on this day in 1932...

John R. Cash was born.

Man In Black

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,
Why you never see bright colors on my back,
And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.
Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on.

I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down,
Livin' in the hopeless, hungry side of town,
I wear it for the prisoner who has long paid for his crime,
But is there because he's a victim of the times.

I wear the black for those who never read,
Or listened to the words that Jesus said,
About the road to happiness through love and charity,
Why, you'd think He's talking straight to you and me.

Well, we're doin' mighty fine, I do suppose,
In our streak of lightnin' cars and fancy clothes,
But just so we're reminded of the ones who are held back,
Up front there ought 'a be a Man In Black.

I wear it for the sick and lonely old,
For the reckless ones whose bad trip left them cold,
I wear the black in mournin' for the lives that could have been,
Each week we lose a hundred fine young men.

And, I wear it for the thousands who have died,
Believen' that the Lord was on their side,
I wear it for another hundred thousand who have died,
Believen' that we all were on their side.

Well, there's things that never will be right I know,
And things need changin' everywhere you go,
But 'til we start to make a move to make a few things right,
You'll never see me wear a suit of white.

Ah, I'd love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything's OK,
But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back,
'Till things are brighter,
I'm the Man In Black.

Official Johnny Cash site: http://www.johnnycash.com/

a perfect crime...

riding the subway today I saw this little girl,
well maybe not so little actually
maybe 10-12 years old,
on the subway with her mother.
her mother had fallen asleep,
and for most of the ride
this young lady sat prim and proper
hands folded on her lap,
crossed over a plastic grocery bag
and her eyes, her eyes watched the world
as it danced before them,
with wonder she absorbed the shuffling and swaying
of life as it moved in and out of the sliding doors.
then all of a sudden she recognized
her mother was asleep
and I watched as her eyes grew bigger
and her hands slowly, silently, slipped into the bag,
the plastic grocery bag that lay just under them.
there was piece of pastry in a plastic container
you know the kind,
you almost have to break it to get your shit out
and in the process may cut yourself,
or, you find yourself in a situation like this poor girl
having to try to open one when you have to have to be quit.
I imagined her and her mother at the market,
doing some shopping, her being told that if she was good
she would get a treat, something nice to eat after dinner,
but only if she was good of course
and that surely meant none before she ate all her dinner.
here she was, her mother asleep, should she go for it?
I’m thinking why not, shit kid at least if you get caught
you get to have a taste and in kid time,
I’m sure there would be more than enough time to lose it
without getting a taste before they get home
let alone before she gets a chance to finish her dinner.
so, she went for it and it looked like it tasted good
as she looked at her mom still sleeping undisturbed
I could see it in her eyes,
see her next piece, her last piece,
after all I could see that it tasted like victory.
she was not greedy, I nodded to her
and pointed out the few crumbs that fallen on her,
I warned her of the evidence, the evidence
that would have blown her perfect little subway caper.
as she wiped them off she looked to her mom
she looked to her out of the corner of her now concerned eyes
and as the evidence disappeared
she breathed easy and turned her thanking eyes
just then it was my stop, and as I was getting of the train
she smiled and I gave her a wee thumb’s up
then the door bell chimed and her mom awoke.

-April 2005

100+ missiles and no one counting the tears

flipping through the channels
from one ‘talent’ show to the next
and in between fall the ‘reality’ programs
that are anything but
and when the candies were all in commercial
flip again I did
coming to land on what used to be
the true reality television
just in time to see the precursor
to a nightmare long in the making
but the vacuum is too vast
and the oil is getting too hot
its boiling point now being found
on the end of each flying missile
in the tears and fears of each child
running away from everywhere they may land
all the while the studio audiences
are using their selector buttons,
and those watching at home
well, they are text messaging their proof
that democracy truly is in the hands of the people
as they vote for their favorite
juggler, joker
dancer, skater, driver,
or lab rat living in an open wired house
and while democracy is on a commercial break,
across one worldly street
the bombs, they burst in ground
and across an other,
I stop flipping

drunken telephone...

Oh dear Mr. Bell,
if only your loved one could hear
then so many of mine wouldn’t have to.
your wonderous invention,
and wonderous it is, is also a curse
serving to remind the drunk lonely
that others aren’t drunk,
lonely, or even
awake.

-October 2005