Poetry is in the eye of the beholder.  Have a blast with the material and then share it with others for the mutual benefit of society.   

Russian sounding songs coming from the old movie on TV.
The comrades hold hands and kiss each other for the glory of an old red god.
And I wonder and dream…
Until I meet the daughter of a colonel.
She tells me of how she grew up.

I want to know her,
She wants to know me.
An iron fist of dollars, urine and IKE fear/hate
Shuts down the Internet and
Leaves my emails silent and cold.

My comrade does not answer,
Her lips are pale and still,
My comrade's fingers are stiff and cold,
Because she did not have the gold.

And I am sap of Democracy--
Allowed the soldiers to convince me,
That Red and Blood, Fist and Hammer,
Should cause my communication to stammer,
And bust the very nature of my being,
Into hate and sickness over someone named "Ling."

And I venture into a slammer of injustice, black-filled pain,
When once I dreamed of loving and caring,
And holding by a fire-place listening to the rain.

O Comrade will I miss you,
And will you have a thought for me--
A dreamer who tried to leave the dread,
Only to lose access to the world wide web.
To grow cold from desire,  and Truman beer,
To end up wrapped in a flag of insecurity--dead.

Fifty-Two 
 
The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.
The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.

And quenches my dirty heart,
And quenches my dirty hands,
And quenches the dirty hate in my heart.

The sweet rain from Jesus comes on me.
The sweet rain from my Father in Heaven comes on me.

It takes away my desires,
And takes away my tongue,
And takes away my beliefs,
And prepares me for eternity.

The sweet rain from the Holy Spirit comes on me.
The sweet rain from the Holy Spirit comes on me.

And the attitude will cease to be,
And the internal war will end,
And the nightmare will cease,
And peas and harmony will begin

Now the cleansing begins:

(A bridge of music leading to ethereal rest inside ourselves.)

I will be a new creation,
I will be a prince of peace,
I will live in house of humble,
I will see you as my brother…

I will again, again, again…

The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.
The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.

And gives me a new loving heart,
And gives me new useful hands,
And gives me ways to love others in my heart.

And gives me a new loving heart,
And gives me new useful hands,
And gives me ways to love others in my heart.

The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.
The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.

The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.
The sweet rain from the Lord comes on me.

Be encouraged this week,
You will make the feat!

Not at the end of a rope,
We don't have to grope and
Feel for something,
Anything real.

Hope that is far away,
Without a coming day.
 

But we cast a happy glow
In our lives to and fro,
Through the light of the way,
Eternity in our hearts.
Life to our friends:
We'll make it to the end.

They and us will be a part,
Of the hope far away,
That has now arrived in this Day.
 

Fifty-Four 

Beat, beat, beat...my heart rips through the bones and cavities of my inner self...
I think think, think of the work...
And catch-up that needs to be done after my vacation days.

Plimble, plimble, plimble...I sleep.
I sleep.

To a different whiz, bang, beep in the night,
By my house.
To get out of the rain, dum,
Freak!

I breathe a necessary piece of wind.
The sun rises and the evening,
Comes to a short end than the night before.
 

Dedicated to Mr. Berger and Mr. Calabrese

I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.
I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.
I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.

We need to interact, interact, and interact.
What about avoiding the nuclear reactor in our
Consciousness?

How about flexibility, neutrality,
Learning to listen,
And thinking about what the other stranger may be going
through?

I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.
I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.
I am uncertain and you are uncertain and,
We each have our own preinteraction expectations.

Can't a paradigm be broken, can't we all get along…
Is the Dream dead?

When I see the robin feed her babies
As I walk the lonely beaten path.
I will dream of rushing ocean waters,
Clear and smooth about me--
Around me, around me.

Little ones are snuggled by their mothers.
Tiny ones are nestled in their beds.
Dainty wreaths of flowers on the daughters,
And the boys they follow Father in his stead.

I long for the flowers simple and true.
I long for my birds to be saintly and blue:
Yet, the raven flies on, and the swan has a song,
And my scarlet is ibis, at times all along.

Many a day I walk the great big highway.
I walk the path lonely, dirty and pale.
Men beat me, cover me with refuse,
Stench and soot about me,
Around me, around me.

Long ago, I was snuggled by the mother.
My tiny ones were nestled in their beds.
Dainty wreaths of flowers on my daughters,
And my boys they follow their Father's stead.

But I know, yes I know that the,
Rain will come down and refresh us as a spring,
To the showers…
They will come and return us home.

The rushing of the wind,
Blowing through my hair,
Reminds me of you--
You're coming through.

The sitting on the lawn,
The ending song,
Reminds me of you--
You're coming through.

Wake up sleeping giant,
Terrors in the land.
What will we do,
Where will we go?

We ever fight,
We need a hand.
Could it be you,
That pulls us through?
 

Raven black hair, sitting there
Watching the tear.
The end song is near,
I shed a tear--
No more fear.

Watching and waiting,
Losing the hating.
No more fainting,
No more waiting.

Hope to you,
Hope to you.
Longing for me--
Setting free
From a red tree.

Fifty-Eight 
 

A fat red tomatoe
Rolled up the chimney.
He was ready to splatter himself
Against the pavement.

"My king is dead.
The end has come.
Honor departed.

I see violence stretched pulp
Strewn across the sky.
My, oh my, what have I.."

Hurace rolled off the chimney.
He imagined the slatter off his juice and seeds on the ground.
He imgined that soup Hell spooning him,
And rotting in a rich man's belly.

Hurace fell and cried and expected blackness and rot.
Rot, rot, rot, rot,rot.
Spaghetti, rot, empty belly juice sucking and torturing,
Hurace's half empty soul.

A tomatoe named Humphrey tried to catch Hurace.
This swell, Humphrey, decided to try to save Hurace.
Just for the thought of it--
That was the right thing to do.

Hurace crushed the tomatoe.
Hurace was saved.
He barely was bruised by the fall.

The other tomatoe called out to Hurace,

"Are you alive, I wanted to save you.
Life is worth living.
Be happy...I die."

Hurace felt his insides crush.
He wept bitterly over the dried tomatoe skin and paste.

Hurace decided to roll to his children's house,
And try to make a difference.
 

Laughing, laughing
Dancing abut in winds of love.

I was drifting through a crowd,
Slightly unseen,
Lightly unavowed.

Where would I turn?
Where would I go?

Is there anyone for me?
Anyone I know?
Would life give a chance for no remorse?

Would hope breathe in me the way?
 

I will lay me down before the flood,
I will lay the Terror down.
I will lay me down into the blood,
I need the cleansing found.

I will lay my life,
Completely cut--
And give it all to you.
You will come to me,
And cling to me,
And may I learn from you.

I will lay me down--
"My cries, my fears--
I will lay my body down.
I will call for your unending Power,
You will heal and bring me near.

Let me be a living sacrifice,
Of mercy to the world.
Let us serve and lay our bodies down

I will lay me down before the flood,
I will lay the Terror down.
I will lay me down into the blood,
I need the cleansing found.

I am empty, but you fill me.
I am empty and you fill me.
 

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