FAME

fame is over-rated
it is attainable sometimes
but it is fleeting
it claims you
yet, you work to keep it
it's a fooler
the joke's on you
fame

my fifteen minutes
have turned into miserable hours
hours of insanity
i work for a cipher
a wisp of smoke
nothing solid
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
fame

in the end
fame is the procurement of:
the biggest mausoleum
or the longest obituary
or the procession of a multitude of mourners
who long to be seen
also plenty of shiny limosines
and properly suited embalmers
who rarely put shoes on the corpse
because they can't be seen in the coffin
so money is saved
fame

I LOVED YOU

i loved you at first sight
when you walked into the bar
smelling of cheap perfume
and you disregarded me
which made me love you more
and i pranced about you
i puffed myself up
and showed you my colors
and won you over
time was my friend, back then

so i loved you when i had you
and i gazed at you through my alcoholic eyes
and you smiled at me
and spiked your vein
and we argued about money
then we kissed and made up
and we went on the lam
on city streets
we whored for money
and always seemed to find a way

i loved you when i came home drunk
and my dinner sat in the garbage can,
still warm like my heart
and you blindsided me with the iron skillet
and threw my clothes out the window,
along with my shotgun
and i laughed
then you laughed
and we made love

i loved you when i threw you out
i shook with so much rage and hurt
i thought that i would die
and you were afraid of me
and you never returned
but still i kept on loving you

and later, much later when i saw you again
you served me eggs and coffee
in a dirty diner
and you swung your lovely hips
and you had a few more wrinkles
but they looked good on you
and you smiled that sultry smile,
that only you could smile
and i smiled back at you
because i loved you

A DEMOCRACY FAILS IT CITIZENRY WHEN:

Its media is controlled by the rich.
Its book stores and public libraries start closing.
It extends itself into the domain of other countries,
to participate in wars.
It imports slave labor.
It exports its jobs to the econonomically distraught,
for corporate profit.
It denies meaningful employment to its citizenry.
It allows corporations to fund political campaigns.
It denies collective bargaining and the right to strike.
It begins closing schools.
It starts disenfranchising Public Broadcasting networks,
and programs for the arts.
It favors and promotes anti-national diversity,
in favor of Constitutional laws, and generational customs and mores.
It becomes multi-lingual.
It feels that bureaucracy is more important than its citizenry.
It employs banks, stockbrokers, and corporations,
as national economic advisors for government.
It allows special pensions, health insurance and perks
for its regulators while they are in public office;
and when they move on to the private sector.
It becomes an oligarchy rather than an extension of the people.

MOM'S WINDOWS

she always wanted her windows sparkling clean.
she handed me the warm rags dipped in vinegar and water.
i was on a step ladder behind the evergreens
to wash the picture window
she always said, "be careful you don't fall"!
she quickly handed me a dry rag to finish
she ran inside and checked for streaks
and pointed them out to me
we did the whole house this way twice a year
i enjoyed the smells of the cookie factory
next door to mom's house
i also painted window frames and gutters for her
cut the grass and trimmed the hedges
cleaned her grease trap
fixed the furnace and other things
plastered ceilings and walls
it was a labor of love
she rewarded me with home made german-polish food
and good whiskey
we sat and talked about so many things
i miss her so much now
she lived to a ripe old age of ninety-four
i never heard her say a bad thing about anyone
she was solid as a rock
she never shirked her duties
she loved unconditionally
she wanted her windows clean
so she always had a clear view
and that she did

I GOT OUT

Prison eventually gives you clarity.
If not, it gives you death.
Yeah, death...
either physically or emotionally.
I chose clarity.
I realized they owned my body,
not my mind.
When incarcerated, a man or woman does time.
Time...time...time...
The sky goes on forever,
so does eternity.
Prison is relative.
It ain't shit,
unless you let it own you.
I kept my body in shape.
I improved my mind.
I kept my eyes and ears open.
I watched.
I listened.
I stopped playin',
except with the parole board.
There, I spoke of spiritual epiphanies,
and finding Jesus.
But I ended with,
"I don't give a fuck about you people anymore".
I told 'em to do what they wanted to do.
I chose not to beg, anymore.
They sensed my internal freedom,
so I got out.
But I really wasn't free.
I never will be.
Neither will you.

I DIDN'T GIVE UP

i didn't give up
i had talent
they just didn't see it

i was fired
so many times
this all works on a man's mind

then i got angry
i worked harder
i was accepted
my talents were praised

'til new bosses came in
they brought their own kin
with less talent than me
and the bosses lied
they set traps
they made my life hard
they wanted me to quit
or take a lesser position

and i did
for the money
finally, i quit
i moved on
i had my pride
but pride doesn't feed a family

so i'd find new work
i'd prove myself, once again
i vowed, "i won't quit this time"
then i did quit
but i didn't give up

SWING SHIFT

They'd shoot rock on the last hour of day shift, and turn off the ventilation fans before they slammed the doors on the man cage at night. And the crane "high-balled" the hard-hatted, hard-headed men topside...and the miners laughed as they saw the last of daylight...and they either went home to nagging wives and crying babies...or to dank smoky bars whose atmospheres were'nt much better than the rock tunnels from which they emerged.

And we started swing shift to dead air in a "dog leg" filled with dynamite powder and stale air which gave us headaches, and constricted our lungs...and we sweat as we mined rock...and the rock dust stuck to our skins and got into our eyes and lungs...and we toiled for nine hours in this fashion until we emerged at midnight.

And our families were asleep, so we trudged like zombies to cold showers in filthy "hog houses", and got into our beat up pick-up trucks...onward to deserted taverns with bar girls who had shiners, 'cause their boyfriends or husbands were'nt worth a shit.

And all was good in the quiet of these alcoholic tombs...because we drank to forget...and Ronnie Milsap sounded so sweet, singing his sad country songs about lost love...and I went to bed around four a.m., so my wife and baby daughter wouldn't have to see me drunk.

And I didn't see hide nor hair of them, 'til the weekend...and they sensed my quiet desperation...'cause even though I was there, I really wasn't.