Dance in the River of Dreams
Time makes a short necktie
Don’t let it be a noose
Choose your partner carefully
To dance the river heart away
Rhythms cook like gumbo
Spicy as it goes down
Dance in the river of dreams
Don’t catalog those nightmares
They belong to the devil
Not to hoochie-koochie mama
Working to be brave
Dance with courage
The conviction of your footsteps
Beating on bathroom walls
Spiritual graffiti feel it
Between the scrawls
So dance little tango
Make like butterfly wings
Samba to your eccentricity
Salsa your mind from the mundane
There is nothing vanilla
About the river
Its flavor destined Milky Way
Moon so close it burns the night
Your smile beckons
Come hither light
Dance little tango
Dance the river of dreams
Castaways
I listen to your search
for ancestral music
the rhythms that
make your heart dance.
The sound
removes the scar tissue
from my forehead
rules of transcendence
etched into the soul.
This is not a guitar
that your spirit plays
it is the bones of
your childhood
singing for freedom.
And I come to you
on these shabby knees
awaiting your charm.
Ivory Addiction
It is you mother
who has
mistaken my bones
for my heart
thinking that
breaks can heal
if you treat them
and place them
in a cast
suspending
isolating.
Crippled by ivory addiction
my heart still breaks
my limbs are no longer
protected by truth
it has not set me
free.
Instead I
remain encompassed
in these ivory chains
a free spirit no more.
I am waiting for my body
to disinherit me
so I can cast my fate
to indifferent winds
and purge the foolhardy
from the steps of anal deployment
a missile crisis in mockery
that you wear like a cheap suit
stolen from vaudeville vestiges
that clamor at your heart.
Yes it is you mother that
chambered my life
with soliloquy
and mocked my birth
with death like chants
as you and your friends
cheered for revenge.
It is time to take stock of
this broth you concocted
and savor the nectar
of retribution.
Yes it is you mother
who wore disguise every Halloween
so we would not know
who doled out treats.
You beat on my dreams
with an Instamatic camera
hoping to capture
whatever I lost in my childhood.
Caravan to Nowhere
Once they were through
processing the women
girls no bigger than your thumb
tiny girls looking for work
and a way out
not so smart girls
and brilliant girls
young women
really
but more like
girls
they were put to work.
They were promised
the big time
the show
how they could
make lots of money
be famous
drink whiskey
and drive
huge automobiles.
They wanted
that western
fame & fortune
thing
more than they wanted
life
so they were put to work
sacrificing
everything
getting nothing.
They danced
with the merry-men
sang them songs
and did other things
that were not to their
heart’s delight
nor any other
part of them.
The freedom
the life
they had before
was no more
there is a difference
between
a hard life
and one
that is cruel
tainted with the taste
of metal
and the feel
of barbwire.
All because of the
Promise
when they
climbed into that van
scampered on to that boat
leaped into the abyss
of poisoned pledge
of fatuous riches
and private glory.
They found themselves
puppets of subjugation
slaves of the 21st century
landlocked captivity
without escape
—Bondage
a caravan to nowhere.
Some say they are gullible
some say they are naive
whatever they are
they are no more
ground into human
snowflakes
precipitating the heat
that destroys them
dispersed with the wind
they wished
the caravan had wings.
Rifles
Rifles are not made
for 10 year old hands
Nor triggers for
10 years old fingers
Pistols are too
damn heavy
Dynamite fits
neatly in backpacks
Making
human bombs
Another childhood
memory …
Wearing Tragedy
Her face is painted the color of heartbreak.
She wears the tragedy of mothers of dead children.
She dresses in the color of mothers of the lost.
Milk spills from her full breasts.
She is nondenominational.
Emptiness
the chair sits
empty
alone
four legs
gripping the floor
The Children of Terezin
When I visited Camp Terezin
the children called to me
they left ethereal homes
dropped blankets
and held out their tiny hands
for me to lift them up
and hold them close.
I hugged every one of them
as they told me
of Terezin and how
their fairy-tales kept them
alive until story time was over.
I hugged every one of them
as they told me how
they painted pictures
with their fingers
dipped in their mothers’ blood.
I hugged every one of them
as they sang songs
and told me nursery rhymes.
I hugged every one of them
as they told me about
the playground of graves
how they played hopscotch
over tombstones
and ring around a rosey
was truth
ashes ashes
all fall down
only when they fell down
they never got up.
I hugged every one of them
even the lost soul
who crossed himself
like a gentile
when he cried.
I hugged every one of them
because the children of Terezin
no longer wait for their mothers
to call them home.
Today they have been set free.
Anthem
Listen closely
you can still hear the sound
of the third Reich marching
Listen as
boots jackhammer
across pavements and boardrooms
Listen as
crowds shout in streets
as terror rises from
asphalt paved with bones
Listen as
Hitler’s screams
rise from the tombs
hear the death rattle
Sieg Heil
(jackhammer boots march on asphalt)
Sieg Heil
(arms goose step)
Sieg Heil
(boots click heels)
Sieg Heil
(arms shoot up)
Sieg Heil
(boots click heels)
—There is challenge to the darkness
as serenity forms
and understanding
no longer takes
a back seat.
Grief stricken relatives
should no longer hold hands
they should shun excuses
and build fists
of understanding
as
one being stands up
then another
and another…
L’Chaim
(arms pump fists)
L’Chaim
(arms never waver)
L’Chaim
(we never give up)
L’Chaim
L’Chaim
L’Chaim
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