poems for posterity

thought you folks might like this poem I wrote:

Vagabond Café
Exodus Deus Mortus Mei,
Welcome to the Vagabond Café,
Gather round this joyous throng,
And sing ye a faithful harvest song.
Herein history mends its course,
And eats its own with magnificent force,
Our rooms are filled with fine linen and such,
And beyond our doors there is need for not much.
Bring us the men who endure their charms,
And fail from lust and fates willing arms,
Watch the lips swell as they contemplate,
Dining in a great hall of pomp and of plates,
Silver lining-the guest-list written from bond of kings,
And heads of state the coat-tails bring,
The secret handshake and promise made,
They bring to us their last serenade.
Can you take our order please,
And spare us any common disease,
For power has set our table well,
And any rumor shall dispel,
On satin cloth and silver spoon,
Our mouths will drool and the head will swoon.
The residue of knowledge and the breath of Spring,
Has been denied in the scheme of things,
Now belch thy tidy murderous plans,
To friend and foe as the breach expands,
Catch the frail promise before it spreads,
And the working poor demand your heads,
For every invitation sent abroad,
For a song and a dance, a wink and a nod.
As the tables are cleared and guests boast and stagger,
The check is gathered with half-hearted swagger,
Remember the gravest of plans are made,
Over fine cuisine at the vagabond trade,
Over golf in the morning or a steamy sauna,
Lay man’s prosperity and ultimate trauma!
You may not see the results of your libidinous stay,
Until long after sunset at the Vagabond Café.
This book is dedicated to the ever evolving and undaunted soul of
natural man, created by God so that truth and wisdom could be
perpetuated on earth as it is in heaven. It is also dedicated to all the brave
souls still humble enough to seek and act in faith for God’s glory not
empire.

to wendy

MEAN STREETS

I count the hours,the minutes…the days I had given you a tithe,long suffering and praise.

When there wAs no dwelling,I lay under skies-brite mansions whose entry no man denies.
when there were no friends in cold hard hard streets,I knelt in a temple where christs heart beats…a warm candles blessing,a lonely mans cull,beyond brief handshake and a tin cup half full.

I see the light on a dark corner face; half awake,half dreaming of a kinder place…a fetid heat on a warm summer night breathes on the pavement a haughnting blight,and footsteps shuffling a sad refrain thru a dark alley to a cardboard domain.

I count the hours and pass the shame to men of comfort who pass all the blame,to demon spirits and lives of crime…they cast the first stone,and drop the first dime.
Yet beyond the high rise and stiff façade they never show mercy and cannot know god.
god lives near the shadows of struggle and tears-not in a place of smoke and mirrors.
He works the streets and feels every o[pain of those who are lost with nothing to gain.

I count those minutes,the hours those days knowing gods glory and singing his praise

i have found solace knowing for certain that god does not hide behind some “OZ WIZARD curtain.
he pulls no strings for some foundation, but rules giving hope in a humble station-the streets are full of leaders of men…most of them never see us again.

I curse this tyrannys revolveing door,it gives you nothing then asks for more. Its servants dressed in black attire pronounce their sentence after lighting the fire.
Ttheir JOAN OF ARC or salem stake,burns our lives while we are wide awake,and takes from those with lesser crimes…the goods and toils from better times.

The pendulum swings and the balance is weighed-no mercy shown,no penalty stayed. Once you are down consider the cost: nothing is gained,but forever lost.
This is a system of the great divide: bleeding your souls and stilling the pride,while cronies and crooks line the high places-the hard working poor fill the prisons small spaces.

Someday a pure and relevant pain will pillage their wealth and drive them insane,for a ruinous blight has hardened the heart in our halls of justice and barristers art.
The high tech probe and reality show has dealt mens trust a mighty blow-beneath the gavel is the hard wood of vanity,it has built high hard walls and buried the humanity- it has cut all aid to the weary and lost,to fund weapons and wars to a perilous cost.

PROPAGANDA

Heads and tongues swollen by hypocrisy and hate, they froth vile blessings to vicars of state: Truth rendered barren and stripped of all grace,lies boldly given with a smile on the face.
While fodder of cannons pure blood fills the streets on anthems and slogans till the soul retreats,the maestro of minions reads the script on cue and never once bleeds as all others do.

Time marches on and lips move faster,until liberty becomes slave of a secret master,and curseing a throne one can never see…peace lay prostrate-from sea to shining sea.

THE TRUMPET HAS SOUNDED,the bugle doth blare at the “turn of the phrase” handled with care.
A king must speak so his subjects will see, a vision of hope and victory- the pen is used first and the vision not known,the words are not GODS….nor seldom his own

UNKNOWN FACES:

UNKNOWN FACES SMILEING DOWN FROM HEAVENS VEILED MIDDLE GROUND- NOT NOW LIVEING,NOT YET DEAD,BEYOND THE PIT OF BOTTOMLESS DREAD:
THEIR WARRIORS GARB NOW SET ASIDE ALONG WITH BATTLES SURLY PRIDE-FACES THAT MOURN FOR THE LIVEING C…HILD,THE WAKEING MOTHER WHOSE ROOTS DEFILED,WATCH THE PASSING OF THE HOUR IN WARS HARD SHADOW WHERE VICTORIES COWER.

THEY SEE US HERE IN SHALLOW DREAMS,WITHIN THEIR NIGHT,BEYONFD THEIR SCREAMS-THE STOMACH BULGES,THE FLESH WASTES AWAY,AND THIS IS THE PRICE WE ALL MUST PAY,FOR MANS INNER CIRCLE OF LIBIDINOUS STAIN,THE PROFITS OF WAR AS BLOOD FALLS AS RAIN.

UNKNOWN FACES,VETTING NO SHAME FOR EMPIRES SHAREING A DEADLY GAME,MELTING THEIR GOLD INTO COFFINS OF LEAD-KILLING THE HEART,WHILE AIMED AT THE HEAD.

THEY BEAT THE DRUM SLOWLY AND FIRE AT WILL….UNTILL ALL FREEDOM LAY BURIED AND STILL