The Music on the Corner

Yesterday 

He played his happy trumpet

By the gray curb;

Warm notes ascended 

To my blue-sky view

With Mellow Yellow

Drowning out the whirr

Of the duo of elevators

Plunging people down

From dizzying heights

Into the onslaught 

Of upwardly mobiles,

With cell phones in hand,

And panhandlers and their dogs

Strewn roughshod

By the bank's ATM

Today it's just the street

Playing its discordant song -

The buzz and belch of traffic

And construction

As clouds,

Much denser 

Than breath

Puffed through chilled lips,

Camp out upon the foothills

While the wind is mute 

I muse he sits slippered,

Humming golden oldies,

His coffee-ed breath warm

Upon his lacquered horn

As he rubs it,

Like Aladdin's lamp -

Holding magic in his hands

---

January 30, 2020

Oh...Canada

 

O Canada, our home on native land  

Truly we have sinned against our fellow man   

With mourning hearts, we see them rise  

The numbers to increase    

Of children killed and more abused   

We stand with them and weep  

  

God, make our land glorious and free  

For every child, First Nation and Metis  

O Canada, we stand with them and weep  

 

O Canada, beneath thy shining skies  

Help us to find ways to be reconciled  

Bring hope to those who have been wronged  

From East to Western sea  

Bring healing, seeking better days   

And live in harmony   

 

O Canada, our home, and native land 

May we grow in love, with all our fellow man 

With growing hearts, we’ll see thee rise 

The True North, strong and free 

And stand on guard, O Canada 

Against our shameful history 

The Willow Tree

More than a dozen years have passed  

Since I wrote about a certain willow 

I was the sole audience when a velvet breeze 

Through her languid leaves did billow 

 

I sat upon a blanket on the lawn   

Mesmerized by her sashaying moves 

Imagining dancers of all styles  

Through her theatrical grooves  

 

Today I passed her way again 

My heart jolted by the effect  

Of her contorted body on the ground 

Like a museum piece to inspect 

 

Uprooted from her repertoire,  

She’s adapted to circumstance    

Branching in different directions 

With the ability, still, to dance 

 

Trigger

I will show you something 

I don’t care if the world can see 

Here I am on bended knee, praying 

That you and your race will know 

Your place, your place below, 

Yes, even six feet deep 

This is torture,  

Touching you, 

Listening to your whining, nigger 

I guess I should have  Done like the others, 

Like all the others  

And just pulled the trigger  

Triggered by the horror  

On the TV screen  

Blacks and white unite  

Slowly, very slowly,  

Whites are learning 

Some of the countless troubles  

Blacks have, too long, seen  

A father fears to walk his pet alone 

A patrol car might dog his avenue 

A husband fueling his wife’s car 

Those car seats in the back?  

Why should they belong to you? 

A man watching uncaged birds  

In the sunlit park  

Gets screamed at and threatened  

Well, his skin was dark 

A child walking home with candy 

A man reading a book, 

A woman looking out her window 

This was all it took  

To become a suspect 

Before a barrage of bullets ensue 

By those paid 

To serve and protect  

Uncharged, acquitted, not guilty 

Verdicts from the courts  

Is it because black lives do not matter? 

Their blood senselessly splattered 

Is still red like rage, or a face being choked  

A black man walks into a bar 

And lived to tell about it 

This is not a joke