Written November 19, 2015
Paint it with Tom and Tiny Tim
Then have thanksgiving dinner with your aunt Lisa and your crazy uncle Jim
Here I am
Uncle Sam I am
Sitting on a white picket, barbed wire fence
Spent two stints in the army
With my aunt's uncle's great nephew
Guess that makes him my cousin
See we don't have much communication
Expatriation leads the nation
So I listen to a one of a kind hipster radio station
That sounds just like the rest
Let's have some fun and paint it red white and blue
Hell, let's paint a picture of me and you
Painting a picture of you and me
Sitting on a dock overlooking the great blue sea
You see, life isn't what you wanted it to be
'Cause in the end
It's just a picture of a picture of you and me
So go back to your story and paint it black and white
Paint it with Tom and Tiny Tim
Then go to the next thanksgiving dinner with your dead aunt Lisa and your now sane uncle Jim
Here I am
Uncle Sam I am
Sitting on a white picket, barbed wire fence
Categories:
expatriation, absence, angst, emotions, life,
Form: Free verse
I.
“A hiatus, not a parting.”
I waited until stones gathered
on the mothy carpet of the
living room. Then I stopped,
like mothers and fathers,
the un-watered
Delphiniums window-side.
II.
Laid a rusted finger on
the lip, the dredged ice,
Alaskan wind, a single
prayer before expatriation and
a loaf of pennies.
You don’t know what
opportune means (question mark)
III.
A thousand chests,
the ribs crumbling;
it’s a melody, a syncopation, some
Eucharist pre-hymnal tonal exercise.
We all waited for false angels,
the permanence of grief.
Categories:
expatriation, absence, angel, culture, emotions,
Form: Imagism
America should have a society of peace,
Of handsome peace,
And a land of exuberant compassion
Where the dusk
Is a breast pocket handkerchief
Of ebony and yellow,
And not this land that is death’s grin.
America should have a land of opportunity,
Of infinite opportunities
Accompanied with sound wages
Prolific as Father Time,
And not this land where blotted bones reside
Oh, America should have a land of respect,
Of love and peace and compassion and honor,
And not this land where respect is sin.
Hark! Sweet expatriation
Hark! Sweet expatriation
Categories:
expatriation, life, sweet, sweet,
Form: Verse