1960s to 1990s
ceasefire
twenty gum chewing heros stood grouped in a circle
and pointing the bulging eyes of their cameras
toward the mass of death before them
hurriedly cocked the shutters
as if to catch a lingering last breath
before death closed in to silence the struggle in the eyes
and spoil the shots for the folks back home
–written at the close of the Vietnam war (1975)
the living end
baby boy child just hit baby girl child
but mama will not intervene
mama is too busy making mellow dreams frim corncob
and papa will not heal the hurt
for papa does not know he’s papa
where he’s parked in one dark corner
taking in a drop of sunshine
perhaps george washinton
upside down on a dayglo wall
will speak the words to soothe the wounds
and lead the children from their pain
to some safer, softer game
–1967
leaving
with our throats made sore
by tears pushed back
our sadness shining in the wetness of our eyes
we stand
and sense the coming of the going
and the end of a rainbow
here where we hold a moment heavy in our breasts
we hope against all odds the train will not leave
it leaves
washed down the tracks by our tears
its groaning coaches downing our weeping
and in the mirror of our parting
we say goodbye to yesterday’s stranger
and catch a glimpse of something
stronger
sweeter
greater
than the whiskies that we’ll drink to forget
forget that in one aging moment we could cry
and that in that moment we could feel
and that in that moment
we were alive
–Norway, 1975
poem written on a train between geneve and lucerne
as frieght trains in the night go by
so our lives like chains
grow long
and not so simple as we’d like
them to
the last car rememering not the first
nor caboose brakeman, engineer
but as the names of passing makes of
dogfood, cars and napalm bombs
pass like camera shutter clicks
before our child eyes
so we live and then forget
the moments fleeing by
we stand at dawn
like children for the whistle listening
left then breathless by the mass of rolling boxcars
we soon loose count
and left there stunned
we watch the last one passing
–1974
who?
who-
in this hide yourself
be silent sea of blank stare faces
captives of the 9 to 5
and 6 days sold to 6 nights’ numbing-
will be the one?
will it be you?
…..then who?
who-
who has ever wearied of feelings leashed to inlaid smiles
that even wives and hsubands in love’s heat half mustered
can’t remove-
will be the first to laugh off cue
and let the game come second for a change?
who-
in this sea unrippled
will dare be first-
i ask because
i know it cannot yet be me
–1981
winterbound
let love linger while it may
then die so gently
like a great grey seagul
here today and later gone
to where its wingdreams are reborn
love seldom sings forever
but only now and then
and sometime ages pass
before its whirling winds return
to catch us in their dizzy grasp
like leaves that linger through the night
of autums come
and summers going father south
so our souls are winter bound
to sleep apart and then perhaps
unite again one day
lifeturning
like sunlight surely
is a certainty that mends our wounds
and drains the old blood from our dreams
to our our new ones better wings
–1974
o say can you see?
not even the swiftly sinking
stinking filing order
of uncle sam stuff
dreams are made of
corporate men
nor corpse machines
can transplant this exiled tree
into the red, white and blue arm
of sanity
–1974
two poems written on a mountain
night falls
and caterpillar rain
sings in the darkness
above me
beneath me the ground swells up in sweet fatique
and sighs
a song drifts off asleep and dies
the branches now must bear the weight of birddreams
the sun is shy
at first
faint in the sky
then louder it lights uo the meadows of flowers
where butterflies fly
and get drunk
–1974, Harriman State Park, New York
hidden wires
when i was born a girl
i looked into my father’s eyes
and saw what i thought were tears of joy
but now i know
there was also a hint of disappointment in them too
still, i thought life was great
and at first i did not understand
why they gave me so much freedom
or why my brothers had to study hard,
their spirits tamed and moulded
into lonely bonsais of success
but it was soon i saw the hidden wires
that shaped my own destiny
dragging me along the road
from dolla house dreams to name brand schools
where girls becoming women learn
the princess poses that they’ll need
to lure a seed to womb
in childhood i was free, unlike my brothers
but now, there i was in offices
pouring tea for men whose suits
were the leaves of the lonely bonsais
that my brothers too had become
like the dreams of our husbands
now chained to desks and whiskey nights
the dreams we had were not our own
and our real life dollhouses are now
so cold, so empty
–1997
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