street dancing
jester poets
bled all the sidewalks
clean
for all those who dared
to see what it all
could mean
inside
tear stains
carved their walls
where they carried the graves
the souls of children
dying dead
lined as crosses
crowding large wooden
doors
holding what prayers
within that church of
golden idols
and all its whispers
promises
silence
all these years
the tears
just silence
so now
where are all of my country’s
street dancers
as once again
those golden idols are lining
the walls of our churches
and all their whispers
promises
graves
where are the angels
do they still bleed
their tears
for us?
Ah, my lost jester poets
Where have you fallen…
Who is on the streets dancing across our country in their street theater teaching. In sacrificing years of their lives to stand against all the greed in our country, now! Yes there is no draft but we're killing our children on our borders on on our streets. We're killing more the souls of children by our non christian ways. With our excessive rents, how many children go hungry or go homeless. Once again, as I lived through these political realities in the 60's. And danced to teach into the 80's.
I find this a bit confusing. The world is not lost for children. Our population is at the bursting point of no return from so many children growing to adulthood and having more children. As for the lost jester poet, maybe they've just moved to YouTube. Or even having their own "page" on Facebook. I do not mourn for older times, all I have to do every evening to pull up medieval folk music, is Google it on my computer, and I'm taken back to that time and place.
The only angels I remember are the ones with long flaxen hair and miniskirts. And as far as I know, they all bled until menopause.
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
Selected poems from previous & forthcoming collections together with Q&R apps on each page to enable audio rendition simultaneously with the written text
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The only angels I remember are the ones with long flaxen hair and miniskirts. And as far as I know, they all bled until menopause.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane