"zimmerman" poems
Last week, among friends black and white,
among some discussion of protests in Ferguson
and the related looting of stores, I invoked
the word. It was an admission, in a round
of confessions, of something about myself
that I didn't like: that I had perceived Michael Brown
in that way based on his possible participation
in a strong-armed robbery.
When Travon Martin was in the news,
I was inflamed like many others who wanted
George Zimmerman in jail for ******
The outcome of that trial was an injustice,
I was utterly certain. Why does this case
in Missouri feel different? More importantly,
Who is inside me that still wants to rise
in defiance of 48 years of learning how
to be a better person, a person without prejudices,
stereotyping, labeling of others, hurtful language?
Where is the hippie girl now? How does she live
with this other person? Am I Sterling, Gibson,
a hater and spewer of viciousness, a lover
of separation and separateness, that I should
invite damage to my own relationships
with those I love and cherish and respect?
What is a **** but a bully, and what is a bully
but someone who pushes words around like
weapons, spits them out indiscriminately,
so that they land on the already bruised heart
and set it on fire.
Whose heart, besides mine, now sits in smoke
and ash, with that word like a brand
still sore and permanent, having been spoken
aloud?
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
written at the Herzl Camp
"A drunken man got mad at him / Because he barked in joy / He beat him and he's dying here today / Will you call the doctor please / And tell him if he comes right now / He'll save my precious doggy here he lay / Then he left the fluffy head / But his little dog was dead / Just a shiver and he slowly passed away."
This extract comes from a poem called Little Buddy, and is controversial. Allegedly written at the Herzl camp there are claims it might be originated by someone else by the name of Hank Snow.
5.7k
On the crowded streets of life (think 51st and 5th)
I never thought I'd stumble on a candied ginger rock
Out of which the most gorgeous daisy would bloom
Remember the moonbeams dancing on the river
and how the train came not far behind,
popcorn, wine, the candle still burning & Zimmerman on track 5?
Cold and warm nights spent together in the Theatre Basement
Showcasing romance, Comedy, Drama & Jazz
Sharing mysterious pleasures we thought we'd never have
Stepping in and out of reality barely touching ground
Soaking up sun on god's great handkerchief
Witnessing the transcendent beauty in your face
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
She's meditating on the mantra of her own name
When she puts her heart into it she can understand
Comprehend and explain
She wants to tell you her life history
Is a mystery that only she can see
She wants to give those wasted memories
Back to me
But she won't need anything
I could offer her anyway
She's so vain
She's memorizing "Sheep In Fog"
Sees her tortured soul in poetry and Burroughs
Keroauc, Ginsberg, Zimmerman and Plath
So she won't need anything
I could offer her anyway
She's so vain
She's meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra of her own name
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra
Meditating on the mantra of her own name
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 9:07 AM UTC
I’m lending Trayvon Martin my pen
because it might be enough to clear the static,
because it may be enough to point straight through
the thick smoggy thoughts of society and law.
If I was a young black man, which “I" am
I’d be a little upset that someone killed
my brother. Never mind my other dead brothers,
or the other cases I see of police treating
people like me with inequality.
Should Trayvon have surrendered himself to
Zimmerman. Should young black men have to
be passive to stay alive. Do we allow
people to shoot shots in
the chests of most resistance.
What should black men do? It seems best
to cry, but I don’t feel tears coming.
What should any man do, expect think
clearly enough to know when something
is wrong. As for Zimmerman he is not
evil, but he is a killer, and his brothers
blood is on his hands. He should at least
cry, or try to feel the tears coming.
The only voice that speaks is the
word of the law. Even Trayvon is silent,
the dead hold no grudges, and gunmen
go dumb under the cries of spilt blood,
I keep telling myself justice is process
making better days from dark ones,
but it seems like every bright generation
has to step aside for the tears coming.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
The verdict has been rendered
And George Zimmerman goes free.
(I still would not bet money
On his life expectancy)
There is anger in the streets this night
in our divided land.
One mother’s son was shot and killed
by this George Zimmerman.
The Jurymen have heard the facts
and ruled it self-defense.
Far too many in the streets
Take acquittal as offense.
Long ago, in Boston town,
were British redcoats tried
for the ****** of six colonists-
“A massacre!” folks cried.
John Adams got the soldiers off
with a plea of self-defense.
He must have had great courage
and, in Justice, confidence.
How difficult it must have been
To face his neighbors’ angry cries
The principles he fought for live
Unless we let them die.
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
Karma finds you eventually,
Sometimes while drinking a fine Chablis.
George Zimmerman is back in the news,
with sour grapes that left a bruise.
His girlfriend wouldn’t kneel to play
so he bopped her with un Beaujolais!
His poor girlfriend, clad in a slip,
He christened like a navy ship.
Aggrieved assault is the charge he’ll face
since cops were called out to his place.
He can’t resort to “Stand your Ground”
His prints were on the bottle found.
Off to jail, George, where, they say,
You’ll meet your true love every day.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
Switch-click into gear three and pedal pedal downward from road into grass.
Spruce-oak-pine cave.
The youngest lags behind but push onward to the smell of blue-gills passed!
It is what the land gave.
Spruce-oak-pine cave
builds a wigwam and lean-to fit for dynasty warriors
or home run derby saves.
Dilly-dally down the block a moment for to commence with the chores.
Builds a wigwam and lean-to fit for dynasty warriors
or sand town constructionists
whose rivers of root beer heal yesterday's sores.
Physical, material never missed.
Or sand town constructionists
or lego architects, or kings and queens of rock collections.
No sorrow or fits
only happiness.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
As time passes on, I hear many songs
Songs of old, songs of new
Mornings haze, dusks stillness
Lonely nights, city living
County air, summers medows
Winters lonely streets
Death of the old, birth of the young
A guitar, a band, a note, a strum
Busking, travelling, clocks a tickin
Waters flowin, trains a rollin, end of the line
Dreaming, fighting, crying, dying
Oh father of night
Oh father of day
Oh father to you I pray
You require no faith
You are past, present, future
Forever with us
In our cars
In our rooms
In the darkness
Share the joy
Your words
Your chords
Your voice
Guding unyielding to the truth
What's right
What's wrong
What are minds are thinking
What our hearts are feeling
I drift, I flow
Years go bye
You remain
A ship that can't be sunk
A dream that can't be thwarted
Wherever my restless heart wonders
You will be found
Robert Zimmerman we are forever yours
The disillusioned
The faithless
The loveless
The lost
The wiry
Now and forever
Till the day we pass
You're the father
You're the light in the dark
You will never die
Your star burns brightest
In this life or the next
God willing
We'll meet again
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
I have a gun on me..
Its raining I'm in my car
I see a hooded figure walking in the rain
I have a gun on me
I need protection life is hard
Its raining but the figure is a threat
Cause he has a hood on I think he's black
I didn't make the police academy I'm going prove that I'm not insane
I **** my pistol because I'm going bag me thief
Your ****** to hell trying to steal from me
I call the police
They tell me to chill
Talking to my gun like can you believe
These county police. I am the neighborhood watch I'm going to take this dude out give people relief
I have a anger problem look at my rap sheet
I'm going follow this dude I need a release
I have a gun on me
I confront little *****
He get the jump on me
I pull the gun on little *****
And dump on little *****
He dies I walk away free
He didn't know I had a pump on me
But I knew when I stalked and evaded his peace
In my mind these are my streets
He didn't have a gun that's why he fought with his fist
I had a gun .now another kid doesn't exist
Not guilty
I have a gun on me
For self defense ..
How does self defense exist when your the one stalking something?
And your the one lurking in the mist?
P.S.
Satan wants to **** us like Trayvon Martin,
Yet we all have killed Christ in his innocence like Zimmerman.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
Saw Robert Zimmerman Again
After way too many years Now
Can’t stop my brain from singin’ But
It’s not what it appears See
I’ve always loved his poems And
The way he bends his words Into
Pictures I can see out loud, Illustrations
That I’ve heard.
Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
If I besmirch your name
I’m not tryin’ to steal your songs from you
And I wouldn’t want your fame
I could never be your equal
Wouldn’t even want to try
Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
Cross my heart and hope to die.
On the Day the Music died, Guess
That I had just turned five, Then
Five more years slid past me When
The Beatles sang on TV - LIVE. And
Rock and Roll was pushing all the Folks
To center stage, Seems
Viet Nam and Woodstock Were
Currently the rage.
Somewhere we got sidetracked While
The Disco Ball was turnin’ But
I put on a Cowboy Hat, Helped
Johnny sing ‘bout burnin’. So I
Been blowin’ in the wind for Over
Sixty years; Now I’m Tryin’
To write some Poems, ‘Bout my Life and
It appears That my poems Sound
Like all the songs I’ve heard throughout
The Years.
Come and Listen to a Story
‘Bout a guy named Phil
Tried to grab some Glory
But I guess he never will.
For as he fired up his pencil
Over hot and blazing coals
Granny loaded up her shotgun
Shot his poems full of holes.
Good shot, Granny. Right in the heart. Make it Bleed girl.
Y’all Come Back Now, Y’Hear?
PwL 5/5/15
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC
Saw Robert Zimmerman again
After way too many years
Now I can’t stop my brain from singin’ .
I’ve always loved his poems -
The way he bends his words
Into pictures I can see out loud,
Illustrations of America, though blurred.
Forgive me Mr. Zimmerman
If I used your real name
I’m not tryin’ to steal your songs from you
And I wouldn’t want your fame
I could never be your equal
Wouldn’t even want to try
Forgive me Mr. Dylan
Cross my heart and hope to die.
On the Day the Music died,
I had just about turned five,
Five more years slid past me
The Beatles sang on TV - live.
Rock and Roll was pushing all the Folks
To center stage,
Viet Nam and Woodstock
Were currently the rage.
Somewhere we got sidetracked
The Disco Ball was turnin’
I put on a cowboy hat,
Johnny sang a song ‘bout burnin’.
I’ve been blowin’ in the wind
For over sixty years;
Now I’m tryin’ to write some poems, ‘bout my life,
And it appears,
That all my poems sound like songs
I’ve heard throughout the years.
---PwL 5/24/15
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
George Zimmerman
desperately
sought some way
To silence those
who call for blood.
He’d be defenseless,
Once released,
As Eric Holder has his gun.
In such a desperate situation
The answer came
Like sweet salvation.
To keep his name
off the public tongue,
where he’s reviled
as if a ****
George filed a name change
with the courts-
And henceforth will be called
Ben Ghazi
Jul 21, 2013
Jul 21, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
It’s the sound of peeling wallpaper,
Damp seeping in from the frost bitten windows.
Daytime traffic on Christmas eve,
And misted breath between pages of Pound,
Eliot and Rimbaud.
It’s the sound of mouldy drapes,
Clutched to the rail that clings to the rust.
The hiss and crackle of today,
And the wave of the colonial - of Guthrie,
Williams and Seeger.
It’s the sound of a Tangier typewriter,
Clacking to the chimes of a generation.
The scrawl of freedom
And the echoes of our fathers – of Kerouac,
Ginsberg and Burroughs.
It’s the sound of the swamp,
A hoodoo beat winding through the ruins.
From bayous to boroughs,
Following the march of Washington,
Franklin and Jefferson.
It’s the anthem of a teenage disease,
The force of the Devil’s crossroads.
The returning of a light, obscured
In the ruins of time.
It’s the song of the tambourine,
And the lasting footsteps of a song and dance man.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
Sin breeds death expected life turns into still borns
No heart beat and no brain function
As the Father morns
A death sentenced placed on the first Adam
He wasn't the best Adam
So God send the perfected Adam
Birthed from the portal of a ****** Lady
Humanity could not cure itself
The world crazy from the bite like a bodies reaction to rabies
You see our righteousness is that of a rag
Soaked in the T-Virus
That's why the street filled with the walking dead.
But who can turn ****** into conception death to life
The one who willingly died
So we could reflect his light
Took the beating that was meant for us
The guilty acquitted. O.J. Simpson
The embodiment of true innocence
Marching with the thoughts of Trayvon Martin while we all are George Zimmerman
Dead in sin
At the crossroads of an eternal separation
The King on the cross with his shoulders separated
Arms open wide like I will accept this
Your accepted
His death looked like a curse
Satan like I'm victorious there's no question
But our God is sovereign
The Sun rose on the third day broke across the horizon
The son rose on the third day broke the back of the Leviathan
The slain lamb rose into a Lion
Mighty and meek
The everlasting King
Awestruck wonder as righteousness breathes
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Be careful who you tell empty promises too.
I'm afraid I've heard one to many from you
and from him and from him before that.
These lost words of living up to your word
decay
day by day.
Hit me up if you'd like, but don't tell me you will
when you know you won't.
I'd love to love you, I'd love to hold your hand.
Thats a promise I'd love to keep,
if you'd ever let me.
I just wanted a friend. I just wanted to spend some time with you.
So, Mr. Starbux-Colorado-Patagonia man,
I'd love to live up to my promises
if you'd ever live up to yours.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
Well you don't know where I'm goin',
but I sure do know what lays before me.
The path is familiar like a friendly touch,
the buildings that sleep there are warm,
and there is no way of knowing who resides there now.
Maybe the faces of the past, or maybe not,
either way it doesnt matter all that much,
because somehow they got to be like me in more ways,
then I could care to share with anyone of these hazy days.
So don't pay me no nevermind as I travel foreward, and down,
down to the path I know like my lover's skin,
as I look for a dusty ol' inn with some stars as faded as the sign,
in the Town of Regret.
The place, you may know it well,
the name however may escape you like a snake,
does a deep ol' well full of stale water.
The neighbors, they all like to tell tales,
none of them fake, none of them real,
but the one about a guy named Zimmerman,
well that one you could buy with a penny, its so swell.
Now dont forget the old man at the butcher store.
If you bargain, he will give you any meat,
some say its because he lost his shoes,
others say his feet, in the war the world lost.
Though you get that without costs,
the cook, with her twelve children,
well she dont chop cheap,
shes got all them kids with mouths,
and they dont have brooms to sweep.
So after this, the name might be comin' back in now,
just look in the eyes of the sunset,
and remember those nights so ghostly,
that you spent in this,
the Town of Regret.
The windows are all broken,
and the kids have no mits or bats,
so there is nobody that knows who caused the glass to shatter.
The ol' man sitting at the train station has been there since I was born,
and on his collar he has worn,
the same flower of blue that his love gave him.
The gamblers they played it all,
even the names their parents gave them so long ago.
Seems like now they have no hands left to go,
and only a small smile to spread under their glasses.
On late nights, you can find me sitting on a porch,
usually its one by the hill, where the wind passes me,
just like the fingers of my love once did.
But after so many fights, I lost her to the foggy sea,
and theres a kid with his feet hanging off the roof,
he sings to me songs of a sweet child with a warm heart,
the one that was like me before my path was set,
the one that didnt have a hike here,
here in the Town of Regret.
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
For my deadbeat father that doesn't care about me, that lies to me about **** that doesn't even acknowledge that I'm alive, and that most importantly doesn't even act like a father to me half the time, I am done with the lies, the u not caring, the EVERYTHING you do and don't do for me! First of all the not caring, you can't even try to tell me that you care because I know you don't and I know you never have! Second of all the lying...... The birthday present you said you bought and what about the Christmas presents you said you had at home or that got lost in the mail where are all of those I'm not just some stupid little three-year-old I know you never got me anything. But what about Autumn and Alexis?Huh? They get everything oh but we can't forget about your perfect little Adyan or you're absolutely perfect son Nathan they all get anything they want phones, tablets, new beds NEW EVERYTHING!!! But then there's me. I get nothing because you don't care.YOU NEVER HAVE!! Thirdly the not even acknowledging I'm alive. When I went to North Carolina to visit you, because I actually cared and wanted to see you, you never did anything with me and don't even say that you were working 24/7 because you weren't. And lastly you don't even act like a father should. That pretty much ties everything together. You said I didn't have to go back to see you so guess what, IM NOT!! And just to let you know I didn't not have fun because my "nose was in my phone" it was because nobody at the house actually feels like family to me. Being on my phone was the highlight of my trip talking to people that actually care about me. It was better than spending time with you or anyone down there. Also while I am talking about deadbeat fathers Glenn(my sisters dad) you are such a low deadbeat **** for choosing drugs over your own daughter and pretty much giving up your rights to her. I love my sister with all of my heart and I would rather her be with us over you any day. Brian Zimmerman is such a better father like figure to me and my sister than either of you two! Happy late Father's Day Glenn Brian and Nathan.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
My car is a ****
She lets homeless people get in her
She gets oil changes from anybody
And doesn't care what gas she fills up on.
Whether like cheap beer or fine wine,
No matter, she'll need more in short time
I don't know why I get mad when I'm not the driver
But my car will let four, sometimes five men get inside of her
She's been stopped by more cops at curbs than Zimmerman
And turned more tricks at corners than Paris Hilton
She is fun, sleek, and knows where to go,
Knows when to stop and start when I say no.
Only problem is, that each time I want to know
Where she's been, silent instead, with a low hum and that hubcap grin.
My car is a ****
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 12:55 PM UTC
We all stumble , falter and fall
No more than the dust after all
We rant , pretend or rave
But there are no words coming from the grave
Our time is spent whether we pay
Our lives granted a fixed number of days
How many full moons caught your eye
Now you are asking me "Why?"
Don't you see all of it is in vain
Brings us back to the quesion of dust again
The answer my friend ?
It's blowing in the wind
Last stanza by Robert Zimmerman aka Bob Dylan .
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
William ...
we need you now,
come on back,
soft-shoe-shuffle on back,
mordantly wander
on back,
undertaker-drag
on back,
comment on the conventions,
acidly notice things,
flagrantly ...
destroy things,
whilst muttering mutations,
just plain cut-the-rug
right out
from under,
the creationists,
the snake-handlers,
the ******** religionists,
the paranoid drug czars,
the oh so ignorant
blonde talking heads,
that son of a *****
Zimmerman,
The war is still being fought,
and Uncle Bill ...
We need you!
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
“The force that drives the green fuse,”
Whiskey-induced, almost a limerick,
When you consider the source:
Just another Gaelic wino,
Who liked to hear himself talk.
Dylan: blessed & cursed with
The gift of lyrical gab,
Exalting the English Language.
With bar stool eloquence,
A regular, ****** Yeats,
I’m sure he thought he was.
Just another skeevy Bukowski,
Crude, muddled,
Psychologically askew.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 11:31 PM UTC
my face hurts
looking at my countrymen
and the insanity that is rampant
we allow our government to **** innocents
in the name of safety
while leaving those of us most at risk
to wallow in the dank, squalor
that is untreated mental illness –
all the conversation is about regulation
of tools, equipment, merchandise
when we need to be discussing the de-funding
of federal and state facilities
here’s an idea:
give tax breaks to doctors working with this population
incentivize the public to work together in bridging these gaps in society
not out of fear, but love for our fellow man –
a deranged soul bent on ******
will find a way to ****
as sure as the sun shines
and hardware stores sell hammers
inconceivable homicidal events
will be part of the new United States culture….
seriously, look at what we put in our bodies
both as food and medication
how could anyone expect that all of us would stay
well-adjusted
and pro-social –
there is another angle
even more sinister and devious that just leaving crazy people
to freely roam the streets without so much as a check in
and it lives in the realm of conspiracy
and within the walls of the lunatic fringe surrounding society at large
it holds the notion that somewhere between HAARP
the CIA, the NSA, the FBI,
combined with shadow operatives
of the illuminati and new world order
have been periodically tapping individuals
with the proper mental state to preform horrific acts
with the agenda of furthering certain political ideology
while concurrently undermining the freedoms and liberties
that make the United States of America a beacon of hope
to the poor and disenfranchised across the globe…..
how, you ask, does this happen….
Sandy Hook,
Umpqua Community College,
Zimmerman,
mass media pushing the hype train
to the top of Everest
and sending that som’ma’ma’bitch sailing into the masses
with a new scotch, neat, in hand
they watch us flounder and fight
laughing all the way
to the safety of their
underground fortresses –
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
I am history's cruel design
A suffocating clinging poison vine
(But I am waiting...can you hear me?
Calling out from the other side)
I am the quicksand of your memories
To **** you down if you get lost in me
(Take my hand
If you have ears to hear
If you have eyes to see)
CAN YOU MEET ME IN THIS MOMENT NOW
KNOW THAT YOU ARE HERE WITH ME SOMEHOW
TO **** "I WAS" , LET "I WILL" BE ******
TO FIND "I AM"
TO KNOW "I AM THAT I AM"
I'm memorizing "Sheep In Fog"
I've found my tortured soul
In poetry of Burroughs
Kerouac, Ginsberg, Zimmerman and Plath
(There are no words where I am
Yet the silence speaks of worlds
And your heartbeat makes us laugh)
I've tried to ******* you inside
To feed your ego and your pride
Give you something you could call your own
Give you somewhere you could hide
(Step outside)
MEET ME IN THIS MOMENT NOW
KNOW THAT YOU ARE HERE WITH ME SOMEHOW
TO **** "I WAS" , LET "I WILL" BE ******
TO FIND "I AM"
TO KNOW "I AM THAT I AM"
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC