Thursday, December 31, 2015

In Memoriam 2015: BB King


I rode bulls and water-skied with Lightning Hopkins
(his women wore pistols around their waists).
I sang “Purple Rain” in an empty bar
beneath the flash of blue and red lights.
I’ve bent notes on a six string guitar.
I’ve made the end of a bottleneck cry.
I’ve done time in the caverns of my mind.
I’ve faced the throne of death
and looked it in the eye.
Long ago, I launched a kite into the sky.
It was held up by a big wind and tugged at my hand.
It ran out of string and I watched it go.
He heard the wail of a train
He heard the sound of the rain.
He heard his mother cry:
“Blues Boy, why do you roam
so far from your home?”
With dust in his eyes,
he looked up at the sky:
“I can tell you only this.
I’ll find my way to Heaven.
I’ll build a bridge to bliss.”
One day, illness and age
carried him away.
With sleep in his eyes,
he looked up at the sky:
“I can tell you only this.
I’ll find my way to Heaven.
I’ll build a bridge to bliss.”
.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

The Lucky Ones





Someone saw a ghost sitting on the shore 
He was one of the lucky ones, he survived
He was one of the lucky ones when so many have died
He was one of the lucky ones, he survived

They are our mothers and fathers 
They are our sons and daughters
So many have died
The bombs fall; the rockets fly

We hear the children cry
Dressed in rags, they are the lucky ones, they survived
They are the lucky ones when so many have died
They are our sons and daughters

Someone saw a ghost sitting on the shore
She was one of the lucky ones, she survived
She was one of the lucky ones when so many died
She was one of the lucky ones, she survived

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Refugees (The Nativity)

Whole families walked across the desert.
Their load was light; there was nothing left to carry.
They turned their backs on war.

The sky was full of stars.
Now on rafts, they make the long haul
into the darkness.

The waves are black at night with no moon.
Behind them, a pregnant woman
makes her way across the hills to Bethlehem.

He face is luminous.
She must hurry. Her baby is coming.
The world is waiting for the infant to be born


Monday, December 7, 2015

They Are Invisible


They are invisible
but we sense when they are close.
They want to help us.
The speak softly.
They murmur, trying not startle us,
trying not to wake us
late at night.
Their words are often hard to recall.
If we remember anything,
it is all quite fragmentary, elusive,
intangible.
We long to know the secret
they whisper to us in our dreams;
that secret that we seemingly keep
even from ourselves.
That one thing
that will ultimately
set us free.