Rain washes away,
Cleanses the soul on this day,
Brings peace in its way
The battle was hard,
Making sad songs for the bard,
Our wounds we regard
Now is time for rest,
Finally peace in our nest,
Now for us the best
Another day, another battle in play,
But for now long songs of victory!
Note: Though this poem is personal and familial, it is also dedicated to the recent victory in the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) controversy. As Tanya Cliff just reported, “The Army Corps of Engineers has denied a permit for the current routing of the DAPL to cross Lake Oahe. This is a major victory for Native American tribes…” Praise almighty God for this long-awaited good news!
Under the canopy of sky
I dream of seamless days
And nights not corroded
By frightening thoughts
Brought to mind
By relentless responsibilities
And limitations . . .
I’d rather fly without hesitation
To some unknown destination
Of beautiful color
And nothing to bother
Where sisters and brothers
Are free to walk and talk
And old men drink their beer
And health and wealth
Are not uncommon
To folk like me,
Whoever they be . . .
Under the canopy of stars
I see afar some day in some land
Bands of women and men
With hands that give and help
And sands of time mean nothing
But something at which to wonder,
And blunders are excused
With laughter and smiles miles long,
And everyone knows that they belong . . .
Under the canopy of heaven
I leaven my dreams
With treasure troves of love
And arms wide open
That would never harm
Or sound an alarm
At someone in rags who carries old bags;
These arms would weave new clothing
And heave the old for new satchels
With all new within each,
And then these arms
Would make a place at the table
With no bill to pay for the meal . . .
Under the canopy of sky
I dream of seamless days
And nights, flowing one into the other,
Glowing with affection
And no infection of greed or hunger,
And no need for seeds of profit,
For all gain is to simply live life
To the fullest without unnecessary pain
Foisted upon one by another son
Of the same human race;
No, here there is no corruption
But, rather, corporate cooperation
For the alleviation of suffering
And deprivation . . .
Yes, I do dream all my dreams
Under the great canopy above . . .
Shrouded in doubt, clouded by deception, we wait for the reception
Of some new conception that will wipe away our tears and all fears,
Yet knowing that no selection in any election will lead to perfection;
Our destination is cremation of our nation to which we give nutation
Without thinking or even blinking; we just wink and nod and go on
About our business as usual, which is unusual for people in distress,
But why obsess over the inevitable, or impress with vain knowledge
When it’s easier to repress our feelings peeling away at our souls?
Here then is the conundrum of living in a dying kingdom with lying
Queen and bellicose autocrat vying to sit in the white tower of power:
What choice do people have with no voice, and over what to rejoice?
Ah! But most are intent to remain content, so long as they belong
To the games and the circus goes on with all silly gaffs and laughs
Without a thought that this happy show has been bought at the price
Of liberty by simplicity of trickery grown from the gross fertility
Of unchecked, wicked wizardry of those who hide in dark anonymity;
But will the simplicity of it all finally
Shine through the red, white and blue?
Will we see and refuse to bend the knee
To such insidious, political cruelty?
Are there better ways for brighter days?
Can you stand to join hands with Wisdom in the prism of Truth,
Wade thru the lies that fly by day, refusing to glorify rank error?
Can you refuse to stroke the grand egos of socio-political brokers,
Who seal up lips, steal over hearts, kill what is right in the sight
Of God and good people? What is this but to stand alone in grand
Opposition to the position of evil in the world in honest admission
Of wrongdoing no matter the cost or what may now here be lost?
But how will you wage war and gauge your progress against many,
Who rage against light, bemoaning their own plight under weight
Of the Truth shining brilliantly in the night sky, heavenly sight?
Oh say can you see the banner that waves in manner of what is lost
Because riches and glory have tossed the people to and fro upon
Waves of blind luxury with no one to save apart from hearts hungry
And thirsty for Wisdom and Truth? An high calling this is to keep
One from falling and crawling before the ever-sprawling masses;
What high price to pay, but can you say there is another sure way
To reach some higher destination in acclimation of all that is good?
Oh, can you stand to join hands with Wisdom in the prism of Truth?
Violent cowardice, vehement, hides behind religion,
Masquerades as spiritual, but life is sacrificial;
Flood of blood is testimony to their stony hearts
Filled with hate they satiate with bullets and bombs;
And they are a disgrace to good people of real faith,
And Brussels is testimony to their infidelity to God.
Ah! They are liars, who build funeral pyres and light
The fires, but all so secretly planned because they
Have no guts or backbone, but souls of stone shone
With every act of terror and the very fact of their
Existence and persistence in slaughter of innocents!
With pride they hide and abide in a lust for death…
And so may they receive what their hearts conceive!
Pundits and talking heads have
Made their beds with candidates,
But people go to show-vote. . .
Vote-matters mix the batter
America bakes her cake,
But is it winner takes all?
Is that not the voter’s call?
Lay down your weapon on this block from once a building.
Lay down your weary head upon this rock from the rubble.
Lie down in this hell-hole of what once was somebody’s town.
Lie down under church-bell ‘ere in your own blood you drown.
Aye, this is where civilization once bloomed and blossomed.
Aye, this is where revolution spirit groomed you for death.
Ashes all around and the vultures cry.
Ashes call quiet, and the vultures die.
Oh, lay you down, now lay you down, now lay you down. . .
Why cry or laugh or frown; make this dirt your night gown
And crown yourself king of this stinking, devastated town.
Sleep this night of looming gloom away.
Sleep this night of fright in your way.
Let go of war-torn haunts ever taunting your mind.
Let go of war-born guilt that your soul does bind.
Oh, not your fault, your fault, not your fault!
You were sold and bought and so you fought;
How else could it have been? You were caught.
And now sleep, sleep, sleep . . . where civilization once lay.