singing those blues till doomsday
Consumerism’s got the best of me in spite of my fighting so hard to maintain the good thinks in life. I keep fighting a losing battle. I want to believe the best things in life are free but I get stopped in my tracks.
Buy buy buy they implore, while I have nothing left to buy with except very extended credit debts. I’m outta cash supply, debts mount easily. Buy, buy, buy, come read poetry. Buy a glass of wine. You can’t sit there and read for free. You’ve got to pay your dues too. Don’t forget the entrance fee. Cough it up.
Tons of paper discarded daily senselessly. No one could be so sad. Trees ask me to tell them why they’re born to be discarded they wail about their senseless lot, they live to be - they ask me if I know why it’s like this, what’s all this suffering for? I cry. I cry.
Lights on in every room whether you’re home or not to keep the burglars away. In Harlem Mexicans crowded 3 families to each apartment while we pay taxes to build another Yankee Stadium right next to the one already there. The rich pay more for private boxes while Mexicans live in NYC barracks, 20 in a 3 room apt, barely able to pay the rent. Please I beg you give the poor some of my taxes instead I plead. They turn a deaf ear. Please, please?
I sit in my room looking out at the rain, no one could be so sad. Gloom everywhere, I sit and I fear, I don’t know what the world is coming to.
Kill canned hunts. WTF, what kind of concept kills caged animals for a few dollars from the rich? I can’t wait. I want to kill hunters; torture them watch life slowly drain from them, their heads lolling to one side. I place their head on my lap. Take a pic too, like they do to the lioness bleeding from her mouth, trying to feed her cubs behind the fence, teats full of milk. Make them like quarry, my prey, another trophy.
You can’t hide from the ugliness I try to hide I do, I do. I can’t take much more.
I sit in my chair filled
Filled with despair.
No one could be so sad.
gloom everywhere, I sit and I stare. What’s the state of the universe? Is there anybody out there?
The ugliness all a glow, picture show for family. Bring up your moohlah! We got yours here. Worse than Sodom & Gomorrah. My soul’s for sale. Name your price! Sold to the devil at the crossroads!
This revolution will not be televised; will not put the shine back on your teeth. Civil rights gone, lives tapped into by government, someone’s in control somewhere. Not me, hey, I’m all alone in here waiting for the pain to go away. I sit in my chair full of despair, no one could be this sad.
I cry to trees. They hear my pleas. No one else does.
Please! Please. Is there anybody out there?
I am warm in here. Out there it’s 20 degrees with a northeasterly wind. I don’t care except that the trees are confused. They can’t decide whether it’s time to wither down & go bare or should they bud. They talk to me and ask me but I say I don’t know. Cause, yo, it’s so crazy out here. You know, crazy for everyone, not just crazy for a sister but crazy for a tree. Al Gore says it’s global warming moving at a faster rate than presupposed before and the naysayers in the crowd out here argue this validity. I don’t know who to believe. Yesterday was 50 degrees. Today it’s snowing violently violet with a strong breeze. I can barely see through the thick curtain of white wet snow relentlessly cascading down outside. 50 degrees yesterday, yo sister, yo brother, yo …
What’s it to you if I dream away my solitude? Write poetry in my spare time. Spare time that used to be 1 minute is now 2. I don’t have time to work a regular gig. I’m too busy writing poetry and have too many other things to do.
In my solitude you haunt me
With dreadful ease
Of days gone by
As I stroll past, I hear the trees say they don’t know what to think but should I care? I return inside where it’s warm from the glow produced by oil & coal from the furnace. I don’t need to know what’s causing this interruption of flow of service on my network. I keep telling others to listen to reason, use all your resources to power the nation. Power the Mojave Desert with miles & miles of solar panels and we’ll all be warmed free for life. There’ll be very little strife I promise. The economy will be trite without these services sold to the hilt, but we’ll all have our lights and warmth. Our services will be free if you’ll only please see what I see and power the Mojave desert with miles and miles of solar panels please please.
I hear cries from everywhere world wide, voices echoed & etched in the wind of tides,
Them that’s got shall get
Them that’s not shall lose
So the Bible said and it still is news
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
You are so in love with you I see, but then who wouldn’t be?
What is it with all the beautiful artists always taking self-portraits? Good self-esteem I guess?
Let kaleidoscope wings help my spirit soar, I want more, to fly away to exotic faraway shores where no one knows me where I can seek evolution and solutions, maybe even start a revolution.
Getting My Fiduciary Groove On
I hear the blues blaring in my head keeping time with the rhythmic beating of my heart
He says, you hammer away like a woodpecker at a tree I say why would I have to be
Mr. and Mrs. Perfect writing off into the sunset
Beset with other concerns can’t keep up with the jet set; let me get a taste of java wet from the shower – like frost you turn the sweetest flower to dust
I live on a different planet ~ the moon of the desert sun
Pull out your clarinet and riff me some of them blues baby
Forget about fretting no sweat baby no job
You ain’t likely to get that little corvette
It’s money that’s what I want
They keep telling me the best things in life are free
But you can save that shit for the birds and bees
Throw me some money that’s what I want, a lotta money
Show me some affirmation for my saturation in my individuation; my infatuation is my collusion with occlusion the entire scenario’s a big illusion, stop your accusations, I’m into sanitation – clean this shit up I say!
Give me some antibiotic to cure me from my anti-bureaucratic ways ~ Your antagonistic acidic mean way is what made me leave you in the first plays – your acerbic reaction, you live in a theater play – you don’t give a fuck as you stay stuck in cliché mode lost in dismay -
your figure outlined in the doorway – you think my souls a fucking driveway,
I’m familiar with your dossier
I sit and crochet another dread cap dreaming about that chalet made from stone and glass
Rolling meadows and sassafras – leave your morose ass behind while you seek a bypass
I could have it all if I only had some money
Did you hear what I said? That’s what I want Gimmee money
Your loving never gave me much of a thrill but it was useful to help pay my bills
I want some money that’s what I want, I know that money don’t get you everything it’s true
What it don’t get I can’t use that’s part of why I got these woodpecker blues
Now give me money that’s what I want
My life’s gone astray, I try to stay blasé’ hooray for me I’m gonna make some headway and it’s not all heresy – give me a little leeway I’ll show you some mayday
A floodway filled to the brim with resentment, I’m searching for a little contentment
a presentment that money’s the answer to my emancipation proclamation
your abasement antedated my abandonment, it’s no accident, I created a new precedence
and returned to my former craziness
I sing my money blues to you today; share the brilliant broadcast that money’s on its way
Money can’t buy you everything it’s true but what it can’t buy I can’t use
So give me money it’s what I want, Gimmee money – lots of money
Gimmee some money to cure these woodpecker blues
I’m not being greedy Gimmee money, that’s what I want
I write when the muse strikes or if she doesn’t I write anyway and she joins me.