those wild western heroes: 1 & 2

those wild western heroes: 1

(dedicated to Dee Brown's The Westerners)

children of the sun

seeking seven cities of gold

behind a half-naked black man

in colorful head feather .

 ambassador Esteban he was

 with a pair of greyhounds running beside

and three hundred Mexican Indian servants, many handsome young women

with Mendoza and Coronado right behind

the obliteration

oh dear poor zunis at hawikuh pueblo

what could you have done

the cleansing had begun

we are all forgotten ones

those wild western heroes: 2

medicine paint Catlin

who broke from them all; his wife, his parents,

to set up an easel for Lewis & Clark

and have an opportunity to view Plains Indians

'in their natural simplicity and beauty.'

beautiful Catlin

determined that the whole world see the American west

most thrilling scene he'd ever seen: meeting Comanches!

and he wanted us to see how thrilling!

but

interested not  the public

the government

 in his collection left rotting away.

no interest they in garnering sympathy

 for the race they would destroy.

for the paint brush that brought a generation 

visual impressions of the American west

who lays in Brooklyn's greenwood cemetery

with black moccasin spirit defending his tomb

  from ugly Parkman who liked his pictures,

wrote the Oregon Trail

followed by thousands,

and ended America.


July 2012

Cesar knows why dogs attack each other

Cesar knows why dogs attack each other

and it's the same reason as imperialism

foolish people can't be wrong

awful singers sing their song

call it full moon or a toss of the coins

something jitters in their loins

can't blame someone trying hard

can't tell dad he's a retard

like the road to hell

paved with good intentions

if you meant well

why a dissension? 

one dog out across the river

the old gang pack intact 

strength in numbers unforgiven

their stride unbroken

might makes right in a fight

the new dog hasn't spoken

3-13-14

lily butterflies, i will not forsake you

lily butterflies, i will not forsake you
though some may think queer my adulation
perhaps they'd take solace my welcoming them
when once i would spit in their horrid faces
the butterflies abandon me for wavering
i'd endure any insult to have them back in view
there's a pair now intertwining on their way
and even two small black birds 
following each other up stream
my other half mingles with wisps of spring air
surprised to her a book i'd dedicate
through all the distractions that injure our lives
somewhere secluded egrets fulfill their futures
as speed demons hurtle towards their next little messes
this Brooklyn boy intercedes straddling nature and machine
in favor of flowers that soften his dream
wild Han flowers between the dyke's ledge
how easy they flourish without cultivation 
terrarium masterpiece from their only master
as boys going nowhere go faster and faster

2-27-14

my passive friends, the egrets,

my passive friends, the egrets,

 don't know i'm here

little white butterflies flutter 

hello so near

come the egrets

welcome me back home

they're happy, too

 sun is high

 cold rain clouds passed 

 blizzards in Brooklyn

egrets stand and stare

water's clear fishes run

there's no there; only here

Han still flows north to south

motorcyclists continually use the bike path

only i have changed and grown

heavier and weaker in my bone

getting closer to where i'm going

2-17-14

narrow Han River round rocks briskly

narrow Han River round rocks briskly
tumble through the corkscrew
passing the Taoist temple on the western shore
then finding open relief through boulder gates
to wide doldrums in calm resting places
pond-like glassy pool quiet
egret wading
sandy lines along the shore peaceful shore
a tiny beach for sun-bathed napping, resting 
quenching pack of Taiwanese dogs
downstream winds deeper and steeper
becoming a narrow rapids squeezing
against a concrete embankment squeezing
bottom tier of two leaking waterfalls
adding to the Han under steel floodgates
floodgates abused by factory suds flushed
enter reality 
and wrong-way scooters on bike paths
superimposed cataract mountain views
suffering behind messy streets
of fabricated corrugated warehouses
littering the corridor between river and mountain
from Feng-Yuan to Tan-Zih
hillside mausoleums of death
urn living pitilessly
obstructing nature's beauty 

1-19-14

whatever happened to so and so?

whatever happened to so-and-so?
a question asked much later on,
when life has changed your outlook,
and the world is moving on.

rose petal pocket distracted George,
to fix Zuzu's flower the truth was ignored.
drink to me only with thine eyes,
take not advantage of me like a spy.

whatever happened to the slyly bought chop,
the one that i looked at in that shop?
innocent questioning like a child,
may bring forth an answer not tender or mild.

whatever happened to people you knew?
why would you want to see them again?
if they passed through your life unexpectedly,
why not go make better friends?

the losers who gaze down at their shoes,
and wonder what would have been
if they were patsies that married Lassies,
not hooked-up with Rin-Tin-Tins.

where would you have gone if you had married him?

the world is richer into the future.
better a wisher than in fuchsia.
with places ahead why look back
to pick up the trail of yesterday's snack?

you'll end up limping backwards
to run with the old pack. 

1-12-14

she sees nothing wrong with it

she sees nothing wrong with it, for her own health,
but God helps she who helps herself.
she'll get around whatever in her way,
and ignore whatever bad they might say.
as for me, i look into things,
and read between the line.
she calls me a troublemaker,
i call her colorblind.

i see veins in leaves 500 miles away,
talk with pets and know what they say.
i know what she thinks she's going to do,
and how they will make her do it, too.
she may drink oblivion wine,
but i know how they brew it so fine.
i know when she'll leave before she finds a shoe,
in Dante's hell, i can see the whole day through.

like Louie Armstrong's wonderful world,
innocent beauties of nature swirl.
antidotes are frivolous things,
the silly words of thee i sing.
eager children's glowing faces,
bring me back to all God's graces.
birds o'er the Han sail and swoop,
and help me forget the backhoe's scoop.

(As Mike Nesbit says, "Listen to the band.")

1-10-14