Humans,
Wow, the party conventions are off and running with a bang! Since the start of the Democrat-Republican Party conventions last week more than 75 journalists have been arrested, their cameras,recorders and cell phones confiscated. Several were beaten by police in front of other media cameras, the film footage promptly cut from news programs or edited down to appear as minor "mistakes" by the FBI and boys in blue in Denver and St. Paul. In zealous fits to censure press coverage of dissident group activities, Denver cops even arrested a Fox News crew for filming the protest march of Iraq War Veterans Against the War in Iraq. Stewart and Colbert will have a bang of irony to deliver later this week. Bill Moyers will again swallow his professional pride, apologizing for breeches of ethics and morals. Leave it to Aljazeera News International, its team of former American and BBC correspondents, to cover from both inside the convention and outside amid the body politic.
Most of those arrested are now released with charges dropped or reduced to misdemeanors while some face felony charges in the case of the press credentialed DemocracyNow!.Org crew of Amy Goodman and Juan Gonzalez. Local police and FBI units are downplaying overt suppression of free press/free speech/freedom of assembly rights.CNN's Wolf Blitzer and the "best news team in television" passed over the nuisance of unscripted politics raging outside, not reporting violations to fellow press operatives and citizen activists. Instead, viewers got the relevant details necessary for informed voting: Obama now wears an American flag pin on his lapel. Here come the "Rock Stars of the Democratic party".
The few who rise above imposed party censorship and sell out self censorship got a few minutes. Ted Kennedy, Jimmy Cater and Dennis Kucinnich. The alleged voice of young,progressive dems, MoveOn.org is mute, as it has been each time the Democratic National Committee makes a farce of MoveOn claims of a modern,changing organization.
In Denver more than 40 thousand dissidents, the majority of whom are democrat voters, faced unannounced suspension of their assembly rights, protest routes and rights to film,video and record the events. As cops used clubs, gas, dogs and arrests - inside the convention center and the sports stadium the Democrat machine made a show of "Change Now!" with the more important dilemmas we care about:should Bill speak before or after Hillary?! Michelle and Barack are not Muslims. Weren't we all inspired by party leader Nancy Pelosi bellowing against " four more years of the same"...fresh from her Olympian caliber rubber stamp back slide stroked for the increased Bush war budget, the Republican plan for off shore and Alaska oil drilling. The Democrat house majority, like a relay team so trained, carried the baton across the finish line, netting more gold for team sponsor, Top 1%
Americans.
Dem after Dem echoed a commitment to save the middle class, working class, veterans health care, family farmers,public school standards,university loan reforms, equal pay enforcement... all of us, from further denigration.
Outside of the party of the Party, citizen activists and independent press personnel were given a swift dose of the new Democrat party platform:Planks upon their heads.
Wake Up America!
Keep the Beat on the Pulse of Life!
Moe Seager
Saturday 11 October 2008
Now That's a Good Life
Humans,
If you haven't seen the classic Hollywood film, It's a Wonderful Life, please do so. The heart warming pleasure is all yours. Played by Jimmy Stewart, a common man is standing on a lonely, dark, wind swept bridge on Christmas eve, distraught over a recent job setback, about to end it all, to jump into the icy river waters running below. At the last moment an elderly, kind hearted gent appears beside the suicidal man . The visitor is a guardian angel and takes him on a journey where he sees his life and that of his family and friends, living without him. Yes, it's a moral tale with a happy, tearful ending. It gets me to thinking...
If we reincarnate I want to return and live my life - backwards.
I'll start out dead! Get that business out of the way.
Then, I'll wake in a nursing home - feeling better each day
before getting kicked out for being too healthy.
I shall enjoy retirement while collecting a livable pension.
Next, I'll start work and receive a gold watch at a party in my honor on my first day.
I'll work 40 hours per week until I'm too young and too inexperienced for a job.
Yeah, time to enroll in university to learn how to drink, party and become promiscuous.
Next it's off to high school. A time to search for my emerging identity while moving away from adult influence as I fall naively into puppy love with a girl wearing braces.
I'm now a child in grade school and the most intimate things are my pet cat and dreams of flying like Peter Pan.
Then I become an infant, a baby, precious to my mother and father, to all those around me.
I'll spend 9 months in the womb, floating effortlessly in spa like conditions, central heating, room service, in a suspended state of dream, discovery and wonder.
At last, to top off this journey - I'll go out as an orgasm.
Now that's a good life !!
Moe Seager
If you haven't seen the classic Hollywood film, It's a Wonderful Life, please do so. The heart warming pleasure is all yours. Played by Jimmy Stewart, a common man is standing on a lonely, dark, wind swept bridge on Christmas eve, distraught over a recent job setback, about to end it all, to jump into the icy river waters running below. At the last moment an elderly, kind hearted gent appears beside the suicidal man . The visitor is a guardian angel and takes him on a journey where he sees his life and that of his family and friends, living without him. Yes, it's a moral tale with a happy, tearful ending. It gets me to thinking...
If we reincarnate I want to return and live my life - backwards.
I'll start out dead! Get that business out of the way.
Then, I'll wake in a nursing home - feeling better each day
before getting kicked out for being too healthy.
I shall enjoy retirement while collecting a livable pension.
Next, I'll start work and receive a gold watch at a party in my honor on my first day.
I'll work 40 hours per week until I'm too young and too inexperienced for a job.
Yeah, time to enroll in university to learn how to drink, party and become promiscuous.
Next it's off to high school. A time to search for my emerging identity while moving away from adult influence as I fall naively into puppy love with a girl wearing braces.
I'm now a child in grade school and the most intimate things are my pet cat and dreams of flying like Peter Pan.
Then I become an infant, a baby, precious to my mother and father, to all those around me.
I'll spend 9 months in the womb, floating effortlessly in spa like conditions, central heating, room service, in a suspended state of dream, discovery and wonder.
At last, to top off this journey - I'll go out as an orgasm.
Now that's a good life !!
Moe Seager
This Minute
Humans,
Today marks 7 years since buildings fell, people fell, our naivety fell. And yes, the assassination of a centurion of the Empire, the World Trade Center. Not a minute too soon to note this is the last opportunity for George Bush, Dick Cheney,Condoleeza Rice and scores of Haters to lead us in commemoration of our bloody tragedy. Their last photo-op, media ritual to display their shock and horror. The White House of red vengeance, blind rage. It's Medusa Heads will bow for a minute, pause, raise carnivorous teeth and pledge holocaust from the executioner's tongue. The Medusa warning its enemies and the inhabitants held ransom by them; the Empire will continue to hurl down upon them a fire and brimstone like that suffered in Carthage. Upon whole nations. Nations of once naive humans, just like we were, just like us. Their ongoing tragedy made necessary in the scheme of things deemed essential to th e appetite of Empire. We will remind ourselves that the enemies of Empire America did strike back in measures not anticipated, in measures so mortal,so traumatic to us and our fellow Humans throughout the planet. We have come to understand these fanatics are capable of the same measure of death and slavery. Perhaps someone among us will call to attention - the dead, deprived and fearful of their nations are made to suffer in equal measure with the victimization of our own innocents.We all may take a minute to reflect, to pray for salvation and go on with our lives, forever changed in ways some call tough love comprehensible, ways unimaginable, yet to be fathomed. Many among us wishing it were only a minute of heart felt silence, putting to rest their personal sagas of painful endurance.
Our nation lost an estimated 3,000 lives on the day of blind vengeance. The Empire's wars of vengeance taking away 5,000 of our youth in uniform, 40,000 maimed in body and soul, f or the remainder of their precious lives. The fanatics of the opposition have lost a few hundred from their maniacal ranks. Tens of thousands dead for living in a place called hostile territories. Millions plunged into chaos for living in oil sourced nations. Nations contested by both sides at virtually any cost.
On this day we observe a minute to mourn and lament. A small number of tyrants east and west will lift their heads, swearing from scripture they have amended, constitutions they disdain, poets they have banished, shouting for more carnage. For a precious minute may you and I, they from distant nations,pledge our willingness to place the sacrosanct value of life before the necessity of wealth,power and draconian doctrines.
For the sake of global health and safety, we the stuff of flesh and blood, turn mind and spirit to the Creator, wishing and working for peace and justice. From whichever city and village, let us open our ears to the language of the heart.
Keep the Beat on the Pulse of Life
Moe Seager
Today marks 7 years since buildings fell, people fell, our naivety fell. And yes, the assassination of a centurion of the Empire, the World Trade Center. Not a minute too soon to note this is the last opportunity for George Bush, Dick Cheney,Condoleeza Rice and scores of Haters to lead us in commemoration of our bloody tragedy. Their last photo-op, media ritual to display their shock and horror. The White House of red vengeance, blind rage. It's Medusa Heads will bow for a minute, pause, raise carnivorous teeth and pledge holocaust from the executioner's tongue. The Medusa warning its enemies and the inhabitants held ransom by them; the Empire will continue to hurl down upon them a fire and brimstone like that suffered in Carthage. Upon whole nations. Nations of once naive humans, just like we were, just like us. Their ongoing tragedy made necessary in the scheme of things deemed essential to th e appetite of Empire. We will remind ourselves that the enemies of Empire America did strike back in measures not anticipated, in measures so mortal,so traumatic to us and our fellow Humans throughout the planet. We have come to understand these fanatics are capable of the same measure of death and slavery. Perhaps someone among us will call to attention - the dead, deprived and fearful of their nations are made to suffer in equal measure with the victimization of our own innocents.We all may take a minute to reflect, to pray for salvation and go on with our lives, forever changed in ways some call tough love comprehensible, ways unimaginable, yet to be fathomed. Many among us wishing it were only a minute of heart felt silence, putting to rest their personal sagas of painful endurance.
Our nation lost an estimated 3,000 lives on the day of blind vengeance. The Empire's wars of vengeance taking away 5,000 of our youth in uniform, 40,000 maimed in body and soul, f or the remainder of their precious lives. The fanatics of the opposition have lost a few hundred from their maniacal ranks. Tens of thousands dead for living in a place called hostile territories. Millions plunged into chaos for living in oil sourced nations. Nations contested by both sides at virtually any cost.
On this day we observe a minute to mourn and lament. A small number of tyrants east and west will lift their heads, swearing from scripture they have amended, constitutions they disdain, poets they have banished, shouting for more carnage. For a precious minute may you and I, they from distant nations,pledge our willingness to place the sacrosanct value of life before the necessity of wealth,power and draconian doctrines.
For the sake of global health and safety, we the stuff of flesh and blood, turn mind and spirit to the Creator, wishing and working for peace and justice. From whichever city and village, let us open our ears to the language of the heart.
Keep the Beat on the Pulse of Life
Moe Seager
Hot Ice
Hey Jesse,
I watched highlights of the Pens victory last night. (Missed the game because I had to be at a jazz gig.) At the (Paris) Great Canadian Bar we'll watch the final. Over here it airs live from 1 am till 5.
I attended a few Penguin games in the late 70's, early 80's. The era of mass bloodshed. The open secret back then: Pen's owners, the Dibartolo family, Youngstown mobsters, laundering money into legitimate enterprises. I took you to the Arena. The game was tedious. Lemieux was double teamed. It was the fans who put on a show. An elderly couple sitting behind us. Granny screams, "Kill him. Knock his head off ". Gramps: "Club the son-of-a-bitch".
Better action than Chilly Billy Cardille narrating Channel 11, Saturday night Ring Side Wrestling show featuring numbers bookey,Vaudevillian referee, Izzy Moidel of the Lower Hill. We chanced to be kid fans in the time of a rare, true skilled, federation champion, East Liberty's immigrant hero, Bruno Samartino. Bruno and his younger brother, Antonio, thrilled us kids as we were allowed to watch, we flocked, as they worked out true gymnastics forms in the gym of the Shadyside Boys' Club. Bruno and his brother briefly lived in my notorious, wonderful society, Pierce Street. Both immigrated to Pierce Street in 1960, working, laying concrete. Bruno's brother had a habit of leaving his 1956 blue Chevy Comanche pick-up truck unlocked over night, sometimes with the keys in the ignition. He parked it in the alley, Tay Way. After midnight me and playmate Louie Conti would hop in the truck, turn on the Delco A M and bounce up 'n down to Motown hits broadcast on KQV on the late night Hal Murray show. On one such late night, raining- cats-'n- dogs, Antonio caught us in the act. We nearly shit ourselves in fear. "Tony" opened the door. In a soft, gentle tone of voice, showing a slight grin, he said, "It's O.K., don't be a scared. I no mad at a you boys. I did a the same in my village. But please, no more, huh". We never did it again.
Like Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Mario Lemieux, Bruno Samartino dignified a sport, was indeed a champion. He opened his heart to Pittsburgh, gifting us something to crow about, when in those days, our neighborhood, the city and the region was looked upon as the armpit of the north, Piksburg, Western Pennsyltucky.
My fondest memory of Bruno? A hot, humid, early evening of a dog day in August. It must have been six o'clock because our moms, on schedule, yelling from the row house porches, calling us inside for dinner. We spotted Bruno walking down the street, tired and dirty after eight hours of laying concrete. He wore a sleeveless tee, soaked and stained with sweat and two-in-one mix. A gang of us danced around him. Paul Cody asked, "Bruno, how many of us can you lift at one time". Before he could get a word out we all clamored,:"Please Bruno, lift us up, please, please, please". One of the moms yelled out " Leave that man alone. Behave yourselves." Bruno smiled away a sigh. As the littler tykes wrapped onto his thighs, he lifted six of us, on his bull shoulders, in his mighty howitzer arms. Chub boat Stevie Lowenberg hanging from his neck.The man's soft brown eyes, boyish smile, so careful not to drop us. For a change, we could tell everybody in the world what happened - no exaggeration. We bragged about it for years. Some folks didn't believe our fantastic story. Still don't. Shame, nobody had a camera. Pen 'n paper for his autograph. That's alright.
Flyers defense man Battleship Kelly, in a pregame interview: " We play tough hockey. If I happen to injure Lemieux that's his fault". He would injure Lemieux with a horrific behind-the-back assault. Plus, the Arena organist played stupid jingles to keep the fans from complete boredom. At 10 years old you were not impressed.
In '86 I watched team Russia take the ice against the Flyers, It was sports diplomacy, a special tour aimed at easing President Reagan's urge to nuke the Soviet Union. They would nuke us in return. Super Bombs. In less than one minute the Russian coach pulled his team off the ice, into the locker room, because Kelly and company came out fouling with the first face off. Back then,most NHL players couldn't skate as good as the Europeans. So, I nixed the NHL as it degenerated into 3 period brawls. I followed international teams, Czechoslovakia, Sweden, Finland, Russia,Canada. and yes, the Lemieux led Pens. Mario was the Pens! He skated through major injuries for 17 seasons. Class! Things did change finally. The turn came in 1980 with the under dog U.S. Olympic team beating a better Russian team for the gold.
I hope it's a Pennsylvania derby. I'd love to see the Pens knock out the Flyers. Crosby, Malkin, Malone... Fleury and the defense! They're fit to take the cup. Lemieux's gotta be so happy.Following the Pens fend off their rivals: Hot Ice. Now that's Hockey!
When you come to Paris, your little brother Marius wants the 3 of us to see a Paris pro team soccer match. He's never forgotten when you took him to a Pirate's game. And the Buccos won! The young son, little brother, will be so happy, proud to host his big brother, his dad. He'll surely tell us a lot about soccer, his team, Paris St. Germain. You can recount the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup. Me, I'm gonna brag on Bruno.
I watched highlights of the Pens victory last night. (Missed the game because I had to be at a jazz gig.) At the (Paris) Great Canadian Bar we'll watch the final. Over here it airs live from 1 am till 5.
I attended a few Penguin games in the late 70's, early 80's. The era of mass bloodshed. The open secret back then: Pen's owners, the Dibartolo family, Youngstown mobsters, laundering money into legitimate enterprises. I took you to the Arena. The game was tedious. Lemieux was double teamed. It was the fans who put on a show. An elderly couple sitting behind us. Granny screams, "Kill him. Knock his head off ". Gramps: "Club the son-of-a-bitch".
Better action than Chilly Billy Cardille narrating Channel 11, Saturday night Ring Side Wrestling show featuring numbers bookey,Vaudevillian referee, Izzy Moidel of the Lower Hill. We chanced to be kid fans in the time of a rare, true skilled, federation champion, East Liberty's immigrant hero, Bruno Samartino. Bruno and his younger brother, Antonio, thrilled us kids as we were allowed to watch, we flocked, as they worked out true gymnastics forms in the gym of the Shadyside Boys' Club. Bruno and his brother briefly lived in my notorious, wonderful society, Pierce Street. Both immigrated to Pierce Street in 1960, working, laying concrete. Bruno's brother had a habit of leaving his 1956 blue Chevy Comanche pick-up truck unlocked over night, sometimes with the keys in the ignition. He parked it in the alley, Tay Way. After midnight me and playmate Louie Conti would hop in the truck, turn on the Delco A M and bounce up 'n down to Motown hits broadcast on KQV on the late night Hal Murray show. On one such late night, raining- cats-'n- dogs, Antonio caught us in the act. We nearly shit ourselves in fear. "Tony" opened the door. In a soft, gentle tone of voice, showing a slight grin, he said, "It's O.K., don't be a scared. I no mad at a you boys. I did a the same in my village. But please, no more, huh". We never did it again.
Like Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell and Mario Lemieux, Bruno Samartino dignified a sport, was indeed a champion. He opened his heart to Pittsburgh, gifting us something to crow about, when in those days, our neighborhood, the city and the region was looked upon as the armpit of the north, Piksburg, Western Pennsyltucky.
My fondest memory of Bruno? A hot, humid, early evening of a dog day in August. It must have been six o'clock because our moms, on schedule, yelling from the row house porches, calling us inside for dinner. We spotted Bruno walking down the street, tired and dirty after eight hours of laying concrete. He wore a sleeveless tee, soaked and stained with sweat and two-in-one mix. A gang of us danced around him. Paul Cody asked, "Bruno, how many of us can you lift at one time". Before he could get a word out we all clamored,:"Please Bruno, lift us up, please, please, please". One of the moms yelled out " Leave that man alone. Behave yourselves." Bruno smiled away a sigh. As the littler tykes wrapped onto his thighs, he lifted six of us, on his bull shoulders, in his mighty howitzer arms. Chub boat Stevie Lowenberg hanging from his neck.The man's soft brown eyes, boyish smile, so careful not to drop us. For a change, we could tell everybody in the world what happened - no exaggeration. We bragged about it for years. Some folks didn't believe our fantastic story. Still don't. Shame, nobody had a camera. Pen 'n paper for his autograph. That's alright.
Flyers defense man Battleship Kelly, in a pregame interview: " We play tough hockey. If I happen to injure Lemieux that's his fault". He would injure Lemieux with a horrific behind-the-back assault. Plus, the Arena organist played stupid jingles to keep the fans from complete boredom. At 10 years old you were not impressed.
In '86 I watched team Russia take the ice against the Flyers, It was sports diplomacy, a special tour aimed at easing President Reagan's urge to nuke the Soviet Union. They would nuke us in return. Super Bombs. In less than one minute the Russian coach pulled his team off the ice, into the locker room, because Kelly and company came out fouling with the first face off. Back then,most NHL players couldn't skate as good as the Europeans. So, I nixed the NHL as it degenerated into 3 period brawls. I followed international teams, Czechoslovakia, Sweden, Finland, Russia,Canada. and yes, the Lemieux led Pens. Mario was the Pens! He skated through major injuries for 17 seasons. Class! Things did change finally. The turn came in 1980 with the under dog U.S. Olympic team beating a better Russian team for the gold.
I hope it's a Pennsylvania derby. I'd love to see the Pens knock out the Flyers. Crosby, Malkin, Malone... Fleury and the defense! They're fit to take the cup. Lemieux's gotta be so happy.Following the Pens fend off their rivals: Hot Ice. Now that's Hockey!
When you come to Paris, your little brother Marius wants the 3 of us to see a Paris pro team soccer match. He's never forgotten when you took him to a Pirate's game. And the Buccos won! The young son, little brother, will be so happy, proud to host his big brother, his dad. He'll surely tell us a lot about soccer, his team, Paris St. Germain. You can recount the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup. Me, I'm gonna brag on Bruno.
One Among Many
Humans,
A long time friend, Leon Swimmer, of Pittsburgh, USA, passed on yesterday. Leon dedicated himself to the service of humanity,in the Bakery, Confectionist and Tobacco Workers Union, in racial justice campaigns and numerous anti-war movements. This is a time for me to reflect on the loss of a good man, the meaning of community. Perhaps it's a proper moment to reflect on you and yours? Sometimes I lose sight of the space in my heart occupied by those whose love and sharing shape the man I am.
One Among Many
I am son of a woman
Who married my father
And bore many children
Buried our dead
Plain Pine boxes
We was poor
Mourned our kin
Kin of a neighbor
We give of our muscle
Our tenuous time
Pride in our part
Played in the world
We work to live
Live to love
We walk the Earth together
I toil day after day
and nights
A simple laborer
Simply making it
One among many
On tired knees and weakly legs
What burdens this back cannot carry
Weights my shoulders cannot stand
What gifts too rich and plenty
For my two hands to hold
I share and share alike
One among many
Dream and dare
Believe the World
Colors and tongues
Shape our lives
Room for all round table
High times, low times
Sometimes all we have
Courage and trust
The bond made of us
We do the best we can
For troubled waters
They rush and they swirl
Rushing and swirling
Caught up we all
Surging and spawning
Upstream, upstream sure
We are spilling ourselves
Upstream,down wind
Together now better
One among many
I march, I run
I sit and calm
Oh, let go, let's dance
I am rhythmic tic 'o time
One among many
Relinquished of the vigor
The vitals of my spring
Replenished in greater meaning
This is love
One among many
A long time friend, Leon Swimmer, of Pittsburgh, USA, passed on yesterday. Leon dedicated himself to the service of humanity,in the Bakery, Confectionist and Tobacco Workers Union, in racial justice campaigns and numerous anti-war movements. This is a time for me to reflect on the loss of a good man, the meaning of community. Perhaps it's a proper moment to reflect on you and yours? Sometimes I lose sight of the space in my heart occupied by those whose love and sharing shape the man I am.
One Among Many
I am son of a woman
Who married my father
And bore many children
Buried our dead
Plain Pine boxes
We was poor
Mourned our kin
Kin of a neighbor
We give of our muscle
Our tenuous time
Pride in our part
Played in the world
We work to live
Live to love
We walk the Earth together
I toil day after day
and nights
A simple laborer
Simply making it
One among many
On tired knees and weakly legs
What burdens this back cannot carry
Weights my shoulders cannot stand
What gifts too rich and plenty
For my two hands to hold
I share and share alike
One among many
Dream and dare
Believe the World
Colors and tongues
Shape our lives
Room for all round table
High times, low times
Sometimes all we have
Courage and trust
The bond made of us
We do the best we can
For troubled waters
They rush and they swirl
Rushing and swirling
Caught up we all
Surging and spawning
Upstream, upstream sure
We are spilling ourselves
Upstream,down wind
Together now better
One among many
I march, I run
I sit and calm
Oh, let go, let's dance
I am rhythmic tic 'o time
One among many
Relinquished of the vigor
The vitals of my spring
Replenished in greater meaning
This is love
One among many
One Brick Shy of a Load
One Brick Shy of a Load
Moe Seager
I wish I could write poems that
end without conclusion
Poems that wrestle in the nest:
I am damaged goods trying
to justify my passage through
misspelled words and
bad recipes
I wish I could summon the honesty to
Say it, brief and incomplete and feel
So what! it's the fashion I cannot
Fit for lack of insights sent
Outside in the rain spilling
From the clouds in my head
Leaning into a sun day
A night without the howls
Of purple passions
Alone, unwanted in the
Scheme of things that make you
Wholesome, me naked repulsive
Clown for the tourists tell their
Children -" See what I mean".
I wish I could bring us together
A nation of freedom fighters in
Love of Lovers whose cool blue fires
Melt our fears as walls give way
To salvos of the healing kind
Shit, I'd be happy for a taste
A long last dance fluid flows
Stellar dust diamond rings
Round a harvest moon
I wish Peace and Justice for
Neighbors, alley cats, stray dogs,
Lost be found in abandoned dreams
Redeemed in long awaited
Promises of my mother,
And if your heart don't beat n' ring
Mama gonna give you a song to sing
And if that tune don't lift your soul
Mama gonna mend you upright whole
I wish things I know ain't
Comin' no time soon no way
In a world gone angry on itself
Not happy nor hungry for
A picnic in the garden of
Earthly delights ripe with fruits
Sunlit on burning questions
Dripping desires.
I wish presto pronto tout-de-suite
For a revelry of Hallelujah Chorus
In high C jazz 8 time
Blues buried with Robeson's pain
Beneath a monument to human kind
Bloody angels and dirty saints
One brick shy of a load
We're all goin' home now, all
Counted, gathered in a name
Given to life worth living
Death come calling
From the fifth dimension
Come to take us there
No words need said
No acts required
No need to worry
No need to fuss
If that thought don't make you still
Mama gonna give you one that will
And if that dream don't come to pass
Mama gonna make one ever last
I wish you wouldn't scold me for
I always laugh and cry
at the wrong times
I wish I were a singer
The song feels more
Than the poem will ever know.
(copyright,moe seager, 2008.)
Moe Seager
I wish I could write poems that
end without conclusion
Poems that wrestle in the nest:
I am damaged goods trying
to justify my passage through
misspelled words and
bad recipes
I wish I could summon the honesty to
Say it, brief and incomplete and feel
So what! it's the fashion I cannot
Fit for lack of insights sent
Outside in the rain spilling
From the clouds in my head
Leaning into a sun day
A night without the howls
Of purple passions
Alone, unwanted in the
Scheme of things that make you
Wholesome, me naked repulsive
Clown for the tourists tell their
Children -" See what I mean".
I wish I could bring us together
A nation of freedom fighters in
Love of Lovers whose cool blue fires
Melt our fears as walls give way
To salvos of the healing kind
Shit, I'd be happy for a taste
A long last dance fluid flows
Stellar dust diamond rings
Round a harvest moon
I wish Peace and Justice for
Neighbors, alley cats, stray dogs,
Lost be found in abandoned dreams
Redeemed in long awaited
Promises of my mother,
And if your heart don't beat n' ring
Mama gonna give you a song to sing
And if that tune don't lift your soul
Mama gonna mend you upright whole
I wish things I know ain't
Comin' no time soon no way
In a world gone angry on itself
Not happy nor hungry for
A picnic in the garden of
Earthly delights ripe with fruits
Sunlit on burning questions
Dripping desires.
I wish presto pronto tout-de-suite
For a revelry of Hallelujah Chorus
In high C jazz 8 time
Blues buried with Robeson's pain
Beneath a monument to human kind
Bloody angels and dirty saints
One brick shy of a load
We're all goin' home now, all
Counted, gathered in a name
Given to life worth living
Death come calling
From the fifth dimension
Come to take us there
No words need said
No acts required
No need to worry
No need to fuss
If that thought don't make you still
Mama gonna give you one that will
And if that dream don't come to pass
Mama gonna make one ever last
I wish you wouldn't scold me for
I always laugh and cry
at the wrong times
I wish I were a singer
The song feels more
Than the poem will ever know.
(copyright,moe seager, 2008.)
Jazz Is
Jazz Is
by Moe Seager
Jazz Is
A way in to a way out
Way up down deep inside
In the feel, of the thought
Where the pulse resides
Jazz is an audio odyssey
Where the pulse resides
Jazz is an audio odyssey
A jet stream blowing in from Ghana
Belted out in Congo Square
A round trip ticket round
The world of Africa and Africa touched
Jazz is
A man down and out in Chicago
Jamming and trancing beyond tomorrow
Jazz is a cat in a Pittsburgh club
A Fury in passion, melodious love
A Diva in Detroit baring her soul
Bring down the house
In turns hot and cool
Jazz is a child with a sense complex
A Fury in passion, melodious love
A Diva in Detroit baring her soul
Bring down the house
In turns hot and cool
Jazz is a child with a sense complex
A feel for a world beyond that given
Jazz is Havana throwing off heat
Blaze of a trumpet, bodies in beat
Jazz is a Jew on a clarinet
No hold back, he lets it rip
Jazz is a Gypsy on a wagon stoop
Strumming new found sounds in his finger tips
Jazz does a duo with Mozart and Bach
A spoon in tune with Cafe Vienna
And Jazz is a niche on a back-street in Paris
Rendezvous lovers, loners and Poets.
Jazz doesn't know solitary confinement
Be big band, be bop,
Slow motion shuffle
Be ballad, be blue,
Lay back and be cool
Be riding the groove
Come in and go out
Come in and go out
Each time unique
Like the last time
Jazz is
A cargo the trade winds sail
A cargo the trade winds sail
To the door of the depot of the lost and found
To ring your ears and throb your heart
Stormy Monday turning sunny
Feel the blues depart
Jazz is
A riff that walks me home
A riff that walks me home
Is a bass line I climb to the top of the stairs
Is the hand holding mine when nobody cares
Jazz softly whispers - I know how you feel
Jazz is
Chump change and scratch
Is chewing through the gristle
To suck on the bone
Jazz is a holler, a cat call, a hymn
Jazz is singing saxophone in the shower
Jazz goes uptown to get down
Calls night time the right time
And the right time is now
Jazz Is
An instrument of fingers and tongues
A vessel of muscle and breath
Body and mind in sync with itself
Jazz time tics free off the clock
A serpentine march out of formation
Jazz can leap to the end of the line
Make every stop along the block
A teller of history, a history maker
Jazz is forgiveness and Jazz is a bitch!
She's the mother load
Jazz is
Sweet smells of incense, of Jasmin, of hormones
Deep note moans, high pitch groans, twists and turns
Sharps that burn, flats that howl
Guitar licks that sparkle
Drum beats driven off the four corner map
Jazz is a gas, a liquid
A solid mass of essence
A floating island centered
In the infinite sea
So vast is Jazz, so deep and wide
How the Middle Passage
Placed us side by side
Jazz is a family
A fraternity of man
Whose taproot is the music of the Af-ri-can
Poly-rhythmic pollination from the talking drum
A floating island centered
In the infinite sea
So vast is Jazz, so deep and wide
How the Middle Passage
Placed us side by side
Jazz is a family
A fraternity of man
Whose taproot is the music of the Af-ri-can
Poly-rhythmic pollination from the talking drum
Graced in gospel, rolls of ragtime
Tears and laughter of the blues
The gifts of many makers
Freely given me, freely given you
Jazz Is
A way in to a way out
Way up down deep inside
A way to, a path through
The mindless rubble,
The poison propaganda
Cross you over to another side
Jazz Is
No papers, no passports,
No human claims denied
No charges pressed, no back-seat guests
Welcome to a dynasty of open borders
Jazz is
A Free Country
Moe Seager
Here
Humans,
This poem, HERE, I wrote many years ago. In that time I worked with the great composer, guitarist, singer, John Simms. John and I recorded HERE to his hypnotic guitar composition and my poet voice. I give from my hungry heart, he from his acoustic soul. When I transfer our recording from cassette to D.V.D. I will proudly put it public.
R.I.P. Soul Man.
HERE
Moe Seager
Here
Take it
Please place it
In the palm of your hand
Sleep on it
Your pillow
Dream
Here
Does not require
Nor oblige
The meaning
Of this act
Its reward
Life in your eyes
I sing your song
A smile tells
All
Here
Freely given
Freely received
No one owns
The spark of life
The mystery
Here
It comes
It goes
It wants
Your touch
To be
Whole
Now
Ever
Yours
Remember
Me
When you
Need
A wave to
Ride on
One
Precious
Drop
of Life
a Moment
of Bliss
Weightless
Love
Here,
Here
Here...
(copyright,moe seager, 2008)
This poem, HERE, I wrote many years ago. In that time I worked with the great composer, guitarist, singer, John Simms. John and I recorded HERE to his hypnotic guitar composition and my poet voice. I give from my hungry heart, he from his acoustic soul. When I transfer our recording from cassette to D.V.D. I will proudly put it public.
R.I.P. Soul Man.
HERE
Moe Seager
Here
Take it
Please place it
In the palm of your hand
Sleep on it
Your pillow
Dream
Here
Does not require
Nor oblige
The meaning
Of this act
Its reward
Life in your eyes
I sing your song
A smile tells
All
Here
Freely given
Freely received
No one owns
The spark of life
The mystery
Here
It comes
It goes
It wants
Your touch
To be
Whole
Now
Ever
Yours
Remember
Me
When you
Need
A wave to
Ride on
One
Precious
Drop
of Life
a Moment
of Bliss
Weightless
Love
Here,
Here
Here...
(copyright,moe seager, 2008)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
