Deep in the forest, critters convene,
decked out in red-white-blue
like a woodland parade gone wild.
Sam the squirrel arrives first
waving a tiny flag
and saluting every oak tree in sight.
The raccoons show up next sporting star-spangled bandanas,
looking suspiciously patriotic
for creatures who steal snacks.
Owls hoot the national anthem
slightly off-key,
but with tremendous heart.
When the fireworks begin, the whole forest gasps~
bursts of color bloom above the treetops
like sky-flowers of freedom.
All the creatures whisper a soft, patriotic chorus:
“God bless America…
and please pass the picnic leftovers.”
I was an urban maverick
And bicycles met many needs.
More than the Pope is Catholic
I cleaved to my old one--speed steeds.
Over goatheads, glass, even nails
My bike took me every day.
Up ev'ry street and over trails
Holding a wheelie, like ballet.
My bike was my way and my wind,
My great escape to adventures.
Upright or wipeouts, elbows skinned,
Faceplants that could have meant dentures.
I rode and I rode ev'ry road.
I raced and O'r dropoffs I went.
So many bikes, had to be towed
As frames and forks I broke or bent.
I followed guys like Bob Hannah
Motocross heros in leathers
Who started out in bandanas
And flew as if they had feathers.
Oh those were my days of glory
When I rode so wild and free.
My bikes and I told the story
Of me and my one-speed steeds.
.
Barbie on her knees, over the toilet.
Ken pulls back her hair.
Skipper and Midge share love and support.
Barbie went on to wear wigs and bandanas,
her hair in the sink, sagging marshmallow breasts.
Big days were sitting in a cancer circle
waiting for coffee and cookies to pass.
Barbie hasn’t seen the light for days,
her pink cadillac out of gas.
10/20/2020
I used to study faces.
Now I gaze at masks and bandanas.
Can't tell if they're beautiful or plain
cloak the sane or madmen.
Since this new age plague began...
gaits seem to have a bit more verve.
Perhaps more panic and purpose...
My, how things have changed.
In such a short time we're all starting to look
like old-school crips and bloods
and Muslim women...
The jokes are all on us.
There's an uneasy feeling
must be the buds of oppression... settling in.
Five yellow stars dipped in red.
Sprouting deep in the gut
dark black buds so very relentless.
What will the summer heat bring?
Even less freedom, more chains.
The death of millions via an invisible assassin.
There are so many masks and masks of death and dirt-cheap gas.
ALONG FOR THE RIDE
We race through streams of mud, looking like bank bandits,
our bandanas fastened around mouth and nose. Open-air
vehicles, look like skeletons, and the roar of its engine leaves
no room for conversation. But I exult in each bump, thinking
the best splash is this one, no this one, not even close. My
mind on the excitement and joy my husband feels, his
adventurous heart stirs mine. Not always so, but he has
elevated me - I hold his hand on mountain peaks.
One first ride — the banana boat, yellow and with
mischievous eyes, carrying youthful passengers
with brunette and blond innocence. They ask
the guides if there are any sharks. They chuckle
saying, “Of course! We are in open ocean.”
So our ride begins, and we bounce, spin, faster
and faster until they purposely throw us out
of the boat, and I no Spring chicken. My body
contorts and I’m afraid I might have hurt my back.
I glare at my husband — the kill shot.
Twice more our guides toss us out. By the third time
I’m resigned to the fact and have gotten over my terror.
And you see, I never gave the sharks a thought.
6/4/2019
Refuse to hang the innocent
While your gang acquits the guilty
In a tooth for a tooth pronouncement
You state in collusion with the mighty.
Accuse with the ruse in your news dissidents
Whipped into submission
To the coercion of incidents
Incorporated into a dictatorial diction.
Cruise out of control
With your weapons of avid annihilation
Primed to wiped out any pesky patrol
That surveys the sadness and sickness in your jubilation.
Freeze the breeze trees in infancy
Stunted when you hunt down their xylem
In a show of tethered truancy
Boosted by a nihilist anthem.
Use distorted dialogues
Conducted at cross purposes
In muted prologues and monologues
With enfeebled and emaciated faces bereft of choices.
Save knaves and staves
Slaves struggle to free from the tyranny
Perpetrated in war veteran graves
To whom you dished out a cashless cacophony.
Wave flaccid flags flown at half mast
As conflict casualties mount
When baskets of mourning cast
A dark pall on leadership lists of skills to discount.
Despair not. Repair the flare
No longer impotent, no longer content
As venom fangs bare
Death diadems an bother bandanas for the discontent.
“THE COLOR OF MY HEART’S BLOOD”
somewhere over the rainbow
skies are blue.
since you’ve been gone
the color of a forgotten
love stays inside the lines
and it isn’t blue.
I’ll run my fingers through
your hair again,
we will laugh again,
we will cry again,
we will love again.
…but until that day,
bandanas will tighten on arms,
alcohol will alter love,
dirty kittens will consume
dirty kittens,
murderers who murder everything
we are, will continue to murder us,
all while you continue to
love me with no love at all.
By: Chicano Eddie
10-3-2016
Flower Bomb
The smell
of Gunpowder fills the air
with an aroma
Unbearable.
Faces are covered with t-shirts and bandanas,
objects are thrown
and windshields are smashed.
Only one is willing
to forgo violence.
Instead of a rock,
or an empty glass bottle,
a bundle of flowers is clenched
in his hand:
Ready, aim,
Fire.
When Scorpions Come Out
Scorpions chase me in my head
Across continents, through rain forests black
Large and small bodies, brown appendages attack
Wear red bandanas around their necks for luck
They carry knives, pop tunes and sing
Like Madonna and dance like Brittany Spears
That scares me half to death
Scorpions have USA etched on their heads
It is not the poisoned stingers that frighten me
But the singing and dancing and perhaps their bite
Red bandanas are not my favorite either
When scorpions come out at night
Sitting in a cave
on a hot dirty day
an outlaw hide away.
They laughed and carried on
about the bounty they taken away.
Watching the horizon so carefully
as to be not taken away.
Polishing
and loading
they preparing
for another raiding.
Jumping on their steeds
and riding ahead
to some town down the road.
Bandanas over their face as they arrived
guns a blazing loud.
They take their plunder
and ride away
back to their hideaway.
On their heels they hear
horses coming hard.
The law men
and posse in tow
galloping hard to their dismay
Pistol's firing loud
as they surround.
One down the two
as the guns a blaze.
And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!
When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger
Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact
They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood
Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”
Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings
Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited
They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads
Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies
…
And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?
When will the flinty sheep
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began
Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands
©Drake J. Eszes
Aunty, this cancer is just as stubborn as you are.
But I won’t let you go.
I’m gonna pull these
Dark blue sheets
Off your dormant dreams.
I’m gonna trap your worries
In little glass jars, aunty,
And let them light up the room
Like fireflies.
I’ll use up all my savings
To get you colored bandanas
To cover that big stubborn head of yours
Aunty, I love you
I’ll sing you country songs
Put a smile on that beautiful face of yours
Dress up for a tea party in your bed
Kiss you without that wig
Covering your head
Maybe it’s because we share
The same warm brown eyes
But aunty, I won’t let you go.
I’ve got a paper bag with me
Incase you get sick again
But don’t you dare wear it on your head
‘cause this cancer isn’t who you are.
You hear that aunty?
Don’t you cry.
I love you.
there was a girl from Havana
her name was Ms. Quintana
she liked watching men from her cabana
scatily dressed in only bandanas
all those young men in their Speedos
put a rise in her labido
those hot guys made her crazy
then everything just got hazy
when she stood up and almost fainted
a hansome young man got acquainted
as he reached out to catch her fall
she know he was the best one of all
THEIR OUT IN THE STREETS SHOOTING GUNS LIKE THEIR JESSE JAMES
BULLETS FLYING EVERYWHERE HITTING DIFFERENT PLACES
LITTLE CHILDREN RUNNING SQURRY SCARED OUT THEIR MIND
PARENTS RUNNING AFTER THEM TRYING TO PROTECT THEM
GANG HAVE TAKEN OVER OUR NEIGHBORHOODS
AND CORRUPTED OUR MINDS
COLORS FLAGS BANDANAS ALL FROM VARIOUS TIMES
THROW YOUR SIGN UP AND CLAIM YOUR HOOD
BUT WHAT IF YOUR JUST PASSING THROUGH
THEY SAY TO DIAL"911"BUT THE POLICE NEVER COME
EVERY MAN FOR HIS OWN LEAVING YOU AS NUMBER ONE
STAY AWAY FROM THE WINDOW DONT LOOK IN THE PEEPHOLE
ALWAYS DOUBLE LOCK YOUR DOORS NEVER SAY YOUR ALONE
WHY SHOULD WE HAVE TO LIVE THIS WAY
WHEB\N OUR COUNTRYS SUSPOSED TO BE FREE
YOU AND ME ARE BROYHERS AND SISTERS
YET WE KILL FOR A PLACE TO BREATHE
A LITTLE BOY SHOT IN THE EYE
PLAYING CARS WITH HIS BROTHERS
ANOTHER MOTHER SAYING GOODBYE
TO HER ONLY DAUGHTER
WE HEAR IT ON THE NEWS ONE NIGHT BY TOMORROW ITS FORGOTTEN
GUESS IT REALLY MATTERS IF YOUR BLACK OR WHITE
THEY SET THE CHURCH ON FIRE IN THE MIDDLE OF HARLEM
IT SHOOK THE NEIGHBORHOOD BUT DIDNT PHASE THE GOVRENOR
YET ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE A CHURCH WAS VANDALIZED
AND THEY STARTED MARTIAL LAW
GO FIGURE!!!!!!!!!
The beautiful ones -in bandanas and green shirts
tucked hair behind ears in chestnut to hide
eye's blue as skies on a spring innuendo
back lit by southern suns yet on the rise
(~An artist could sketch you in pure understanding
just as expressions are blown to the wind
and you would compose in a brilliance as music
the symphony lines drawn as faces contain~)
The beautiful ones- in humor and valor
self induced photo on the verge of a smile
enters us in at the edge of the moment
and asks us to stay and compose for a while.
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