The Promised Land
If give and take offers the space
to argue well or rest his case,
give a brother the firsthand place
at discourse, until face to face,
he pleads deference is due race,
in lieu of ideas to trace.
To those able craftsmen whose vocation is the news,
one dissent from your monetarily, influenced views:
the protections of first amendment rights, you seduce!
We, the public, vested in these rights to know, refuse
you the right to trample privacy, in blind abuse
of its equal guarantees. Need we laws to induce
that the media inform us, yet no man abuse?
Two sartorial senators propose,
"A man is known by other than his clothes!"
Pursue them through the cul de sac they chose,
cornered there, poorer logic they disclose.
When the whole world stinks, thoughtful in the pose,
New Jersey's two stuffed shirts will hold their nose.
A sage-less tome in Sanskrit written,
dead the words no longer there,
dead the dreams of ancients, smitten
dead the daring to passion share,
dead the dust of the graves, unbidden
a page-less poem of the gods unfair.
The tryst we missed
when our lips kissed,
oh, Lettie, how did we sire this lot?
Eve's adder hissed!
Be these Guinevere de Lancelot?
Pill time and pulchritude,
diminished pillow talk...
some savoir faire for the prude
may metamorphose the walk,
Viagra, and her dude
youthful ardor will mock.
Most are not now nor shall they be,
enrobed like each of them.
Self-made garments, the blind can see,
long sleeves, large waists, no hem,
designed for pols who face TV,
review, re-spew their phlegm.
When wretches wish for riches,
expect failure to be owned;
but if life's doleful snitches
had plumbed their history's niches,
we'd find old horrors not atoned.
Just a high-stakes game of chess,
the board, a maze in progress,
movements destined, more or less,
appear only the simple guess?
Yet, soul's immortal congress
derives from choices to stress
actions, misdeeds to redress,
and fools may their past confess?
It's hard to recapture innocence
once she finds the door,
racing hard, lusting experience,
dying on its floor;
unblemished beauty's final breath,
blindly embracing deceitful death,
she, the child at play.
If the world's wise to the ladies' surprise
should one day arrange their extinction,
then passion dies bereaving the eyes,
for beauty gives wisdom its distinction.
A nation of laws, so what's the big deal,
do what you please, lie, cheat and steal,
perjure an oath, throw honor to the wind,
proclaim, "I'm not Guilty of sin"?
your name is cynicism freeing,
spice of life, experience far seeing,
a song of the soul to its well-being,
hope for the promised land's, believing.
copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press,
all rights reserved
Poems From The Goober Tree
Now you're linked..
[This message has been edited by Nan (edited 09-15-99).]
[This message has been edited by H. Arlequin (edited 09-15-99).]