Bunny Love (a Bop)

 

Bunny Love

(A Bop)

 

A hawk stares down on me

from high above, I see a dove.

Naïve bunny that I am

I bop along sunny bunny trail

grass beaten down just enough

to show me where to go.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

 

Can I love this creation?

Does it matter if I swing and miss?

Does it matter if I fall down flat?

The team depends on me.

My ancestors and descendants

stare down from the stands.

It’s hard to tell if the rain I feel

is cheering, booing or just indifferent chatting.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

 

I need to figure out what to do

but there is nothing to figure out.

I need to be in this moment

as if the stands aren’t there

as if everything and nothing are the same

as if the answer is a little further down this bunny trail.

 

Bunny love is funny love

but also is a boxing glove.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Recipe For Sanity (Hour 2)

Recipe For Sanity

 

This cookbook won’t put up with none of your self-centered archaic antics.

It’s recipes have such a tang, that you will know nothing exists but here and now.

 

After all, haven’t you spent enough time doing what was expected?

Why not add a spoonful of cayenne even though you don’t like heat.

 

Everything would be boring if it all worked out exactly as planned.

So why not stand on the edge of a cliff and twirl as fast as you can – eyes closed – and then take a step forward.

 

Well – you’re still here – so I guess it worked out.

 

Your reward is to be Michael Jordan about to shoot the biggest shot of your career.

Millions are watching. You are in the ocean. Waves lapping at your knees. All you have to do is throw this big ol’ basketball and hit the water that is all around you. Can’t miss.

 

But what if a hurricane blows into your face just as you let go and blows that ball onto the shore so you lose the game. Dejectedly walk away amidst a medley of boos that drift into the marrow of your being.

 

Can you realize that there are things bigger than you?

 

Can you accept that everything doesn’t work out the way you planned?

 

Well… if you can then you are ready to bake this cake.

 

It will only taste right if it is infused with love.

This love is not meant to make you feel good about yourself.

 

This love is a form of art nonexistent until right now.

That’s right…something new.

 

And you are not creating it.

It created you.

Michelle

 

 

Michelle

 

she didn’t know that

she would feel this way

woken woman

didn’t expect that

the white house

would be white washed

as if she wasn’t there

 

antiseptically wiped away

by white privilege

while a virus

survives

wipes

less than

deep rooted

resentment

breeding deep inside.

 

a heart frozen

in hate

can’t thaw

until the drive

to win at the cost

of someone else’s

loss

 

is buried deep

in a history that

doesn’t understand

we were born to learn

lessons that prism white

into a rainbow of colors

 

while Michelle bides

her time until we see

that black and white

blend into who we can be

 

Declaration of Independence Erased

Poem Twelve

Declaration of Independence erased

 

Self-evident men create

their Creator and Happiness.

 

Men come destructive.

 

Government should be changed

for light and transient causes.

 

Mankind’s evils are sufferable.

Train abuses in a design to reduce right.

 

Throw future security to the present King of Great Britain.

Usurp the establishment of these States

to prove wholesome pubic good.

 

Representation to tyrants only.

Bodies place uncomfortable depositories with manly firmness.

 

Original below…

 

Declaration of Independence (in part)

 

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Poem Eleven

 

Dear Harvey, Who’s about to be Born

 

Make sure you’re born on May 8.

Do not rush things and come out the day before.

Repeat: NOT THE DAY BEFORE!!!

That’s a good little boy…just cozy in and relax.

 

May 8 is a great day…three years after the Nazi’s surrendered to end the war.

The week the state of Israel will be formed – spurred on by an article in The Nation on May 8.

 

You’ve been dodging genetic bullets for a long time.

Great grandfather murdered in a Pogrom.

Grandfather escaping the Czar, alone as a teen.

Parents facing death and certainly no you if hitler had won and taken over America.

 

So just cozy in and surf that wave that rolls you out on May 8th , child of mother May.

Because May 7 is a Vietnam Draft Lottery death warrant…as is the tenth and eleventh!

 

If you are born any of those days you will definitely get drafted, way off in 1969.

So just relax and enjoy floating the pond.

 

Your ancestors have been through enough war.

You need to grow up in Philly and randomly go to Woodstock.

Then join a hippie commune to give you the idea of hitchin’ out west.

So you can leave on that summer vacation and never come back.

Rather than have to worry about that dirty ol’ Draft.

 

So chill out Harvey…it’s more important than you know!

Just chill…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Moonbeam Coffee

 

 

Hour Ten

 

Moonbeam Coffee

 

Moonbeam Coffee

they call it.

 

You know who I’m talkin’ bout,

them damn hippies who ruined everything.

 

One of these foggy days they might

end up with a pair of cement shoes

taking one long step off the end of the dock,

if ya get my gist.

 

I rattled ‘round Nam

boots, canteen, army greens

dreamed of comin’ back to these

cedars and firs, had to

put my life on a shelf.

 

Then ol’ lazy Sullivan cross the street

moved down to the coast, hell if he ever served.

Now his kids come back and make

his barn the Moonbeam Roastatarium.

 

So what if I grew some weed

in my dad’s ol’ barn.

I paid my dues and guy’s

gotta get by somehow.

 

Now them damn kids are shinin’ a light on me,

right across the street.

 

So just hush up when I give them

a reason to wish they’d stayed in that hippie town

they call the City of Subdued Excitement

or some damn thing.

 

I’ll give em’ something to get excited about.

 

 

 

 

 

Half Magic

 

Hour Nine

 

Half Magic

 

 

My life has been a carrot, erupting though dirt.

I first was a sprig of green, blown by wind.

 

Then my crown pushed up to reveal

a much bigger me, coated in dirt

that knew I was part of a field

other carrots all around, not alone.

 

Sun and rain fed me, made me strong.

I was self-sustaining and certain.

 

No one told me about rabbits

or farmers with hoes.

 

…and now this happy story turns to

one of woe.

 

 

 

Good Boy

 

 

Hour 8

 

Good Boy

(A Sevenling)

 

 

 

 

I was a good east coast boy

with minimal indiscretions

until senior year in high school.

 

I still stayed with the flock

until Woodstock and a hippie commune

transposed me into a bonafide fledgling…

 

The West a typhoon, I landed in Neverland.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Resurrection

 

Hour 7

Resurrection

 

 

The landscape’s bleak if you see it that way. Guess that’s why everyone’s leavin’. Nah, it’s mostly cause there ain’t no jobs and I guess the kids just want somethin’ else.

 

I hear Walmart’s gonna put in a new store over by the ol’ Junction Store. It’ll probably put them outta business but you know Randall and Sarabeth lost Tim over in Afghanistan and Jayme turned out to have light feet and they lost track of him in San Francisco I think. So there ain’t no one to keep it goin’ and they’ve had enough I think.

 

I used to dream of getting’ out. Never thought I’d come back after Nam. But ya know that big ol’ world wasn’t that kind to me and when my folks couldn’t run the farm I hadda do something. Well here I am, just like them – livin’ on nuthin.

 

The truck’s beat to crap and the ol’ Chev’s on life support – just like me I guess. An ol’ codger who ain’t learned nuthin, ‘cept maybe I’d give you some advice. Haul your ass outta here, get yourself an education…and make sure whatever you do…it’s different.

 

 

 

 

Small

 

Hour 6

Small

 

My mind is shut

small

only has so much room

can’t squeeze in

even a tiny bit more.

Don’t want to.

 

I was born this way.

grew up baling hay,

don’t want nothin else.

 

Why would I?

I’m happy.

 

Don’t have to think about stuff

like you crazy liberal do nuthins

who wanna give this country away.

 

I don’t want to change nuthin?

 

It’s always been this way

so why change it now.

 

Mamma and Papa brought me up right.

I know what’s wrong and right.

I can tell left from right.

Cross me and you’ll start a fight.

 

Yeah…you got those big plans

and big ideas…

Bet you wouldn’t last a week

out in the wild.

 

Be my guest…

try it sometime.

I’ll dig the hole to bury you in, no charge.

You deserve it.