Two Poems from the Sixties

THE MAN

As he lay upon his bed
More alive than less than dead
And felt the waves rise to his head
He felt the blessed agony of the weary body.
And the soft white of the walls
Of the cabin near the falls
And the animals and their calls
And the blessed agony of the weary body.
A thousand fields lay plowed
A man lies weak and proud
A thousand thens are nowed
To the blessed agony of the weary body.

A NIGHT IN JAIL

The shriek of the bells
Drunks in their cells
Cries of "Oh Hell!"
Night time in jail.
Arizona cries out
"My cigarette's out!"
The jailer man shouts
"I'll throw you all out!"
"Where the Hell's Dale?"
Night time in jail.
"Hey Jailer, I'm sick!"
"I'm getting out quick."
"Cold as a brick...."
A deep down wail
Night time in jail.
"Hey Jailer!" "Hey Red!"
"My cell mate is dead!"
"My brain is like lead..."
"Did we get the mail?"
Night time in jail.

GLENDALE MORNING-1966

In the three room flat
The one door opens soft
To the sounds of feet of silence
And someone's muffled cough
A burst of light erupts now
The kitchen is in flower
The kitchen is in bloom
You can see their faces barely
In the tiny smoke filled room
And the water's on for tea now
The toast is on the heat
The butter melts in magic
Of the soggy cream of wheat
The parents smoke their ciggies
Wrapped in their euphoria
Coughing to the sound
Of water that's boiled over
And a student walking round
The paper sits alone and
Yes, the breakfast's over
Yes, the day's begun
A battle lost is frequently
A battle never won
For the child is running softly
Down beyond the street
You can hear his parents muttering
And coughing in their sleep
As the cigarettes and coffee
Tea stains on the floor
The sounds of beds in motion
To the tune of "Nevermore"

The News

THE NEWS

Here I sit

Dumbfounded by the news

More children dead

Everyone's got the blues

More bombs a-dropping

By fours and threes and twos

Cluster fucking the monuments

Nothing else to choose

Rockets flying in the night

Like fireflies in cruise

Landing like a meteor

On Muslims, Christians and Jews

Hiding on a mountain top

Out in plain clear sight

The children there are dying

Like a garden struck by blight

Our people wring our hands and say

“I wish we knew a way

To stop the slaughter of innocence.

America saves the day!”

But the bombs are made in Jersey

The rocket parts from Lowes

We sell them to our customers

This is the Life we chose

But rockets made from steel and blood

Have a way of turning back

And striking down the blacksmith

We're giving, they're giving back.

Someday Mom will haul us in

And wash behind our ears

And tell us not to fight so much

While drying off our tears

But someday is so far away

And Mom is sleeping sound

We'll have to make a lot of noise

To bring Her from the ground

And the Hindus have a story

About waking Mom too rough

She doesn't like to rise too soon

She kicks and hits and stuff

So perhaps this is Her rising

And the time to come in soon

I'll light a candle for the kids

And watch the shining moon.