivors of great wars
reconstructors of
ravaged cities and
masters of industry

as you commence
your earthly walk
we pledge our
help, heart and hope
during your blessed sojourn

we offer up
holy hosannas
that your heart
may fill with a
thirst for truth,
beauty and love

may it overflow
with compassion
to serve humanity
and to stand firm
in the light of justice

may you always walk
as an upright man,
keen of vision,
eager to meet
challenges and seize
opportunity when it arises

may you create
a wholesome place
for yourself and others
by generously sharing
your presence and
the fruits of an
abundant life  

may your mind discern
the right course of action

may you find
reward for your labor
and honor a hard day's work

may your soul
seek to affirm
the Holy Spirit in
all that you do

may you champion love
through a lifelong commitment
to the things you love

may you find
trusted friendship
in the companionship
with animals

may you walk softly
upon the earth and
be a conscientious
steward of its
miraculous provision

may you appreciate the
beauty of art, experience the
freedom of dance,  be inspired
by the revelation of music,
find rejuvenation in athletics,
maintain physical health
and find a long active life
in clean living

may you attempt
difficult things
and be endowed with
intelligence, courage
and fortitude to
steadfastly meet
the challenges of life
and achieve
personal growth

may you receive solace
and garner strength from
a fathomless faith

may God’s
abiding grace
empower you to
perceive the
many miracles
each day richly
confers upon you

may you find
a soul mate
and trust in the
freedom and
beauty of love

may you too
be blessed
with children and
pass on the
good things you
were given by
your parents
and loved ones

may you experience
unconditional love
and unconditionally love

and please remember,
you are the miraculous
expression of a perfect love
may your perfection
light good pathways
throughout your life
as you find your way
in this imperfect world

with joy, reverence
love , hope  and
deep gratitude
we welcome you
our dearest

God’s Blessing
be always with you

Theodore James McCallum
February 5, 2016
In Ardua Tendit

Music Selection:

Wane Shorter: Infant Eyes
Herbie Hancock: Speak Like a Child
Thad Jones: A Child is Born
Claude Debussy: Children's Corner

a poem to commemorate the arrival of my first grandchild
They were hot on the trail
of the Parisian terrorists
who killed 127 people

When the gendarme came for her
they asked… “where's your boyfriend?”

she answered “he’s not my boyfriend”
she pushed a button and blew herself up

painting the inside of her modest flat
with a single coat of macabre rouge

an unsympathetic Tweet reported
that her head flew out the window
coming to rest on the cobblestone street
in front of the neighborhood bakery
her nostrils drawing a final breath filled
with the aroma of freshly baked croissants

perhaps her dimming retina reflected  
the flickering laser strobe scanning
the Parisian skyline from atop
the Eiffel Tower

maybe it was for the best
that she's been released
from her earthly travails

gotta be a major downer
being a card carrying Jihadi
living  life, parsing locations
to find the best sites to
****** innocent people

living life inside the prison
of a black burka, is
living inside the dogma
of religious delusion
gotta be a living hell
living large in a
Dante’s Inferno
doin hard time in
solitary confinement
of an addled mind
chained to a
wretched heart
looking at life
through tiny slit
like horse blinders
designed to encumber
the distraction of any
peripheral perspective

in summer the dark fabric
traps heat inside the raiment
bringing simmering resentment
to a raging boil

railing against bourgeois decadence
stewing over the whoredom of halter tops,
mini skirts and teeny weeny bikinis

a coal fired pressure cooker
stoked with repressed libidinal energy
loathing the sin of intimacy
recoiling from any intimate touch
the simmering resent
unable to find release
slowly builds until it blows

pure torture for a young woman
how can you not fall in love in Paris?
groove to jazz, lounge an afternoon away
sipping coffee at a sidewalk bistro
French kiss a lover
on a Rive Gauche bench

In The City of Light
how can you prefer body counts
to loving embraces?

the construction of a suicide vest
to epiphanies concealed in
affable Impressionists brushstrokes
or the revelations of Cezanne's dancers

to never roll the warm blush
from a fine Bordeaux
in the cradle of your tongue
or the sophisticated pose
of a first cigarette

to be immersed
in the City of Lights
while shunning
its illumination
by hiding under
a black burka
is absurd

why does this form of Islam require
these sacrifices from the fairer ***?
why does their understanding
of faith forbid body contact
yet demands a righteous body count?
what type of religion sanctifies this?

where an unknowable Allah
promises a paradisaical afterlife
only through the condemnation
of a pedestrian Joie de Vivre

Sharia liberates the soul
with divine chains of submission
and stokes an abhorrence to
secular democracy that condemns
the spirit to the anarchy of choices

is it no surprise she pulled the trigger?
to bad the Quran consumed all her reading time
had she only lifted a slim volume of Camus
she may have read The Myth of Sisyphus
"suicide springs from a feeling of absurdity"
Allah condemned her to a dark subservience
whose only goal was a nihilist martyrdom of
mass ****** and self annihilation  

Said Camus

“those who lack courage will
always find a philosophy to justify it”

and finally she may have understood

Camus's posit of the most important question….…...

“should I **** myself or have a cup of coffee?

she should have had a cup of coffee….

Erik Satie - Trois Gymnopédies

This poem is a companion piece to Righteous Ruminations ....
It is not my intention to denigrate Islam or Muslim women of the veil...
tolerance for religion is the path to peace...
yet the tension between the secular west and Sharia practices remain at odds and nurture extremism on both sides
Feb 2016 · 1.2k
on a hillside facing north
into an infinite blue Jersey sky

Sarah was laid to rest
on a brilliant crisp
Monday morning

she was surrounded by
loved ones and friendly
Highland Peaks

gathered together this
Thanksgiving week
to praise, honor and
give thanks for the
the life of a beloved
transfigured soul

Sarah entered
the world with nothing
yet departs on wings
filled with an abundance
of riches garnered
from a well lived life

she nurtured generations
of family and fostered
a bounty of diverse friendships
all who count themselves
fortunate to have experienced
the grace of her love

Sarah was a
strong loving matron
of a vibrant clan

her home
filled with
and the chatter
of children

guests found
a hearty
and genuine

her door, ear
hearth and heart
always open
to anyone
in need of
a good laugh or
a loving embrace

Sarah's legacy
bequeaths an
extended lineage
of flourishing children
blessedly assuring
her presence
remains a vital
life force in the
spirit of future

as Sarah was
committed to a
final earthly embrace
to rejoin her
beloved husband

white wisps
of gentle
cirrus clouds
gathered to
anoint the brow
of reverent
Highland crests

Well done
Aunt Sally
God bless you
and Godspeed

Fleetwood Mac:

Sarah C. Lundberg
Born: August 01, 1933
Died: November 18, 2015
Feb 2016 · 2.1k
Bowie Left Town
left town
blasting off
from a
his ***
a rainbow arc
golden glitter
onto chichi
Houston Street
liberating a
fawning glitterati
eager to prance
about a
High Line

for a
NY second
the best dressed
homeless dude
in NoHo
spotted a
Pale Duke
fluttering over
a posse of
splashed across a
Banksyless wall
tagging the
sunny side
of the finest
car wash

a ghostly
Lou Reed
dressed to the nines
in sleek
Transformer drag
scratching his *****
the final bars of
an Eno
Perfect Day,
marking odds
when a
long overdue
Iggy Pop
will crash the
Pearly Gate
mosh pits

the choppy seas
of urban sludge,
lightning bolts
streak down
the sullen faces
of cash strapped
honey dippin
lust for life
luxuriating in
a well nursed

Fun City's
bare footin
Little Monster
in soulless
still a
quarter shy
from annual
bonus time,
by economic
to dial up
flush with cash
fund managers
to seek
margin loans
on their
large positions
in alpha rich
asset funds
while their
diamond collared
wait outside
the corner
State News
licking the
oozing sores

lapping tongue
marks time,
waiting for
the stretchy
panted painted
ladies scoring
organic rouge
at a corner

listening to
a sidewalk
trash can
yelp today's
Daily News
"Major Tom
Myna Hero!"
bekighting the next
15 minute legend
a talking
Myna bird
Major Tom

the vigilant
alerted occupants
of a Brooklyn
townhouse of
a furnace leaking
carbon monoxide
when he stopped talking
and dropped dead

a veritable canary
in a coal mine story

a special service
Major Tom's
supreme sacrifice
is planned,
in the spirit of
the family
implores those
wishing to express
in lieu of flowers
to please occupy
Prospect Park
to drive out
the rapacious
squeegee men
and feed the
hungry pigeons

Bowie's earthly star
may have gone black
but the ashes of his
disembodied voice
will forever
mark the city
like the
gray splot
ashes of

David Robert Jones
1.8.47 - 1.10.16

Well Done Beloved
God Bless and Godspeed

Music Selections:

David Bowie, Dollar Days

David Bowie, I Can't Give Everything Away

David Bowie, Black Star

Jazz Messengers, Wayne Shorter
Lester Left Town

Nov 2015 · 3.5k
Righteous Ruminations
cable news video brilliantly captures
the blood washing Parisian gutters
glittering in City of Lights sparkle

images of carnage coagulate in my mind
clotting my heart with searing resent

in desperate need for release
from the abject scorn
that boils within my veins

I flip the channel to
watch a Predator marathon
but light entertainment
fails to satiate my restive soul

I turn down the volume
and click back to News

My iPod is audio ready
to soothe the savage beast
with some righteous death metal
I blast my earbuds,
Culture of Death's new CD
prepares me for real action
ever at the ready
digital recreation
has me *******
my controller
mustering up my
Call of Duty

I am a recognized
high score battlefield hero
taking out godless apostates
in the global war on terrorism

I'm usually eager to
baptize Iraqi jihadis in a
Holy Ghosting
but tonight
Black Ops kills
fails to thrill
my controller and I
stand down

opening the gun case
I cradle my Bushmaster
the smooth barrel and rugged stock
feels so right in my hand

it pleasures me to know
I am one of the good guys with a gun
I relish the fear and respect
I garner during open carry
troops to McDonalds
the hairs on the back of my neck
sometimes titillatingly rise

one day I hope to
take out an active shooter
at a movie or the supermarket
that would be way cool

I place my Bushmaster
back into the cabinet
and carefully rearrange
one of my Glocks

yet even with this
considerable armory
I still feel insecure
it may be time
for a trip to Walmart
to secure another Glock
*** more ammo

my heart recovers a bit when
I think about tomorrows recon trip
to my tree stand in the Jersey Highlands

Bear season starts soon
for the past few weeks
I've baited the area with
Dunkin Donuts and bacon grease
I've detected lots of bear ****
can't wait to drop one of those suckers
I visualize one in my gun sights
should be easy pickens

my CD ends with
some real raucous ****
removing my earbuds
I turn up the volume
on the News

footage from last summer's
Black Lives Matter demonstration
runs in continuous loop
members of the
New Black Panther Party
are yelling into the camera
a woman in a black burka
her eyes squinting angrily at me
from underneath her cover
sends shivers up my spine

when we take our country back
they will be served some
Second Amendment justice

News flashes Ted Cruz
condemning Muslim
refugee resettlement,
in a Christian Nation
only Christians should be
allowed in...

News breaks back to footage
from the concert venue
highlighting the
blood stained mosh pit

News flashes ISIS Jihadis
riding in Humvee's
routing the fleeing
Iraqi army once again

News highlights a smiling Putin
firing off Caspian Sea cruise missiles
into the bleeding Levant
examples of decisive leadership,
if only Obama could grow a pair

News flashes to a Rose Garden Obama
bragging about killing Jihad Johnny

the drone strikes and
active bombing campaigns in:
and other unspecified locations
are working says the Muslim Prez

By the looks of Paris
any real American Patriot
would think not

we need to send a message
a quick strike fix
some major shock and awe
to placate a nations troubled soul

if that offends any Christian
turn the other cheek
wimp, so be it

I say go
Old Timey Testament on their ***
let our vengeance is mine God
**** them all
**** them all
**** them all

Culture of Death:
Cystic Dysentery

Barry McGuire:
Eve of Destruction

The Doors:
The End

lots of hate going round since the murderous tragedy in Paris....
let cooler heads prevail.....
be still and know that I am God....
Nov 2015 · 6.9k
Remembrance Game
stirred deeply with joy
enthralled with the spirit
we return to Elysian fields
to live autumnal reveries

we prance once more
onto blue sky diamonds
with hometown heroes
to pitch perfect games
knock long grand slams
to honor and embrace
the semblance of siblings,
parents, lovers and friends

life's teammates
our dearest playmates
passed and still here
sustaining our spirit
filling the void of
riven hearts
with nothing more than
a smiling presence,
compliant ear
a warm embrace

keeping a
season of sunshine
alive for one more
golden day

in a resplendent moment
Measy’s youngest son
stood before me
as if it were him
five decades ago

his impish smile,
mischievous eye
and olive skin
wrinkled when
he grinned

your Old Man
was a hell
of a ball player
a great hitter
he always swung down
at the pitch, hitting
nasty line drives

I remember that
summer afternoon
when we first met on
the Washington School
Measy just up
from Carolina
he spoke with
a slow Tar Heel drawl
we didn't know what
to make of him
so we made him
our friend

Sifford's Esso, B&D;
and Bulldog teammates
I marveled at his athleticism
but the thing I remember
most was the soft joviality of...

“ ah hoot,
ah hoot.
ah hoot”

his laugh would send
a soft almost *******
shudder through his body

Measy lives in me,
forever in my heart
I embraced young Roy
touched his cheek
a transcendent moment
that spans a half century

At first base
Gail “Peppermint Patty” Q
was scooping up grounders
and not letting anyone past her
without giving them a smile or a hug….
asking each player if their shirt fit right…

the way Gail played
she could start for
the Lady Gaels today...

on the mound
Moons was wearing
a Schmeds shirt
lobbing lollipops to the hitters…..
making sure everyone got on base…

at short Screwball
covering half the ground
he once did..
(never a ss but a classic junk baller,
never threw a pitch that you could hit)
but on this day his heart was filled
overflowing with the karma
of good works and his love for
Rutherford and its favorite
sons and daughters
who have gone on before….

other stars abounded on the field and off…
Noons cracked everyone up
with an endless stand-up routine
Skip walloped a few dingers
BL looked sharp in his Foster Grants
and Andy was looking good
destined for the next cover of GQ….

Coach Way gave a resounding pep talk…
the need to grow up and show up
with an attitude of gratitude will
always make one a winner
regardless of the score

in the stands I heard a hundred stories
about the prowess and foibles of departed friends…

Bay Bay’s HR smash that put Flash Cleaners
into the World Series

A cool Moose bringing the ball across
half court, driving and dumping one off to Head
for the go ahead points against Queen of Peace

Minnow ruling a territory that included Morse Ave,
Wood Street up to Chopper’s House and
half of the Washington School playground

Fic being the smallest Bulldog with the largest heart
ran over linebackers and tackled fullbacks twice his size

Weehawken Joe draining a jumper
from the top of the key to keep it close
at the Union Hill pit…

as the list of the departed was read by Gail, Pat, John and Jimmy
the depth of our loss was only exceeded by the magnitude of love
a caring community extends to one another….
Rutherford is indeed a very special place….

so many caring friends
so many good thoughts
the blessing of friendship
the grace of presence

as I turned to leave
I thought I saw
Nick and Joe
hanging with
Sweet Lou
the hog was
his red bandanna
was flapping
in a rising breeze

Aaron Copland:
Our Town

Righteous Brothers
Unchained Melody

Whitney Houston:
I Will Always Love You

Dia De Muertos

Thank you Pat Francke, Jimmy Noonan, Gail Wilhelm Quinn and John Mooney for putting this beautiful event together….

My apologies for not mentioning all the beloved souls so honored at this game…..Know that all are deeply loved and equally missed…..

If anyone has a memory they would like included please add in comments section and it will be incorporated in future versions…..

Also if anyone has a list of the names would like to add that to this….

God Bless
an annual autumn softball game played in my hometown Rutherford NJ...
we gather to honor and remember passed loved ones......
Apr 2015 · 1.8k
Come Home Great Wind
Come Home Great Wind
your absence saddens
the hearts of many people

we no longer
share the blessed
abundance with you
at the dinner table
the bread of our lives
has grown stale

the rooms of our house are
bereft of your laughter

the music of your
voice fails to adorn
our ears

your songs of
happiness have
evaporated from
the air

your beautiful smile
no longer lights the
dim hours of the day

your certain friendship
is a sharp loss for all who
who trust in your love

there is a great gap
in the hearts
of those that love you
all are crestfallen
that you are not
among us

Feeds Us with Maize
fills her serving bowls
with tears of anguish

Blue Fox swims
across oceans in the
search for you

Little Feather
soars with heartache
in his flight to find you

Lighter than Air
leaps atop
the worlds
greatest peaks
hoping to discover
the crag you may
have fallen into

Clouds cover
the keen vision
of Moon Eyes
he detects no
sight of you

Startled Bear
traverses endless
roads seeking you
all he finds is the
emptiness of
his heart

Sweetpea waits
by the door, hoping
you’ll soon step
across the portal
of a loving sanctuary

Dearest Great Wind
we know your benevolent
spirit is large, your selfless heart
open and eager to care for the
Good Earth and
all God’s Children

when you have
finished filling
the sails of
bold schooners
traversing great lakes

when you have swept
the streets of leaves
marking the march
of a new season

when your exertions
have melted the
snow of winters

when you have completed
scattering seeds across
the Great Plains so we may
sow next seasons bounty

when you have filled
the lungs of a newborn
with a first blessed breath
or anointed the infirmity
of the aged with a tender touch

when your compassion has
kissed the fevered forehead
of a homeless mother and
nurtured her children
with a gentle breeze

when you have filled the trumpets
hailing righteous justice and
alighted the soothing flutes
with a healing balm

come home Great Wind

we know you are at
home in everyplace
you travel

every village and tribe
welcomes you as a
beloved sister

we ask you to return
to your ancestral home
where you grew
into the loving presence
you are today….

fill our banners
with the pop of joy again

ring the wind chimes
with the echo of your presence

fill our hearts with
the melodious love
of your songs

your bed is prepared
a wholesome meal awaits
Sweetpea remains
vigilant in her watch
the family circle
waits to embrace
you again

Great Spirit
if it be your will
align her compass
to direct her home

steer the weather vanes
to the cardinal points
to show her the way

Come Home Great Wind….


Music Selection:
Jimi Hendrixs
Wind Cries Mary

Easter 2015

dedicated to the spirit of Meg
and a prayer to lead her home…

Great Wind is Meg’s Indian name
Feeds Us with Maize, Heidi
Blue Fox, Glen
Little Feather, Patrick
Lighter Than Air, Nish
Moon Eyes, Ned
Startled Bear, jbm
My daughter Meaghan Elizabeth McCallum has been missing since March 10, 2015..... This is a prayer to lead her home....
it was the
of 13

when a city
consumed in a
Cronut crazed
heat wave

the tenderloin

slicing the underbelly
of Hell's Kitchen

packing meat for
Russian oligarchs
pouring fistfuls
of petrol rubles
down the
thirsty gullets
of glutinous

their distended
bellies welling
with aching
from an
stay at an
All You Can Eat
zero interest
courtesy of
Uncle Sam’s Diner
somewhere off the
West End

getting fat
on the land
and rebuilt
on the dust
and detritus
of an expired
Great Society

Bloomie's metropolis
rising on the rubble
of razed neighborhoods....

the vertical leaps
shooting ever upward
the heady windows
framing portraits
of endless replication
offering the amenities
of the vain comfort
found in ghettos of
soulless high rises
and the billowing
gray perspective
of blanched out
street cafes
brewing $9 lattes
and big box
boutiques busy
busking the
latest rage
of sweat repelling
yoga mats and
wearable apps

America’s Mayor
Giuliani paved the way
he arrested all
the squeegee men
confiscated their Windex
dumped it down
the sewers and filled all
vacancies at Rikers

a year after Sandy
rolled up the Hudson
breaching the banks
of West Street
licking the streets
clean of urban
flotsam the
surging boom

Bloomie bankrolled
a red carpet
for his global
fraternity of
unleashing a
tsunami of

washing away
the fading
memories of
Captain Sully’s
cool headed
lunch pail
heroism proving
that 727’s can
walk on water
was now passe

Lou Reed
left town
the wild side
monetized by
the belching
banality of
Urban Hipsters

babes in toy land
embarked on an endless
shopping spree
where credit limits
never expire and
giddy narcissism
greased with entitlement
orders up room service
as the next course
in this endless
movable feast

Music Selection
Philip Glass
The Hours

walking the High Line in NYC.....
fragment of extended poem
posted today in response to NY Times article
on the anonymous purchase of NYC high rises
by global oligarchs
Jan 2015 · 1.8k
the tipping
Big Dipper,
with its
traverse a
northern sky
in concert
with a
the southern
I stand
atop a
of black
straddling the
expanse of

Music Selection
Charlie Parker

Jan 2015 · 1.8k
Parisian Shadows
The City of Lights
liberty's burning flame
black terror assailed
to despoil her aims

A lamp to the world
illumes liberated pathways
its Arc de Triomphe heart
scarlet droplets stain

the secular graces
of enlightened ages
defiled and condemned
by fanatical excess

civilizations clash
social fabrics torn
Muslims denigrated
republicans mourn

the death of tolerance
spiraling spike of hate
a fractured city
the closure of gates

dark shadows trundle
down The Champs-Elysees
the fraternity of brotherhood
deeply wounded and frayed

republican ideals
will be surely tested
Charlie Hebdo's critical voice
sorely missed, forever rested

Music Selection:
La Marseillaise

best thoughts and prayers for the family and friends of Charlie Hebdo associates, the people of France and to all freedom loving people victimized by the murderous attack in Paris today
Jan 2015 · 694
Days of Wine and Roses
There were
Valentine Days

when these
would clink
to toast

she can't
live with him for
one more day

no longer
can she
suffer the
of his

the *****
just dropped
him through
yet another
trap door

in a long
of trap doors
rapidly in a
plunge to
a hard

one morning
she awoke
refusing to be
held hostage
by his raging

not one
single day

insanity, the
danger, the
threat the
parade of
pain needed
to end

she was sick
and tired
of being
sick and

she wisely
his *** out
and returned
his engagement ring

he went back
to Service Merchandise
on Valentines Day
to get a refund

his plan was to
hock it for *****

the merchant
only offered to credit
his expired charge card

he would have to wait
to see the charge reversed
on a future months statement

no dough for *****
that day as the
automatic doors
swung open
he realized he
should have
the ring

we like to remember the days of wine of roses
we forget about the lousy days of shots and beers
the world of spirits bedevils us

do you still believe in love?
vaya con dios mi amigo

Frank Sinatra
The Days of Wine and Roses

Nov 2014 · 19.2k
tonight we gather
to mark a
commencement day

four decades on
from a late June

embraces and
bon voyage wishes

departing a grand
chandeliered Rivoli

to glorious

our bold sails
welling with
in pursuit of
and intrepid

our life
are blessed
with rich
the grace of
challenge and
the gift of days

this evening
as we reconnect
to share the joys
and wisdom gleaned
from well lived lives
we will also celebrate
in multicolored splendor
the lives of classmates
who have commenced
journeys to other

though their
earthly sojourn
is complete
passed friends
remain alive
in our memory

surely the spirits
of the beloved
will walk this
room tonight

forever young
their quiet presence
will gently touch
tender hearts

they’ll appear
as they once looked
on their finest day

and as we relive
the bits of our lives
we shared with
one another

we may feel
the grasp of a
warm hand
as we once did
during that
snowy evening
west end walk

we’ll dance with them again
around Tamblyn Field bonfires
gyrating in a shared
ecstatic ebullience

we’ll applaud most likely
to succeed lives
most beautiful smiles
and crack up
to the hilarity of
class clown jokes

we’ll taste the kiss
of an after dark
Lincoln Park

groove to the
rock steady
beat of a
bad company tune  

we’ll submerge again
in a Yellow Submarine
to embark on an epic
Greenwich Village

we’ll roll down
the shore on old
Thunder Road
windows open
hair blowin
radio blastin

we’ll taste the sweet sip
of Cherry Cokes
and Root Beer floats
at Roadrunners

chasing lost love salty tears
spilled over ***** upperclass home boys
and the soft blush sentiment of a
first French kiss

wouldn't it be nice
to swoon to the
fantasy and
winsome yearnings
of favorite
summer songs

filling our head’s
with mind
blowing collages
team mates
drama club
second takes
heady chess club

we’ll marvel at the disruption of
premillennial breakthrough science projects
created by pocket protected slide ruling
entrepreneurial math wizards

we'll recall droll gossip
by drab hall lockers
dim gym showers
awkward dances
Yippie people power

patriotic assemblies
cool sharp dressers
right on brother
Que Pasa lil sista

rock and roll album covers
Simon and Garfunkel poetics
Go Go Boots kickin
FM radio psychedelics

Midnight Confessions
emphatically blared
from the cafeteria jukebox
Civil Rights, Earth Day
and righteous
anti war activism

tribes of hoods, Ra’s,
jocks, artistes and tie dye hippies
everything is groovy
lets get a sandwich at Ernie’s

first carnal explorations
Moody Blue Tuesday trysts
man could she speak German
boy do I dig her dress

we did hard time together
at split session detention centers
ate chocolate chip cookies
cracked up to Mr. Thomas’s
Ides of March tragedy

took first tokes and
sips of Boones Farm
we partied hard
and did no harm

admired academic brainiacs
and the civic commitment
of student govie reps
shut down the gubmint
was never a threat 

basketball rumbles
Bulldog football
**** Ludwig soccer teams
nimble cheerleaders

leggy majorettes
kick *** marching band fanfares
compelling masquer presentments
Park Avenue wayfarers

they were
crew mates
on The Soul Boat
rode shotgun
to Midnight Rambler
Doobie Concerts

cruised hard in
the Root Hog
Rat Raced Louie
in tiny white Pintos

we booked
many a mile
with our lost

on the road to
this evening

volumes of
fabled odysseys
and fantastic

their stories
are our stories
telling our stories
keeps them alive

some may say
gone too soon
but the measure of
a well lived life
is not counted
in days, nor

but how one has loved
and how much one was loved

quietly there
always with us
forever to be
a wholesome
part of us

as the brothers
from Cooley High
would say

lets tip a sip
for the brothers
and sisters who
ain’t here….

God bless
enjoy the evening
vaya con dios mis amigos

Music Selection:
Pat Metheny
Mas Alla

RHS 74
Class Reunion
Elks Club
Nov 2014 · 733
The Boy's Room
The first night
you and your brother
slept in this room
you were entering

In sickness and in
health this room
restored you,
sheltered you
and kept you safe.

It was a special place,
where you found refuge
and the space you needed
to mature and grow.

For thousands of nights,
you safely slumbered here;
experiencing fantastic dreams
of danger and heroic adventure
that fill the night reveries
of all sleeping boys.

For thousands of days,
this room filled
with daydreams
and the happy clatter
of play time
as you wondered
and prepared
to become the man
you were meant to be.

I witnessed and
much of your journey
through many
of those days.

I was anointed by this
gracious blessing
to see you,
your brother
and sister
grow strong,
and united in
close bonds
of love, respect
and trust
for one another.

My life
has brought me
no greater satisfaction
then being able
to provide you
with the safety
of a loving
where all this
could be so.

The day I watched you,
as your brother did before
stand in this room
packing a duffel bag
to leave for the service;
I silently
you would
return to
the safety
of this room.

I watched as
you carefully
all the items
you had neatly
laid out on your bed;
boots, socks
and uniforms;
the necessities
of a military life
now replacing
the orphaned  
play things  
filling the room.

I knew as I watched you pack
that I stood witness to a man
putting away the childish things
of youth; inconsequential artifacts
for you that now held deeper
meaning for me.

The soldier was ready
to leave his boyhood home
to learn, train and prepare
to lead other men
in the serious business
of war.

The spring day sunshine
that flowed into the room
that afternoon framed
you in a new
magnificent light.
I no longer saw the boy
who had occupied
this room for a
few thousand days. I
now looked upon
a young man,
resolute in purpose,
of firm caliber
and upright character
standing before me.

The former boy who
grew up in this room
had become
a man dedicated
to the serious pursuit
of matters that
engage men
in a life of
service and

It was a blessed experience
to see you in this light,
and come to the realization
that this room would no longer
be a safe sanctuary for you
and I could no longer shield you
from the dangers of the world.

You are off to pitch
vulnerable bivouacs
and sleep in muddy foxholes;
willingly placing yourself
and the men you will
command into harm’s way.

It is said
“The child is father to the man”
and now it is left to you to assure
the freedom and safety of a father
who keeps your room ready
with the expectant hope
and fervent prayer
of your safe
return home.

I love you.

Dedicated with
love and respect for

Paul Robeson:
Little Man You Had Busy Day

written to commemorate and honor my two son's military service
Oct 2014 · 1.0k
to the victor
belongs the

of the
Info Age
spin golden
on looms of

tongues of fire
breathe rationalizations

sear acceptance
of a conquerors
sweet dominion
onto pliant minds

Edvard Grieg
In the Hall of the Mountain Kings

Oct 2014 · 1.9k
trolling through
midnight streets
braking to avert
inflicted pedestrians
crawling to and from
pedestrian afflictions
I hope become fares
I am the vehicle
to next destinations
the portage to
an evenings

Music Selection:
Ides of March

Aug 2014 · 1.1k
leaf me alone
through leafy lines
flow the hallowed sap
capillaries of grandeur
fauna's breath of life

Music Selection:
Quicksilver Messenger Service
Fresh Air

Jul 2014 · 11.9k
The screaming
children of Gaza
torment the sleep
of a troubled world,
and remain a real-time
unending nightmare;
anointing The Levant’s
fevered brow
with a diadem of
incessant grief.

Gaza is a burning
ankh that sears the
madness of sorrow
upon Egypt’s skull.

an unblinking
third eye
of shame,
peers into
Lower Egypt’s
closed window
ever reproaching
it’s turbulent
chiding fellow
Muslims with
the ugly memory
of abject affliction,
the endless images
of a living Guernica
suspended in the hell
of indefinite imprisonment
all Palestinians are forced
to suffer.

As Zionists ***** the
steep walls of Apartheid to
extend its occupation
of Palestine, it
condemns the youth
of Gaza to a life of
incarceration with no
possibility of parole;
hardening the hearts
and steeling the resolve
of a new generation of
militants to demolish the
walls and the wardens
that imprison them.

The Zionist jailers
bestow upon
Ishmael’s Children
phylacteries of shame,
wearing the rolled
prayers of wailing pain
scribed with bits of
dust from the
the broken walls of
demolished buildings
and desolate homes
beyond habitation,
now housing grief
of trampled souls,
forcing recitations
of deliverance
to Allah while
davening an
incessant drone
of anguish at
the Wailing Wall
of Resentment;
decrying the
blood lust of
undying acrimony,
victimization and
the slaughter of
innocents, carried on
with the imperial license
of state sanctioned impunity.

Father Ibrahim's
feuding children may
share a sacred paternity
but remain the
divided brothers
of different mothers;
stoking a sibling rivalry
more bitter then
Cain and Abel.

Our anguish
never dissipates,
the gnawing
impulse of empathy
to assist the distressed
of Gaza is dashed
by omnipotent
powers recusing
the ability to act.

Sympathy is
in the black
of religious
while timely
to aid the
lie netted in
blockades of

Gaza, where
Hashim is granted
his eternal rest,
restlessly inhabits
his unknown grave
from the destitution of
his profaned homeland.

Ghazzat,  “the stronghold”
countlessly conquered,
falling to Roman Emperors,
Lionhearted Crusaders
Ottoman Caliphates,
and British Mandates;
slipping from Egypt’s
geopolitical grasp as
as a casualty of
The Six Day War.

Gaza is now a stronghold of
resent and desperation for a
desperate conquered people.

Ghazzat, the prized city of
the western Mediterranean,
a four star Phoenician port of
caravansaries now unable
to trade with any partners
due to ungodly blockades.

Gaza, has grown wholly
dependent on the largess
of UN aid and meager
subsistence portions
doled out by well
meaning NGO’s.

Gaza, the foot stool of
the Levant and surely
the pathway Father
Ibrahim, Jacob,
Joseph and Jeremiah
traveled to escape
Canaan's famine;
finding at the close
of their sojourn
a table set with the
plenteous bounty
the Blue Nile
unconditionally offered;
the veritable feast
of abundance,
the generous yields
of the blessed delta
that sustained the
Prophets of Judah
and a thousand
generations of the
Nile’s Children.

Gaza, the Achilles
heal of Middle East
peace, land of the
Canaanites, Philistines
and Old Testament

Gaza, a fortress for
Philistines who
imprisoned the storied
Sampson, revered for
breaking the chains of
imprisonment and righteously
destroying a pagan temple
in a suicidal act of heroism.

Gaza, where the myths and
legends of rapacious
holy crusaders captured
the western imagination
with the chivalrous gallantry
of religious warfare and
valiant last stands of
Templar Knights employing
the tactical imperatives
of terrorism in service to their
higher God.

Gaza, an oasis
by the sea now
lies dry and brittle
as the precious Hebron
waters of Wadi Ghazza
are diverted to serve
the agriculture of
Judah; condemning
a dehydrated Gaza
panting of thirst
to an imposed drought
and a war of
self preservation
to remove
the dammed rivers
of justice controlled
by intractable powers
laying upstream beyond
Gaza’s mean borders.

The Qassams
lunched by Hamas
are desperate
expressions of
exasperated people,
eager to call
world attention
to the growing
insufferable plight
of a people living
in a perpetual
state of siege.

Its a modern day
David slinging rocks
against an armor
clad Goliath.

Each Katusha
serves as
a justification
for Zionist
and condemns
any possibility
for peaceful
of a Two State

The pointless attacks
invite massive
retaliation and succeed
in prolonging and
increasing the
measure of Gaza’s

The mystic grace,
the divine power
of satyagraha
-a non-violent
response to the
cruel enforcement of
Apartheid- is Allah’s
way to secure the
moral high-ground
and the surest way
for Palestinians to
expose it’s unholy
adversaries innate
contempt for civil rights
and a refusal to
recognized the
shared humanity of
all of Father Ibrahim’s
wayward progeny and
recalcitrant prodigal sons.

Mubarak’s fall
has allowed the
Rafah Gate
to swing open again.

The concertina
wire that separates
Gaza and Egypt
has been removed.

The prisoners
of Gaza have
an open portal
of freedom.

It is a Day of
Jubilee, a day
of pardon for
for the inmates
of prisons built
for victims.  

It is a day of
possibility for peace.  

It is a day to declare an
Exodus from the land
of bitterness.

Humanity is
offered the hope
of escape from
the prisons of
acrimony, to
freely move across
the staid borders
of intractability
and exclusion.

The hearts and
minds of Palestinians
and Egyptians
are free to connect
and unite once again.

Liberation is
possible only
when we uphold
and honor the
of all humanity.

Music Video:

Silk Road
We Will Not Go Down

a poem from the epilogue section of Tahrir Square Voices
Jul 2014 · 3.0k
The Isar
love runs deep
and true like the Isar

flowing as an
amorous stream

immersing lovers
in the surge of
golden currents

its thrilling
lifting the

reaching sanctuaries
on soft grassy banks

finding solace
in trickling eddies

sustaining the
most hungry
of hearts

Isar springs
from a far off

tipping from the
mystic peaks of
mythical Valhallan

royally set to feast
the unabashed love
of Tristan and Isolde

as an
by master

coursing through
the veins of all
she sweeps across
lush Alpine meadows
anointing the water
with nectarous
edelweiss fragrance
and budding sprigs
of mountain laurel

generous streams
gently cascade
down the Alp’s,
sloping through
sustaining the
blue on white
Maypoles of
busy hamlets
crafting the
things of life

the glacial melt
of Spring swells
the flows of
a rising Isar

bringing new things
from far off places
heralding arrivals
revealing epiphanies
washing the
deepest stains
carrying away
the unholy flotsam
of loved
starved souls

proclaiming fidelity
tributaries are joined
in a holy union

once submerged
hidden doubts
yearnings and
are banished
in a mornings
lifting mist
charting new
courses for

summer reveals
sparkling waters
winding its way
through beds
of polished stones

during the
easy season
the river offers
respite from
pressing heat

clear waters
invite bathers
to dip a toe,
wade deep or
fully submerge
oneself in pools
of rejuvenation

British Gardens
offer spectacle
of self affirmed
nudists and
surfers tacking
atop waves,
while spectators
marvel from
protected alcoves
yearning to
peel off
layers of cloths
to experience
the joy of naked

during gay times
carefree summer
lovers intoxicated by
the sweet scent of
blooming tulip trees
rendezvous in
hidden glades

relishing the
intimate reveries
of seclusion
discoveries of
fathomless desire

along canals
laborers find
the recompence
of a well earned
day of rest

families lay blankets
to define the space
where circles of trust
are assembled,
where identity
is sculpted
and family folklore
is handed down,
entrusted to the  
guardianship of
a new generation

the boughs of
broad leaf trees
seat heralds
of songbirds,
gracefully shading
the resting with
a welcomed lullaby
while shielding loungers
from the remorseless
hum of a busy city

water and
love unite
forming a base
compound element
nurturing companionship
gleaned on the gentle ebbs
of a green river calling  
its estuaries to rejoin
its fluxing host

in Autumn
the foliage of
the glorious season
paints a Monet
a life of love
has wrought

watercolor portraits
are splayed onto the
glass surface of her
magnificent face

the depth
and dimension
of loves full
pallet of life's
in living
color for all
to behold

enthralled we
marvel at the
urging us to wade
into the golden pools
baptized by the grace
of reconciliations from
the dislocations of
expired seasons

as the hard times of winter arrives
serrated edges of ice floes creep
across the snow laced stones
reminding us how jagged
seasons may be

the gray steel water challenges
the warmest hearts of love

but elegant bridges
crowned with
statuesque keystones
arch across the water
joining the river walkways

the knowing statuary
of a city's mythic guardians
are ever watchful
assuring the Isar’s flow
remains unimpeded
and uncorrupted

the beloved of
Munchen sleep well
during the harshest
Bavarian nights
knowing the Angel of Hope
gleams through the darkness
her fluttering wings
sounding surety
to the faithful

her protective pinions
sprinkle gold upon the frozen river
planting the hopeful seeds of spring
whispering reassurances that
love will never be extinguished

Music Selection:
Bette Midler, The Rose

Composed for the marriage
of Maxine and Glendon McCallum
Composed for the marriage
of Maxine and Glendon McCallum
Jun 2014 · 1.8k
Winter Soldier
it was the last day of winter
unseasonably warm

I was standing behind an Imam
his arms were raised
hurling prayers for peace
into the face of intransigence

black dressed armored
SWAT teams amassed
swinging readied M16s
vigilantly guarding walls
constricting penned citizens

waiting to place an
American flag
draped coffin
onto the growing pile
of other coffins
covered in the
multicolored flags of
Iraq War belligerents
swelling at the base
of the wrought iron fence
surrounding the White House

I saw a curtain in the
White House part
the window filled
with two tiny faces

I imagined it to be
Sasha and Bo
taking a break from
rambunctious play
to peer out on
a grim assembly

in confusion
whats going on?
why are these people
placing coffins
in front of our house?

Sasha and Bo
ran upstairs
to the
Oval Office

she burst through
the door

“Daddy people are
piling coffins
in front of our house


The President
hugged his daughter
and answered…

“we’re at war

“the Evil Doers
hate us for
who we are...

“they want to
hurt us...

“we must ****

Sasha asked…

“one sign says
our bombs
**** children…

is that true
Thats a lie
right Daddy?

If you knew
children like
me were being
killed you wouldn't
let that continue…
would you Daddy?”

John Kerry
popped his head
into the office….

your Daddy
would never
**** children
in service to a lie”

Sasha’s head tilted…
The President flashed a smile…
John Kerry walked away whistling…
giving no notice to the photo of the
Vietnam War Memorial
as he passed

Music Selection:
The Shirelles
Soldier Boy

Jun 2014 · 4.0k
Miami Gardens
in a stand
your ground
open carry

Miami Gardens,
the capitol of
stop and frisk
looms as the
shape of things
to come

it doesn't
all at once

it stealthily
creeps into
once wholesome

it arrives
always starved
for more

stark stiletto eyes
suspiciously stare
worn by
unable to
gaze away the
maleficent days

beginning in

build walls
to keep
"the other"

to the ways

of rigid status
quo pillars


diversity breeds


big data ears
ever listening
to between
the lines words

small talk
meta data
indexed and

down beat
state secrets

certain books
are forbidden

artists condemned
art destroyed

ideas censored
shut down by
social network
posting rules
and best practice

shouted down
by xenophobic
group think

in blind allegiance
to commands
of Citizen Inc
a juggernaut
to roll across
the globe
to bits
its path

science is


revisionism erases
biographical memory
we forgot how
we arrived
at this place

The History Channel
flickers cartoons
of multicolored
allegories onto
the dark walls
of our video
addicted minds
offering sweet
relief of a new
commercial fix

pandered opinion
is trafficked
as fact

confirmation of a
stasis affirming
echo chamber

real time news
rubber stamps
the prevailing
zeitgeist of
the daily dread
a visceral
of the World
Series Hunger

to swear
to tribal creeds
that debase

religious precepts
shutters spirituality
with sanctioned
designed to
undermine an
ability to reason

ethical discernment
is arrested by moral

the marginalized
are criminalized

land of
the free prisons
as growth
auction off
bill of rights
on low bid
altars of

a perpetual
state of warfare
marshals frenzied
legions of fear

as casualties
mount the
march of
militarization is
the only known balm
to salve the terror
welling deep within
afflicted hearts

the sun rises
on another day
in Miami Gardens
as the next shift
of police roll
through this
of perps

Music Selection;
Dizzy Gillespie
Things to Come


Miami Gardens;
Capitol of Stop and Frisk
May 2014 · 1.8k
Return to Homs
the splinters of
the Hajj
of the
lost ones
a broken

with hope to
burrow back
into the safety
of desecrated

home to the
embrace of a
cadaverous cloak
and the kiss
of carrion
smudged lips,
Hajji's eye
the decrepit
visage of

of this
Arab Spring
mocks us

of jasmine
elude us

clogs our

burning eyes
filled with
asbestos dust
to the
of reason

of our life
lay inert
in the open
****** of

jumbled rubble
the decaying
carcasses of
razed buildings
boast grotesque
sculptures of
twisted rebar
cradling artifacts
of a past life

hair curlers
with sickly
blood grown

limp on

skulls of
dolls weep,
limb reaches
for a lost child’s

the charred
remains of a
Persian rug
maps the
of a city’s
and a frayed

electric luxury
flowing water
the friendly bustle
of the street
expired memories
foretelling an
unimaginal future

sectarian strife
enforces  a communal
solitary confinement

in cold blood
we willingly



buildings is


Music Selection:
Segovia, Capricho Arabe

please also see on Hello Poetry:
Homage to Homs
Leaving Homs
Maryam of Homs
Watching Homs
Wheres Rumi?
Apr 2014 · 1.2k
one miracle short

self afflicted


from the




public face

beheld and

iron curtains

into tiny


on altars
of shame

they once
brought a boy

vexed with

to the
Good Healer

“oh faithless
how long
must I
suffer you?”

the boy.

why they
to cast the

of worldly
defiles my

find in
a faith
the size
of a

and the
will flee
from the
body long
with illness

Matthew 17 14-21

Gnarls Barkley
Whose Gonna Save My Soul Now

Apr 2014 · 3.2k
Eulogy for a Sherpa
The ascender
struggled to the dais
stopping to rub
his sore calves
still filled with lactic acid…

“I forsook the post
workout massage
to deliver this eulogy.

Thats how
important it is
to me…”

His voice began
to trial off but
he regained his
composure and
began to speak
with command...

“He gave his life for me.
Is there no greater love
than to offer a life
in service
to me?

My Sherpa
was moved
and motivated
by economic

I offered him
the only wage
paying job
he ever had.

He ran with it,
taking up my
cause as if
it belonged
to him;
his job
as if engaged
in a heroic

At times it
he seemed
consumed by
the largess of
my pursuit;
and his death
will bring
to his family.

This further
the nobility
of my

The price
of intrepidness
is dear and
made clear,
its value
fully fleshed
out in the
sacrifice of
my Sherpa.

You may ask,
“why do I do it?”

It is no longer
disputed, if it
can be done.

Sir Edmund
and his Sherpa
answered that
question over half
a century ago.

The only
"can the mountain
be conquered by me?"

I'll risk sacred fortune,
limb, life, family and
Sherpa to discover
the answer to this...

I must guard
against the
inflation of
my desire to
summit at
any cost.

I'm aware
of the
by the
of my pride,
just a
centimeter or
two can spell
disaster for

Yet testing
its tensility,
the tipping point
of temerity,
managing the
of risk factors
and psychical
rewards to
sift through
the membrane
that calculates
the odds to
arbitrage the
resolution of
winners and
a perfect balance
manifested in
the mettle
of me.

in pursuit
of a
golden fleece.

In my
I don a
holy halo
crowning me
and fellow
with a like
sets us apart,
anointing us
the royalty
of high stakes
X Games,
up 70 grand
to claim our
place in an
leisure class,
with time
and treasure
to turn this
unforgiving peak
into a graveyard,
a dump heap,
an open latrine…

The glaciers bleed
my **** into the tributaries
of the Holy Ganges...

My virtues
made plain
in the indelible
mark I leave
upon the mountain...

My life dedicated
to the unselfish pursuit
of a magnanimous me
quick to forgive
and forget the
failures of the
lesser who
lack the ability
and conviction
of self
to conquer
the highest peaks
meeting challenge
and opportunity
with relish and

I'm like a
strip miner
tearing the roof
of the world open
so I can fill it
with the purpose
of me.

That is the
deeper significance
of the death of my

When Edmund Hillary
and his Sherpa scaled
Everest 60 years ago,
it took decades
to remember that
Tenzing Norgay
guided the beknighted
Hillery, while schlepping
his baggage and
holding the ladder
lifting the
great man
in a great
whose strength
and valiance
turns history’s
creaky wheel.

Sir Hillary did it
because it was
never done before;
with stoutheartedness
and national vigor
Sir Hillary conquered
the last pinnacle
in Britannia's majestic
range of storied

As climate change
turns glaciers
into slush,
my time
grows short
to scratch my
initials alongside
the greats who
ascended this mount
before me.

So it is
with well
trepidation that
I send my Sherpa
out onto the
hanging peaks,
to set the ladders
and clear the
path for
the assent
of me.

Every morning
I look into
the mirror
a fleeting
notion of
that is only
affirmed by
triumph of
the will.

At such a cost
my legend is born
my burden
grows greater,
weighted by
the death of
my Sherpa.

Yet my resolve
grows, eclipsing
the size of
Warren Buffett’s

As the world warms
urgency grows,
the alarm sounds!

Onward Sherpas!

Lay the ladder
portage my baggage
the labors of Sisyphus
will find reward
of a goodly outcome!

I press the coin
of the realm into
your hand

The prayer flags
fill with determination
that I succeed,
giving your life meaning
as divine compensation
for the cost of your life.

The prayer flag’s flap
with the mountain squalls
popping, snapping
our hosannas
of victory

Onward Sherpas!

Ever Onward
may the good
you as you
climb toward
your next

Onward Sherpas!

Music Selection
Sherpa Dance Music

Poem dedicated to the 13 Sherpa climbers
who lost their lives this week on Mount Everest.
May they find peace in heaven
may their families find peace and
sustenance here on earth.

this is a satirical poem, it is not meant to denigrate Sherpas, nor slight the enormity of the the loss of 13 Sherpa Guides on the mountain this week... its a piece that targets the destructive egocentric tourism of the climbers and its impact on the people and ecology of Mt. Everest... my best thoughts and prayers go out to the families and friends who were lost.... may we examine our motivations and impact the pursuit of personal goals has on the lives of others and the natural environment in which we live....
We pass the
walled incline
of Barbour Park

during the day
a foreboding
patch…an open
air market for
the slave merchants
hustling crack and
**** drippin ****
that's been stepped
on so many times
its a wonder the cut
can still chide a high
out of a wrangled soul

the park’s
modest elevation
is an advantageous
lookout for
runners dealing
dimes while
petty ante
gun blazing glories
of their next big job

not long ago
the park was
refurbed with
an industrial
strength plastic
Jungle Jim,
soon after
the park was
as a no go
zone for kids,
the litter of
needles and
mounds of
lead spiked
soil, deemed
a public health
risk for youth...
as a crib
for ballers…

back in the
day, the shady
pocket park
lifted Paterson’s
citizenry off
the heated
pavements of
a bustling

a respite from
the pulsing
tensions of urbanity,
a secular sanctuary,
balancing the urgent
industry of commerce
with the propriety of
residential life

compacting a
brief escape
from the clanging
metronome with
a viewing stand
offering elevation...
a heightened
perspective on
life’s parade
up and down

this urban
oasis planted
at the center
of Silk City’s
the most
transit point
between opulent
Eastside mansions
of livin large tycoons
at one end….
and the
industrial district of
The Great Falls,
rising at Broadway’s
western terminus,
dollars for the darlings
of fortune and
subsistence for
workers yearning to taste
the crumbs of
prosperity that may fall
from the tables of

the park once a
pleasant face of
the landlocked
4th Ward filled
with homage to
a nation's greatest
citizens, Hamilton,
Rosa Parks,
Madison, Fulton,
Montgomery and
Franklin has
denounced the
virtuous pursuit of
their aspirational

now playas
feast on
the mead
of sustenance
harvested from
emaciated streets

commerce has taken
up full residency...
the wards cottage industry
homes, hoods and

as the
4th Ward
grows ugly,
the healthy
matrix of
street life
breaks down
the peeps
lay prostate
offer veins
to blood *******
going south

wise guy
get busy
the system
short changing
themselves and
hustling game
to get by
in the sweet bye
and buy of life

at night
a back lit
Barbour Park
floods with the
yellow haze of
blinking Fair St.
lamp posts
and the pulsing
crowning the
of St. Luke's

sentient figures
shift between
park benches
flitting among the
black torsos
of skeletal trees
blending into
the faded
of abandoned
swing sets

I swear I see
Hurricane Carter
shadow boxing
around a gangling
Elm, jabbing
away, lifting
a sweet uppercut
working combos
of left hooks
and right crosses
hoping to drop an
banging away
at a body politic
forming the walls
of taunting

Hurricane stays
busy delivering
body blows
to burst
through the
prison bars
Barbour Park

Music selection:
Bob Dylan, Hurricane


A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.
A fragment from extended poem Silk City PIT.  (Part 4: Funky Broadway)
Published today to honor the death of Rubin Hurricane Carter.
May he find the freedom in eternal rest that eluded him during his lifetime.
Apr 2014 · 3.8k
Blood Moon
Passover Moon's
****** hue
the ordinary
in veils of

elliptical arcs
footsteps in
a righteous

lambs blood


of ancient

flesh out a

from the
is mine

may it
be nigh

we wait
watching for
an always faithful
Good Deliverer
to honor the

to lift
with a

Oh Holy

in the wisp
of a bitter herb

fill with

of manna
with extreme

at journeys
end to
and free
to rest in
of radical
in an infinite
for all


Music Selection:
Big Mama Thornton
Go Down Moses

Apr 2014 · 968
for gnosis
poor for us

like a bad
case of

veins of
constricted with

open minds
burst from

students and
teachers lack
a needed

for the sake
of a bit
of silly

oh my
where for
art thou
peda go
go sis

Music Selection:
Esperanza Spalding -
I know You know

Mar 2014 · 725
Upon Meeting Mother Hale
We have you
to remind us
how far we
have to go
and the
short distance
we have traveled
thus far.

her black

the wrinkles
are holy

brown eyes
pools of light
seeing all
of humanities
oceans of pain.

She did
not want
or even to
speak about
her small

She wanted
only to
and live
an example
of the
that are
within us.

She made
her peace
with the
of an
unjust world.

to cure.

the cycles
of opposites,
love and care.

There will always
be sickness
and the
need to cure.

We must
we are
no matter
how far
we have come
how great
we are.

that is
the perfection
of God.

The domain
of humanity
is to step
into the breach
to mediate
and reconcile
our imperfections
with the
perfect measure
of God's
abundant love.

Many times
we mean well,
but we are
very limited
and are
of bringing
lasting peace
to our earth;
in the final times
we will
to do
is best for

Mother Hale
only seeks
to do God's
for all people
for all time.

God bless you
Mother Hale.

Music Selection:
Mahalia Jackson,
Trouble of the World

Posted to commemorate International Women's Day
Feb 2014 · 1.6k
Sleigh Riders
after a healthy

I took to the park
to hike through
the woods with
Sweet Pea

on a friendly hill
near the entrance
I watched a father
and his miniature
purple scarved
pink bundled daughter
deep in the throes
of giddy play
slide down the
slight *****
daring the fates of
bodacious joy

I joined in their
smiles, lifted
by girly giggles
sung from
the secure lap of  a
bear hugging dad
as the disk
whirled through
the snow

when the
thrilling ride ended
the little one
scampered after her
hooting daddy
as they climbed
the hillock for
another round
of glee

a few days later
Sweet Pea and I
returned to the park

the footprints
and sled marks
of our intrepid
joy riders were
fading, receding
into the march of
a waning season

though the
happy tracks
in the melting
snow will
surely vanish

the footprints
of that day will
remain fresh
alive forever
in the mind
of an elderly
woman, recalling
the thrilling giggles
and secure bearhugs
of a love blest youth

Music Selection:
Los Lobos:
Somewhere in Time

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