Where Are We Flying?

Where are we going, on the wind, and winging
Through a rainbow sky, soaring high
Above the painful plains below, we're singing
A sacred song, only known to cranes,
And the wingless ones who watch us, yearn to join us,
To fly into the colored hope, while time remains...

George Carlin Senryu (Part 1)

Some see glass half empty
Some see glass Half full
I see glass too big...
- - - - - - - - - -
Working class "look for work"
Middle class "try to get a job"
Upper class "seek employment"
- - - - - - - - - -
Those who dance are
Considered insane by those
Who can't hear the music
- - - - - - - - - -
It's called the "American Dream"
Because you have to be asleep
To believe in it.
- - - - - - - - - -
How can crash course
And collision course
Have two different meanings?
- - - - - - - - - -
Why don't they
Have dessert
At breakfast?
- - - - - - - - - -
No one is ever completely alone,
When all is said and done,
You still have yourself.
- - - - - - - - - -
The difference between
The blues and the blahs
Is that you can't sing the blahs

A Visitor From Afar

A good friend, recently departed, 

Occasionally returns as a ghost

To places he ended and started...

 

A friendly spirit only I can see; 

And I find what I miss the most 

Is that he cannot talk to me... 

But through imagined sound 

I still sense his message clearly, 

Regardless of what's around, 

A comfort, yet I miss him dearly, 

My good friend, a tumbleweed spirit,

Rolling through space, he 

Sometimes visits, here or when, 

And his fleeting presence, 

Comforts me now, as it did then...

Photograph of & by Geoffrey M. Hamilton

 

Working Class Hero, By John Lennon

As soon as you're born they make you feel small,
By giving you no time instead of it all,
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

When they've tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years,
Then they expect you to pick a career,
When you can't really function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV,
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be.

There's room at the top they're telling you still,
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill,
If you want to be like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be...

If you want to be a hero well just follow me...

Koi Nobori

The carp must fly
Gloriously, as if swimming,
Through the May sky,
Showing color and strength
In the wind, rain, and noise
Of a renewed spring, streaming
Hope for vigorous boys.

Adventures In Janitoring (Part 1)

Adventures in Janitoring, Part One,
In which the hard working crew
At Omaha Technical High School
Had to face-up to the challenge
Of the "Phantom Pooper", being
A low form of humanity who
Found abnormal pleasures were
Available, at night, in the science
laboratory, Room 328, and forthwith
The cretin conducted an amorous act
With the anatomy dummy, and then
Perhaps feeling an extra need, left
A fecal calling card in the portable
Kiddie shitter, which, the next
morning was duly discovered
By the Physics Teacher, who did not
Take it well, and thereafter occurred
Something which is called "Things
Going High And Right", or the "Poop
Hitting The Fan" -- but in this case
The poop was literal... and so it was
A case of janitors to the rescue,
Drawing on the powers of the Roman
God Janus to clean the mini-Stygian
Mess, and beyond that to plan and
Carry-out a mission to eliminate
The repetition of any such
Outrages occurring in the future,
The brave custodians, armed with
Mop-spears and bucket shields,
Proceeded to stake-out the target
Hallway the following evening, waiting
For the evil hour of the Phantom
Pooper's return... and behold the
Moment did come, when a misfit-
Looking young man, displaying half
His underpants, showed up outside
Room 328 with nothing even close
To normal being part of his intention,
And that was when the noble
Janitors struck! --- "Hey Asshole!"
"Where the hell do you think you're
going, you Freak!" -- This was the
Battle cry of the rush out of the
Stake-out stations, and down the
Hallway, toward the anally-inclined
Loser, who went bug-eyed and bugged
Out, in the opposite direction from
The bravely charging custodians
Who mercilessly chased the dirt-bag
Excreter and doll-abuser out of Omaha
Technical High School, and into
The anonymous night, where he quickly
disappeared, Into the dirty urban
darkness, never to come back again...

(This is a based on a true event
which occurred in 1978.)

Five Times Four

Work proceeds apace,
With little variation,
I need an aspirin,
I need a vacation.
- - - - - - - - - -
Music may sooth
The savage soul,
But music with whisky
Will devour him whole.
- - - - - - - - - -
Plan and double-check
Thereby reduce the odds
Of mistakes -- the rest
Being up to the gods.
- - - - - - - - - -
What seemed so hard,
Before it was tried
And found to be easy,
Leaves me mystified.
- - - - - - - - - -
In the course of six short
Hours, she must assess
If he is worthy, and whether
To remove her dress.

Outside Main Gate, Kamiseya, 1982

Tense minutes tick by,
As I make a quick
Mathematical estimate,
Under a gorgeous morning sky,
Of my liver's
Processing capability,
All the while
Gargling cold milk,
As I've been advised to try,
Before starting the car
To drive through
The checkpoint and comply
With the breath test,
And thereafter get back
In time to sleep, at best
For three hours, maybe four,
Before starting another
Duty day, just like
The one before...

Morning Song

What can you possibly
Be singing about,
Sweet Nightingale,
Perched on a reed out
In a frosty vale,
What beautiful notes,
Your plaintive call
Caressing, and it floats
Like magic, cool and clear
To one who listens...
One lucky enough to be here
When the normally dismal swamp
Glows and glistens...

James Brown And My Poem

The shapes of the letters
Strung together, hiking
Across the desert white
Blankness, are a striking,
Stark, but lovely sight,
Because of how they join
Up, morphing into tight
Units of meaning and
Unsung sounds, which might
Reverberate, given the chance,
To insinuate meaning out
Of chaos, and call us to dance...

Commerce As Art

The sales pitch,
Elevated as art,
Aims for both the
Wallet and the heart,
A naked sell-job seeking
Cash profit and fame,
As it plays on T.V.
During the Super Bowl game.

A Bit Of Wisdom

A man who has a
Powerful wife,
Has nothing else
To fear in his life.

Winter Wonderland

Open the shades in the morning
And the white outside my home
Is so different and overwhelming,
A cold color-covering monochrome
Blanket, muffling noise into a hush,
A magical fleeting silence and
Beauty, before it turns to slush...

(Photo by Bryan and Sue Block)

After The Blackout

My eyes are open, I know,
But cannot see in the dark
Office, deep black, no glow
Of computer screens now
Because the power is gone
Completely, and I haven't a clue
When it will come back on
To recover and restore,
But I am not afraid or upset,
And sit calmly, thinking light
Thoughts, which turn into regret
That it took a loss of sight,
A shock to the system, to remind
Of the precious mundane moments
Unenjoyed, and left behind
To often, and the care and love
Of others, that are always there to find,
Easily, with the lights on above,
When things can, no, should be seen,
For what they are, for what they mean...

A Thin Dike

What's scary is that business
Or government, or the kind
Feelings of strangers, are all
That really come to mind
In realizing they barely keep
A fragile order within chaos,
Allowing us some peace and sleep.

Can't Help Themselves

Politicians, pretending to
Lead us to what's good & right,
But divided into parties,
They only shout and fight,
Like scorpions they cannot
Offer comfort, hope as we might...

Sans Employment

A gift of free time,
So unusual, delicious,
After quitting her job.

There's No Place Like...

Erect and vertical in a rural setting,
Stands the monolith, full of practical
Applications, but still I'm betting
It could have served a religious purpose
Back in the days of the ape-men, letting
In the hint of an idea that there was more
Than the normal chaos and indistinct lines
And jagged curves that nature had in store
For the homonids, who upon seeing the tall
Free-standing tower, silver and smooth,
Mammal-made, would exclaim: "it will never fall"