Woodrow Wilson Played 12 Holes of Golf

Woodrow Wilson played 12 holes of golf
on the day he declared war on Germany.

Our aging new front is in Iraq
and we're being lead by a Texas son
who won't even watch it on TV
and his eyes won't see it in the newspaper
because he doesn't much like to read

Meanwhile,
the Earth is rattled by descending bombs
that break the silence in half-abandoned cities
and tiny mushrooms poison the population
while sprouting on every corner;
let's keep the parent-bomb hidden.

Woodrow Wilson played 12 holes of golf
on the day he declared war on Germany

March Madness has taken on a whole new meaning
while college basketball serves as a distraction
so we can forget the reality of this mess,
and we all applaude with anxiety
as Carmelo drops bombs of his own.

And we sit and watch from the comfort of our home
watching the players battle it out on screen.
We've chosen our sides
but there are many shots that we miss
because of so many games being played all at once.

Woodrow Wilson played 12 holes of golf
on the day he declared war on Germany.

Dan Rather breaks from regularly scheduled programs
to give us a limited view of our boys and girls
through a dusty cloud of desert sand,
and they are the actors in this Texas son production
fighting for a Hollywood ending.

Meanwhile,
the directors of this film sit back and watch
refusing to the let the script get any easier
as the antagonist of the story attempts to speak
and our ambassador storms out
because he wasn't welcomed with hugs and flowers.

Woodrow Wilson played 12 holes of golf
on the day he declared war on Germany.

Many in the audience have dreams of acting
and some even take the next step and act.
Although most of their roles may be small,
they still make a difference in the overall feature
by striking a chord with some audience members.

These new actors portray the truth
as dead sardines in the streets of New York
or as moving currents in San Francisco and Seattle
disrupting the average life in these cities
because war should affect all defenders.

But then again...
Woodrow Wilson played 12 holes of golf.

The Barber Shop

The Towers still stand
on a wall in Kifl
framed by jagged dirt
and threatened by American guns
in the hands of courageous soldiers
with dust in their eyes.

Another business falls
to a deceitful monopoly
that singes hair and skin
off of customer skulls
and destroys any reason
to visit the Towers.

And so they will crumble
in Kifl as well
as the painting melts
from freedom into suffering
with bombs from the top floor
and the fires consuming all hope.

Ode to Heineken

View distorted,
green beer from Holland?
St. Patty's is still two weeks away.
Tinted glass
a bitter soul
not Irish, but still so good.
Premium quality
Heineken Imported.

On a Train to Chi-Town

The Ball brothers
with two guitars
and an avocado
bringing people
together. Whispering
folk songs into
the night, as
chairs are turned
inward, eyes averted
from darkness.
Blocking the conductor's
path within a path,
our legs dance
between acoustic rhythm
and clearing the way.
John Denver,
North Dakota comes
and goes, add a
dash of Jose
Feliciano, who
brings shots of
vino to cap
the night. All
fears turned to
dust with help
from the bar,
and all voices
and talents
are heard.
First individually,
as I find
a guitar in
my hand, and
words flowing
out of my gut.
Long time observer,
first time performer,
splash of comedy
in a bucket
of rock, but
light enough
even for the old
folks with clapping
hands. Grabbing
hold of the night
spotlight, and shifting
it back to the
Ball boys, brothers
running the show.
The room becomes
a chorus lounge.
Voices vary,
souls harmonize,
the world listens,
and beauty speaks.

The Air is Still Inside

How do I know I'm moving?
It's pitch black outside
no frame of reference
a pane of empty glance
Are the wheels moving below?
No window at my feet
poet's lounge is shaking
or is the Earth just quaking?
Oh, wait... there's something in the distance
A light gone by
could be a reflection
mirrored in misperception
Where is the engineer?
Controlling my instincts
am I unknowingly parked?
or riding into the dark?

Who's on Board?

1:20 PM and we've stopped in Havre.
Border patrol lining the sidewalk,
but these guys are nice
and it seems they like to talk.
How are you?
Good, and you?
Good. and he smiles politely.
On board, sweeping aisles for the illegal,
not taking this immigrant search lightly.
We won't bother you.
I'm white.
And no accent. (should have gone Spanish).
Everything's clear, the train can move on
and these men in green with gold badges vanish.
So long legal citizens.
So long.
The gears start turning in my mind;
why do they check baggage before boarding a plane?
but they never checked a single bag today;
aren't there more people riding this train?
All aboard!
(It seems they have the last word).

Grounded Feet and Leg Room

An hour in Shelby,
on the train
and off too Chicago.
Grounded feet
and leg room.
No pedals to my worry,
no traffic,
no skating on clouds,
just soothing turbulence.
Broken barbed wire
protecting this bullet
from the parallel road
and free plains beyond,
dotting the landscape
with wooden crosses,
holding the ropes.
Sleeping grasses
peeking through
a layer of cold grains
colored white.
A dimmed spotlight
tries to escape
its gray filter dome,
but must wait
until it falls
in piecesof crystal splendor.
Two Mexican kids
bring me back aboard
dragging fake Nike soles
on the aisle carpet.
And I'm 10 minutes past Shelby
1680 from Chicago.
Grounded feet
and leg room.

No POW

Plans for rebuilding a country we have not yet destroyed
but you know our sights are set
Trouble convincing others as our troops are deployed
Not much backing as of yet
and our people are not rallying behind president Bush
so he says "go buy duct tape" to give us a scare
then back to the Security Council to give war a push
with his butt-buddy Brit Prime Minister Tony Blair
Others realize that Iraq wasn't involved in the events of September
while Powell tries to convince them so
but we even lack support of the permanent members
with veto power in the UN Security Council
Nothing to lose, but still opposed is Zemin
and we're growing impatient with president Jacques Chirac
Siding with the French is Vladimir Putin
so we push for the non-permanents to go pro bloc
And these efforts aren't all in vain
even with some "allies" calling our bluff
We've got Jose Maria Aznar of Spain
and Bulgaria's Georgi Purvanov
We'll most likely convince Vicente Fox of Mexico
but we're losing our grip on Lagos of Chile
and it will be rough getting Angola's dos Santos
also former French colony Guineau's president Conte
Pakistan is turning toward abstaining
while France has earned friendship with Cameroon
Syria and Germany also opposed to our reigning
and our leader makes plans to take over the moon
How much is an American soldier's life worth?
Or an innocent Iraqi life for that matter?
Going against the majority of people on Earth
to make the American ego grow fatter?
Anti-American I'm called with a disturbing stare
I can't help but wonder, why?
Because I don't back a war that's completely unfair?
And I don't want hundreds of thousands of people to die?
I care about the people who live in this place
but I care about others as well
all over the world, regardless of race
breaking free from this imposed mind cell

The Stop Sign

There is a monster that lives
at the end of the street
He lets people approach,
but only strangers can pass

A clump of wet hair falls
onto printed words
that give the barber's son dreams,
but he becomes his father

An eagle soars from the church tower
but refrains from opening his wings
In loving memory
chiseled into a headstone

An empty bottle is removed
from the wet carpet
An old man's sleeping head
escapes from a shield of broken glass

Visions from a rear-view mirror
are clearer than the road ahead
The stop sign waves me on,
the king of strangers left behind

This early morning seems late,
a return from escape.
My body feels tired
and my mind is wired.