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Don't you think that this title is darkly divine?
But, of course, there will have to be weirdness that’s funny,
Though my nightmares are many and have complex arcs
There’s some risk here I might have to work for my money!
Nightmare 1. To Wake Up Black
Can there be a fate worse than the skin of a black?
Can you show me a white man who seeks this advantage?
“Well, my guess is they wash their hands?” sycophants say,
For the “Mark of Cain” (1) stains them as racists teach adage.
Is it possible Donald is jealous of blacks?
Can’t you feel Donald’s pain as white Pillsbury “Dough” Boy?(2)
His clear “victim” persona when “tough guy” is sought?
The abused (3) cannot love when not losing is soul’s joy.
Poet’s Notes on Nightmare 1.
(1) White racists who call themselves Christians have long taught their children that since Cain killed his brother, all blacks are the children of mankind’s first murderer. Blacks have been cursed by God and are therefore to be considered subhuman.
Christ says that if you even think about murdering someone, you are already guilty of the crime in God’s eyes. Might the Mark of Cain, perhaps, be that you were born on this planet? God knows the “blackness” of your heart and still sent Christ to die for your sins.
(2) A reference to a monster in the movie "Ghost Busters."
(3) It’s said Donald Trump’s father had to rescue him several times from total bankruptcy, poor dad! Given Donald’s apparent contempt for the poor and needy, it is easy to imagine that his father also held him in contempt, poor kid! The lesson he learned: “If I don’t need anyone I have nothing to lose! (No one can hurt me!)” The reality seems to be, however, that there are few people in the world more thin skinned than Donald Trump!
Nightmare 2. To Wake Up Poor
The idea the wealthy wake up destitute
Seems improbable nightmare. Why should the rich worry?
The “real” wealth more in habits and friendship than gold,
Who can steal worth of practice or force trust to hurry?
But the ones never taught keys to wealth haunt my dreams,
For all poverty tends to endanger soul’s passage,
To delay satisfaction and set aside gain
That might bridge future need, is prosperity’s message.
Nightmare 3. To Wake Up a Woman
After three wives, my sister and mom, (I feel faint),
There is so much about me that nobody knows yet,
With no kids of my own, my best insights suspect...
Though I fear inner voice, something less is no sonnet.
I would have to turn off burning need to be right,
And perhaps open heart to adopting a daughter,
There’s no way that I think I would want to give birth,
Why give birth to a child, men and Trump will just slaughter.
Nightmare 4. To Wake Up a Republican
OMG! Can it be I’m home safe in my bed?
This bad boy was “togetherness” way past my limit!
Always game, Donald Trump staked his claim! (“It’s my fame!”)
But he wisely picked hall with a “locker room” climate!
Young and old, tall and short, no dissent to report,
Queers (NOT GAY!), making hay, toes lined up, how they play! While
Trumps homogenized, GMO geese took the stage...
“Heil!” “Big Boy!” razzmatazz, “Yes!” “Big Hands!” razzmatazz, “Heil!”
Nightmare 5. To Wake Up Tone Deaf
You may laugh but to me this one’s scary as Hell!
It’s a dark deprivation, akin to not seeing!
You can hear, but the rainbows of color in sound
Are all missing, all tones are just grey shades of being.
As a child I could hear “Middle C” in my head
(Some name notes the way you call Rose red, pink, or yellow),
All men gifted with “Relative Pitch” carry tunes,
As can “Absolute Pitch” man, incredible fellow.
How could music be treasured if all tones were grey,
Could the beauty that’s poetry dance with flame absent?
Lord, I weep for the folk who can’t see with their ears,
Let me die if You must, but please spare me that torment.
To my heart each new note has the face of a child,
And these kids make the world quite enormously brighter,
Please you Lord, let me be, always your “Middle C!”
Never lost in a crowd, may I always be fighter.
Nightmare 6. To Wake Up With a “Big Head!”
Not much worse in the world than a man with “big head,”
To be one that’s so dumb he thinks his poop’s important,
No slight ever so small his foot can’t find his mouth,
Get too close and you’ll feel like you need disinfectant.
Late night comedy writers can lay down their pens,
Here’s a man who thinks he makes the sun rise each morning,
Feckless bully who can’t keep his pants or lips zipped,
Even Statue of Liberty bows head in mourning.
Nightmare 7. To Not Be A Christian
It’s not even your choice when the rubber meets road,
Many claim to be Christian while secretly seething,
They confuse “faith” with saying that “Christ is my Lord.”
Although words can be empty, changed hearts show re-birthing.
Rather let me be “Queer” one the “pious” reject!
It is Grace and not choice that leads all to the Father
The flock’s weeping is useless unless they repent,
Any vote cast for Trump just mob living in anger.
Help me lift up my brother and hate just his sin,
Won’t You free me to doubt Lord but teach me to question,
“Living faith” simply dead in those certain they know,
And let Grace and not judgement feed my reinvention.
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