YOU

YOU

You are more than your work, 

More than punching in, procedure, pennies piling up.

You are more than obedience to corporate protocol,

More even than the spouse of a sweet man

Who follows you even when unwise to do,

More than a mom of a curly girl loving lavendar.

You are more than your birthplace,

Class creed creedo color conversation.

On the shore's edge, on the ledge,

Wind in your hair.

A chortle rising from your gut,

Standing heart-stopping still for a moment,

Lost in the stare, the windy air, no one there,

But the rush of the breeze, ease,

You ---are life itself and part

Of the heart of all that lives. 

Running

Today I was young again,

Running breathless

By the lake,

Wind in hair,

Seemingly, without a care,

Two boys in tow.

The lake lapped our toes,

Protective as a mother lion

Tending her cubs.

Memories of running,

Laughing.

Free fall face fall into the lake,

& running again,

The non corporate mother

Embracing the moment.

Oh, the joy of freedom

Only a city can bequeath,

With my cubs, protected

By the lioness lake.

The Lute Player

A gentle soul,

He plays his lute

In dark corners of cafes.

Yesterday, his brother

Died in gunfire,

Not a soldier, just a family man,

A carpenter, the brother

Of the lute player.
Last week, he helped a mother

Sift through ashes

For the burned remnants

Of her child.

It was too difficult to tell

One charred corpse from another.

A gentle soul,

This Iraqi lute player,

Who sits in dark cafe corners.

Someday, he says, he'll have a school

And teach others to play the lute.

And the whole country will rise

And make beautiful music.

Deep

Deep Souls

Do not sell

Insurance

to the unenlightened masses.

Resting in the palm

of the universe's hand

is the only

Insurance you need.

Sillies.

Pompous policy pushers

Sturdying their fragile

selves with stats,

Forget

that we're here only

for one reason:

to love transform & validate

the flagging spirits

of other sentient beings

and ourselves.

Healers

Healers

Where have all the healers gone,
Mama oh Mama?
We used to lie in the grass & sing,
Mama, oh Mama,
Toes pointed towards heaven,
Mama, oh Mama,
We lay in the grass and sang.
Now concrete is everywhere.

On State Street, I see a homeless man,
in and out of psych wards,
sleeping on park benches, & bring him
hot soup, housing, help.
He touches my arm,
and does a joyous jig.
Soon he is caught again, lost in
the dark city labyrinths.

Where have all the healers gone,
Mama, oh Mama?
We used to lie in the grass and sing,
Now concrete is everywhere.

We are sweeping our streets
With the limbs of our children,
The ones tossed into the cross fire.
We are mopping the blood
Of patients in pain, writhing
On cold ER floors.
Even in trauma centers,
Still no healers.

Beardless boys wrapped
in soaked blankets brought home
from Iraq.
Where were you, Barack,
to prevent this slaughter
Of our promise?
Eighteen, so young to return
without limbs, unable ever to walk,
no home but the darkness of streets,
sleeping, our vets, on the streets of our cities.

Where have all the healers gone,
Mama, oh Mama?
We used to lie in the grass and sing,
Toes pointed towards heaven.
We lay in the grass and sang.
Now concrete is everywhere.

Where have all the healers gone,
All the little ladies brewing roots for health,
The peace pipes, and fecund oases?
Now nothing but hard intellect,
A sharpened acuity,
Words, words, words,
Lynching the lyric of the fragile soul.


Where have all the healers gone,
Mama, oh Mama,
We used to lie in the grass and sing.
"Where have they gone?"
"Hush, child," she says, "now one is among us,
now one, and now one, and now one
A healer among us.
Obama is here."
Oh, Mama, Oh Mama.
Now one, our Obama, Mama,
a healer among us.

All that Glitters by me

silver shining buildings

against the sky,

stunning skyline,

even stories of glory,

are facades.

it's the underbelly

that's the benchmark

of a city's well being:

the stories of those sleeping

underground in el stops

in fierce frigid sub-zero temps,

tales of families alone in the cold,

that tell about a town.

others in homes without heat or food,

shining skyscrapers delude.

shiney skyscrapers delude,

flashy glitter,

to take our eyes off

greed, pomposity,

and the anguished belly pain below.

Tea Party with Grand

A tea party with my grand

Is grand.

After wintry days stomping through grey slush

Intricacies of weather, healthcare.

Saving the world

Not near as sweet as tea

From princess cups with my grand,

Singing "itsy bitsy spider"

Alongside her.
My grand

Is simply grand.