StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XII, No. VII

3 A. M., a single siren
Cut off in late mid-darkness:

I lay awake, anticipating the next scream,
Wonder how close the police might be;
I check for gunshots, none forthcoming,
No knock on the door, no chopper spotlights,
A traffic stop after the bars have closed.

DUI without further provocation, but still
I cannot sleep without writing down the verse
I find rattling through my head
-- But these are not those except the first line,
The rest is the poet revising and editing
What seemed so crystal at 3 A. M.

We will play boccie ball in front of the wine shop,
If women are allowed to do such things;
We can work in the kitchen making ravioli and veal cutlets,
The old mama-san might even let us near her gravy.
Unlike the men, we are still quite free to live our lives
As women and mothers or anything else we might choose to be,
But I doubt that a right tackle or a gangland capo
Would rate very high up our list of choices.
I rise each morning thankful I was not born a man.

The Chiefs of the Mattaponi and Pamunkey,
Honoring the ancient treaty better than the white man,
Provide the Governor of Virginia two deer and a turkey
Each year in lieu of taxes for the privilege of living
On their reservations instead of their tribal lands.
-- The best deal they could get at the time from a
Bunch of Colonial Englishmen intent on Christian fantasy.

Where is the sun that normally sets
In shades of yellow and red,
Where is the blue sky, azure and crisp
That fills with white clouds adrift,
Where is the moon so brightly full
The stars grown pale beside it?
On Earth, on Earth, 10,000 light years
Across the Galaxy's spinning arms.

One colonel tells you
Don't ever do this;
The next one arrives
Asks why you aren't;
The problem with the Army
Comes down to three words:
Rotation, rotation, rotation.

I'm sorry, a woman
Asking a man to marry her
Just doesn't seem right;
Call me old fashioned,
Tell me I'm Cretaceous,
But I would not want a man
Who did not have the courage
To ask me to be his bride;
I'd always be worried
I'd have to make all the
Decisions in our marriage,
Except the one where he
Asks me to bring him and
His buddy another beer.

The world and I have an agreement,
The earth will continue as long as I'm alive,
Afterwards, I really don't give a damn;
Every star, every planet could withdraw back
Into the Singularity for all I care.

Alive, the universe lives,
Once I'm gone, who gives a flying damn?
Present company excepted, of course
(Of course, until it's your turn to check out).

A poet must have adaptive,
Asymmetrical command
Of the language she chooses
To construct her poems;
Her lines must decompose
Into quantifiable ambiguity,
Enabling her simple words
To exceed threshold expectations.
The functions deemed necessary
By both critics and reader
Must be craftily observed,
Any potential shortcomings
Must be carefully misleading
If the Poet should wish success.
The poem is everything
And everything is the poem,
Exceptin' when the poet fucks it up.

The cameras have become gun sights,
The news, a nightly body count
Tallying explosions, terrorist bombers
And children whose flesh is ripped bare,
Whose limbs are shattered and blown asunder,
Mothers in their arms clutching dead blue infants,
Fathers in tears holding lifeless sons and daughters.

We've seen this before, we will see this again,
Men and women struggling to lead lives of quiet desperation
While grave faced politicians provide expert analysis
And journalists explain to us what it's really all about.
The last war's philosophers return from the woodwork
To expound their personal battle strategies
Using touch screen technology that reveals little
But a public square filled with rocks and molotov cocktails
That are thrown by an angry crowd demanding change.

Cries of freedom and liberty are met by the suggestion
That all these things take time:
Go home, leave the the war to those of us
Who know better, who are professionals;
Go to your room and quit yelling and screaming,
Everything will be fine, you just have to trust us,
We are only working in your own best interests;
You'll understand when you are older,
When you are more mature all of this
Will become quite clear to you.

Crumbly not gently Mubarak raged
Against the rising democratic fire
Born in general congress by the
Majority of the whole;

It is our right, the people's right,
Our sacred duty to throw off
All those who would abuse us,
And provide new guards for our future,
Our safety and our security;

And, if to this, we mutually pledge
Our lives, our fortunes, and our honor,
Liberty will surely win  out
If we be but willing to pay the price.

Ramesses falls, the new god rises,
Morning dawns across new Egypt:

Fireworks are going off,
Soldiers are being carried
On the shoulders of protestors,
Flags are waving everywhere;

We have our liberty,
Our moment of celebration,
The hardwork begins tomorrow
To see if we can keep it.