Everyone "makes history" but few are remembered...
Those books talkin’ history
Won’t give much account.
It’s them what’s got names,
We know all about.
They be bettin’ our future
Like a day at the track
Some win and some loose
That’s a matter of fact;
Though not much be told
Of them who hangs on.
Can’t say as I blame ‘em
Writin’ history is tough
Besides, all those stories
Would fill the books up.
Those folks comin’ after,
Our frontiers to tame,
You’ll find nary an entry,
Not even a name.
So little is known
About them who hangs on.
They work with their hands,
Rise up from the ooze,
Hope is their future,
Sweat is their dues.
Never seen on the front page,
Or the six o’clock news.
Their lives go unnoticed,
Yet, this much is true :
And, my friend, unknown to most, is the "hand ons" of poetry's bent, knowing that that which keeps the average person going was never meant to be just food, roof, clothing and family. There's that much less addresses part: the thinking and contemplating capacity everyone is hardwired to exercise, though few got there. Must easier to to get drunk or shoot up, eh?
A further collection of poems, many from years in the Middle East, but also the California San Francisco and Central Coast areas (Santa Cruz, Carmel, Big Sur, Berkeley, etc.).
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