Tuesday, July 2, 2013


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A break in the weeds
lying in the marshes
his body lay
poured over another alcoholic bend
Chased away by another night of rivalry
Voices of anger taking turns pitching
Claims of his mouth ascending the bastions of mausoleums
of dead poets fame
You cannot tear history apart
No son of theirs could ever have been a grandfather of yours
No daughter of theirs could ever had been cousin to the generations of your
Scurrying clouds listen do not hesitate
Birds rush South get away from what is known to be coming
Under the Hat of Ohio is idle
Sullied in the twigs and debris
Here comes another wind brush it again on the head
Awaken the foul one
utter another word about the past
claim not just allegiance
claim not just reverence or appreciation
claim not just that you understand the words of the dead poets
claim that they came down the steps of the pyramids
visits from Mont Alegre and the Villa Diodati
What does it mean to know a woman
If a man knows a woman is it always intimate?
Have you not known a woman’s smile or her sassy talk
her fingers on piano keys stirring the imagination
lift the candle nearby and see if a lovers moan can be heard
there is a hand around the throat of a passerby
we are looking for him
the answer from the companion
a finger pointing to the sea
there is where I last seen him
So much for double talk
Friends will flip coins to remain free
It is easy to erase the past in the modern world

 The field is ripe with liars
They grow with the leaves
heaved the cutting edge of tie neck job placement
surviving corporate schemes twisted and mangled
the dream of newsmen folks with big tongues
splitting the truth as breaking news
did you hear about the descendant of Keats, Shelley, and Byron?
Believe that if you can.
A woman of a Sheppard son laid with one
Some from an inn of Geneva said it was two
There is not a man alive thought it could be three.
A child of sport came forth bearing words of trilogy
Some said the child named Harold was Unbound
Gave a gift of an ode to Rome   walk quietly for night has come

When the heavy foot of time touched America
Pounding on the ground
The roar and fire of cannon sent bones into the air
Skin was found hugging the trees
Dead eye sockets lay like roots exposed
Ripped from skulls exploded by war
A poet took a pen to paper
and showed us what the men were fighting for
for and against the Indian
for and against England
for and against Slavery
for and against gunslingers
and whores and bank robbers and horse thieves
reaching across time making bridges out of rainbows
and silk clothes to separate the shadows
and hands of dirt and hands of love
this child carried a story of who it was
a famous Hat dedicated to an ancestor
 inscribed by the three

So was this all just a misunderstanding
Two on a trail talking on the Lake Geneva
This maid of hire sent with the Hat to Italy
A late night affair none could see.
Signed with the symbols of legislature to govern and guide her
A bright spot in her life that made her mind freed
And when it was said she was pregnant was this the real seed
Down through the generation the story was told.

Did you hear about the descendant of Thoreau, Twain, and Crane
Also wakes up to the sounds of Langston, Toomer, and Hurston
Walks under the Hat of Ohio like an invisible man

Something was in the family
Walden Pond appeared on the list of recognition
Then came a great gathering
Shaking the nation of a dejected people
A new people, full of soul started a renaissance
Rome was the old city of the old world
This was New York and in it grew a Harlem, a requiem
A mass for rhythmic pioneers on a train moving heaven and earth
This Child slid in off stage swallowing the words whole
After many years the road tossed him up in Ohio
A fancy girl took him and the Hat   this past faded in her warm arms
The ugly Hat imprisoned on a shelf on the third floor
When he died she released the prisoner to an admiring child
Under the Hat of Ohio he became a stranger son
Signatures of dead poets scribbled on the inside
some had written verses of poetry
within months he stood for this family
said all these dead poets were his ancestors
Laughter chased him from America   Rome knew nothing about it
It was not a smart thing to say in England
Less wise in Scotland
The body of Child lies still in the marsh
No one is looking for him
You can’t change history
You can’t tear it apart
You can’t put yourself in everybody’s family
You can’t hide with a hat sticking up above the marsh
They’ll put your head under the water
And deny the signatures and verse as faded and fake
Under the Hat of Ohio you can only pretend
None of the original romantics lived past thirty four
Geniuses seldom get past forty most die young
O what light breaks up the morning peace
Comes with frenetic speed to finish all work
Carrying labor on trays stacked to the sky
Impatient for the wind to move

Genius knows that before the day ends
There will be no tomorrow for the thought it has today.
Where is leisure and play?
Why can’t the river stop or the clouds move backward across the sky
There is one moment of stillness
One step into a clearing where the elusive thing is born
Sitting next to the genius are valleys, mountains and a tree
Exchanging thoughts of what is to be.
And when that light breaks into pieces
It leaves the remains of a sculpture men can admire
From another of their long dead sons.
Give praise for the words of poets rocket us past the edge of today into
Tomorrow’s tomorrow
Under the Hat of Ohio signatures and verses of dead Poets go on living
Speaking in one voice: ”look at what we gave you, look at what we have done

Friday, January 18, 2013


come into this world
someone’s dream come true
meet someone
that is a dream come true
escape danger
rise above threats
beat the odds
run into old friends
lose and win jobs
so many turning points
just in the nick of time
a dream come true.
in one moment all of our past has passed
the sand hill we were climbing has declined
the land of our dreams is flat
everything now unconditional
those remaining in this world of dreams wait for the news
a final word
a last breath
death closes the door of this dream
make a grand entrance into the next world
we are our own
dream come true


am the father
who was the son
My day is upon me.
In my hands are the obligations
the working tools of manhood passed on to me.
Just before sunrise I meditate
HaHiYa speak wisdom to me.
When my wife looks at me let love shine
When my children call
let a smile be on their face
am the father
who was the son.
Now I am a citizen
son of my people
son of a nation
I carry iron
the work men must do
I pray for the fathers that fight to keep us free
The word love beats on my chest
Across my shoulders is a harness
like my father I must learn to pull my weight
Carry the water of life
until my days are done
Embracing both sorrow and joy
arms on the same body
at night just after moonrise
I gather my family
hold them for just a little while
tell them what I know of wisdom
am the father
who once was the child
am the father
who was the son

Sunday, August 19, 2007


CRY OF BEAUTY POSE FINGER 2 (1996 by hzal)

I close my fist with my baby fingers standing alone
I had a dream I ran across the planet
I saw children carrying weapons of war
I saw disease and sickness
I saw viruses,
the pus of poison oozing from holes
their bellies swollen from hunger
I saw boys in gangs never knowing the hand of love
I saw girls vibrating to gyrating music
interviews and advertisements slipping off their clothes
making beauty into a visionary beast
sex and nudity underneath
the mind of men switching while walking
watching women switching while walking
boys lusting with a child’s mind
going up steps behind men sex and nudity underneath
around the corner someone extra ordinary someone abnormal
I saw a world of glamour and science fiction wizardry
living without spiritual fear
the eye of God is a recorder
the length of children will be measured
observe what men do to a generation sent as another gift
what sounds will come from the earth
when boys heads become men's minds
if they realize they were not taught to love
waking from dreams of murder and atrocities
men and women dead before they were born
will they commit murder and atrocities
in a world with fallen trees and howling winds and a starving sun
what sound will come from the earth
when these children become old
will they look at their baby finger and raise them in protest
knowing what they too have done
make a fist and raise your baby finger
for the children in this world are crying and dying
one by one
one by one