Monday, December 1, 2014

Three Sonnets

He was hit by a car in 2004
Bedridden, mind messed up on Vicadin
He’s told he’d get back on the bike again
Run & boogaloo like he did before.
Meanwhile, in the real world far away
The Bush Economy and internet
Are destroying jobs and raising the rent
And the doctor screwed up the surgery.
And I think of the warmth spun by the word
Around its center the dream called ourselves
Divine language and songs of mice and elves
Sweeter than the sounds which Keats never heard
Possibility more sweet than this prose
Trying to redeem the thorn with the rose


I am charmed by her jumpy unclear prose
Because she reminds us we’re important
That life’s a gift that shouldn’t be shortened
If we have any say. Her essay shows
How hearts are hungry for food that won’t come
But if we don’t go chasing waterfalls
And forgive ourselves for seeming so small
Then we could make a feast from all these crumbs
Despite the cops and injustice system—
The corporate media that fuels white fear
Pushing it with lies that turn a deaf ear
To Justice and to the constitution
As the rallying cry “Hands Up, Don’t Shoot”
Becomes the racist taunt: “Pants up, don’t loot.”

I grew up in a segregated land
But it seemed radio was different than
The reality. Whites and blacks listened
And mingled on airwaves like that song “Stand”
By Sly & The Family Stone. It’s not post
Racial but points to what America—
Despite the white lies of academia—
Could be, a culture that’s no idle boast.
Then radio turned as segregated
As college when six big corporations
Tightened playlists coz they owned more stations
While their CEOs played in their gated
Communities & ethnically cleansed down
Towns afraid of the spirit going 'round

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