Thursday, November 14, 2013

Blues, Booze, Romance, and Revolution: From the Poetry Notebooks

After my first story about a drunken gig, I got a demand from TA Demings to put some poetry up here. Not all of them are pretty, but they’re all honest. If you dig it, let me know, I always got plenty more in the notebooks.

Rainbow in June
(By Walter Beck)

Pt. I: Day (Scales Falling)
Where were my brothers?
Where was the righteous anger
I spent many nights drinking deeply of?
Where were the scarred eyes
That could blaze across a thousand headlines
At a moment’s notice?

Who were these plastic young men
Strutting around shirtless
With shaved, chiseled chests?

Swimming around
In complimentary Coors Light beads,
Weaving in and out
To a synthetic dancing rhythm.

The only glimpse of any fire
I saw
Was someone busking for donations
With complimentary gifts
To pay off their lobbyists.

I had finally made the pilgrimage;
And saw that our fathers’ house
Had been turned into a den of thieves.

Pt. II: Night (Heart of Salvation)
At the stroke of midnight
As I stood outside the gates to the Freaks’ Mass;

I saw a short, stout young man,
With a nipple ring
Flashing in the moonlight.

He had eyes that said
He had walked with the kings,
He had seen the mountaintops.

He had eyes that said
“Walk with me in madness.”

He had eyes that said,
“I can show you to love flesh to flesh.”

He had eyes that said…

No ID Piss Break Blues
(By Walter Beck)
There ain’t no right
To drop a deuce,
To drain the lizard,
Down in Phoenix way.

There ain’t no liberty
To take a squat,
To have a slash,
Down in Phoenix way.

There ain’t no guarantee
To piss in peace,
To take a dump without being asked
To see your papers please,
Down in Phoenix way.

The old side is still too crippled with fear
To let our people go,
Too invested in rumors of crimes
Of strange rapists and perverts,
To let our people go
Down in Phoenix way.

Our brothers are marching in the street,
Calling their reps,
And emailing their senators,
All for the right to go when you gotta go,
Down in Phoenix way.

Oh down in Phoenix way,
Pissing is still a crime
In the land of the free.

It’s Like Giving Roses for a Writer
(By Walter Beck)
Walking off the stage;
After the longest set of my career,
Forty-five minutes,
Spitting romance and revolution
To half a dozen people,
Plus the sound guy.

But it doesn’t matter;
It was new ground broken
And I still felt alive.

I ran into you
After I walked off stage,
Still high from the performance
And about a dozen beers.

You only heard part of my diatribe on stage
Because you were getting ready
For your own show;
Holy Christ, you were beautiful
To my boozy poetic eyes.

I gave you my set-list
So you could read it for yourself;

It was the closest thing
To a romantic gesture
I’ve ever really done.

No More Martyrs Blues Pt. III
(By Walter Beck)
The headlines keep screaming
Again and again.
State fourteen rings the bells
And fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen
Seem lined up at the gate.

But the backlash is brewing.

After ten years of riding high
In the highest courts of the land,
And in main street America,
Riding the crest of public favor
And the wave is getting ready to crash.

The backlash is brewing.

It’s brewing,
Under the glare of knife points
Flashed on a digital screen.
It’s brewing,
When messages flash
Still calling for us to be locked up in camps.
It’s brewing,
When the homegrown hate
Crosses international borders.

The backlash is brewing.

It’s brewing,
While we’re falling asleep at the wheel,
While we turn our demands on autopilot,
So sure of the mountaintops we’ll see.
It’s brewing,
While we turn over our hopes and dreams
To the professionals,
To let them sort out all this mess.

The backlash is brewing,
And I still wonder

How much innocent blood must be spilled

Before our last bridge is crossed?

1 comment:

  1. Excellent. I love poetry. I think the first one ended too soon. It needed more of a bang at the end, something to really get us thinking rather than a trail off… ;)

    No ID is great, too. Love the "let our people go" bit in there.