"Dreams do this, Catcher"
mystery in the heart
misleads the kiss
the kiss bleeds
like a somersault
backwards
into the comfort
of the dream
we find hidden notes
written in the music
we miss the heart’s
true translation
we turn the page
we get down
on our knees
too late the prayers
are taken in the plate
alms waiving
backstop
out of the park
the soft fall
shot hard
left field
right field
catcher
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
In the Land of Opportunity
Entitlement reared her pretty head
Without a backstop to plain bad luck
Social Security's safety net was spread
Next came the 'War on Poverty'
Food Stamps and ADC
It might have staved off hunger for a bit
But dependency was galvanized, and (yes), obesity
Today there is unprecedented help
for anyone who will only yelp
Free computer classes, GED, ESL too
Guaranteed Job Training programs in high schools
and community colleges, Yahoo!
Yet the percentage of those working has gone down
and dropping most free classes reigns supreme
Seems that 'giving away the farm'
won't bring back the American Dream
It's only one man's unscientific perception ~
but 'teaching a man to fish' still passes inspection
__________________________________________________________
ADC = Aid to Dependent Children
GED = General Education Diploma (Equivalent to High School Diploma)
ESL = English as a Second Language (for immigrants and their children)
With children
~ Patience ~
Love’s backstop
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XIX
IF you pull a long plucky face
Even when I-Ee-You let you have your way
Placed no impediment for the divorce
Let you keep key to backstop exit doorway
You yet keep pulling that long stubborn face
Yes you want out when I want you to stay
House in utter disorder your comeuppance
Mary Queen of Scots no tough Liz will obey
If you keep pulling that long war-weary face
What must I do or say your fears to allay
The fault lies squarely on Henry the VIII's mace
Even Papal Borgias did male heirs coolly lay
Yet you keep pulling that long staunch face
Again and again for you Excommunication I delay
You want both : eat cake while pulling a long face
Even Luther would think twice such customs waylay
So if you must pull a long navel face
Build yourself a Wall right round : call it Isles of May
Expel your Blacks and Asians born with jus soli grace
Turn Old Vic plays into Tower Terror bloody display
© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 17, 2019
Dan's on the mezzanine
asking where the mayor lives
I'm on the dole line,
wondrin bout conservatives
The man with the leg cramps
boot camps wheel clamps
says they cut his food stamps.
Look out son,
he’s packin a gun:
God knows why
Pat Boone, full moon
someone's gonna die soon.
Del's on welfare,
Donald Trump is real pissed:
give 'em all health care?
What are we? Socialists?
Thinks I'm Harry Lime:
street crime, sub-prime,
now you're working part-time.
Look out boy,
you're only a goy:
don't revere teachers,
don't obey no preachers.
Jen's on Fox News
talkin bout the bank crash
wanna get some real views?
What about the trailer trash?
Read about Goldilocks
Botox bobbysocks
modelled by Amanda Knox.
Look out, Joe,
you're spoiling the show.
Don't watch features,
don't dance in the bleachers.
Get hired, get fired,
get rich, get stitched,
get tired, get wired,
get hitched, get ditched.
They got the cops at backstop,
Al Gore keeping score
'tween the Poors
and Dirt-Poors,
'tween the Haves
and Have-Mores.
John Wayne's vanished.
He's off to learn Spanish.
Out to the bleacher
We were drawn
By sun burning down,
Melting stubborn
White snow mounds,
While the girls
Still with wintry-pale legs
Trotted the bases
Or lowered to grateful grass
In the broad outfield
And stretched calves out
With spread lean thighs
We somehow knew
Would one day open
That way for love,
So we bee-essed
About doing it,
How much, which one,
Braggadocious banter
Of the uninitiated;
And some cute face
Buried in the shade
Of her batting helmet
From time to time
Would smile through
Wire backstop diamonds
At us, bat shouldered
And gold block letters
Denoting “West High”
Adhering to the contours
Of her nascent bust
While darkness stained
Cloth at shaved armpit
And atop pert fanny;
Maybe, we hoped,
One or a few
Would mount the ladder
Of wooden bleacher
Up to us after practice
And offer thanks that we
Shagged foul balls
By letting us inhale
That perfume-sweat-red clay melange
Only a girl can attain,
Fragrance that lingered with a guy
Late at night
In a desolate bed
During the sublime chaos
Of his spring of life.
Thru all the things that could be, and all the things that have been,
You, my son, have led your life… as if living it were a sin.
You’ve danced in all the confusion, the fallout, and the rain…
As we did try to join with you, to direct you to a life you could obtain.
Life is not an endless party, where the music will simply never stop,
And we can’t forever continue to be your ultimate, supportive, backstop.
The merry go round that’s circling will have to eventually stop and let you off.
And I know the world, for you, will be… at its best… immensely very tough.
So forget about the parties and set some long-term goals you can hold to…
Or when you’re old and all alone, no one will want anything to do with you.
They will have their families, their vacations, retirements, and their friends…
And if you don’t stop playing… you’ll have nothing in the end.
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