“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God.” Luke 12:6
Somewhere in the big city slush
in snow covered alcoves
a sparrow lies crushed and trampled,
unseen, unknown by busy citizens of God’s green marble.
No obituary given.
No seven p.m. news report
on channel three with Cathy McGee
proclaiming “Local bird is murdered in Manhattan.”
Apathy, a state of no mind
in predominantly God look-alikes,
an incurable addiction crushing
man’s soul like a vise.
The city streets keep humming
melodies of coming and going.
The sparrow’s friends mourn their brother’s frozen corpse
Disfigured and attached to his concrete grave.
Nineteen and sixty-eight
jungle snakes slithering around the dead,
napalm and marijuana wafted its way
through the remaining broken grunts.
War had hit its prime.
Copters stop on a dime.
I tell you it’s a crime
To see your buddy’s head blown off.
What was it for?
in castles made of sandstone.
You die alone in Saigon homes.
Your friends are just as dead as you
What for? You ask.
Nobody’s home in the Hanoi sandstones.
Take a piece of metal
Craft it into death
while the world holds its breath,
give me another hit on that meth.
the crashing chemical death of Syrian children,
thunderous ocean waves at midnight Tuesday morning,
nighttime whispers in the hush of passionate kisses,
the final organ dirge at an old man’s funeral picnic,
there’s something about it that carries me to the big empty.
There’s something about a big man screaming war
with blue lips of savagery stuck to his pasty face in December.
The boys with hair greased and girls dressed in first grade leggings
watch as their friends frown at a friendship gone.
Yes there’s something about it that carries me to the big empty.
The rotting of a tree can be heard on a dead silent night.
The lady in the bay is sinking, depraved men laughing
as coins jingle in poorly pressed pockets.
Mother Earth forlornly cries at overflowing oceans
knowing we the people will soon fall into the big empty.
I embraced the grassy knoll
listening for a heartbeat
even for a faint tapping of hope
a fragile sound of a memory
like the flutter of a butterfly
spoke to me of forgotten history
when men spoke kind words
about their friends and enemies.
Chocolate eyes dance across the stage
Young prince guitar ablaze
Mind wandering through the haze
A spider’s maze of drugs they say.
Ah yes it was a perfect day,
a movie, a chilled glass of Sangria.
The colored girls stared and smiled
as your satellite of love flew
across the universe.
Never one to be afraid to walk the streets,
the wild streets, New York, LA,
November never made its way
sadly October laid you away.
Just a matter of heartbeats
green line bleeping
sparrow wings whispering
in silence on a hot summer swell
keeps us cocoon safe
should one heart cease
the other will surely follow.
We danced moonlight naked
our love the greatest miracle
I am certain in the whole wide world
like an ocean and wet sand
we stood breathless
swaying to cicada orchestras
Maria Lena plays from somewhere
beneath a starlit night
smoke wafting its way
fire pit pungeant
lips kiss lightly
soon the world stopped
for just a moment tilting
on its axis throwing you
deeper into me
it is meant to be.
Graveyard for Poets
A poet who grows old
is carried on bare shoulders of skeptics.
No one thinks he wrote a lick.
His name unknown in a world that knows
the names of all big stars.
He’s not one of them
so he goes to sleep on a starry night
never to write another love story
about the woman crying by his bed
her umbrella weeps in harmony.