A beetle shat upon my eye,
while I was sleeping soundly
beneath my favourite willow tree
it was an act of love.

A blink did free the greenish putty
and as he looked at me
the memories came flooding back
I closed them now to see.

Was he a friend although he shat
upon my saddend face
perhaps a messenger for me
who had been rather blunt.

I must escape, into free sleep
it beats the firewater
there is a world where harmony
and pax vobiscum reign.

The beetle flies back to his nest
in my own willow tree
and all her leaves look down on me
but none with any scorn.

I stay here 'til the sun goes home
and all the cows head east
the beetle takes his second shit
that's when I say Good bye.

Back down in dreams the memories
come floating like mad bats
to let me know I can be free
but not in chains for two.

The dew from my own willow tree
rains down on my creased face
refreshes me, revives my soul
it is my only home.

So, please ye Gods, can I grow roots
become one just the same
I do not mind the beetle crap
I do not mind the shame.

I'd been quartered near to basra
we'd got rid of most of those
sorry - god damned arabs -
wearing fundamental clothes
the truth is that it got to me
and everything i've done
i thought was for god and country
and i thought that we had won.

But now the truth is testifed
and i have to make a plea
that all those things i done to them
was on orders - don't you see -
i am not a angry man
i have not a grain in me
that would really ever lead my men
into such depravity.

OK - we did things different
in that gaol house near baghdad
OK - we may have overstepped
the orders that we had
but we were never questionning
all the orders that they gave
we had heard our president
say this country we would save.

Those damned iraquis had so much
of evil weaponry
not just guns and planes and tanks
but those WMDs.

So we could never find them
and they may well not be there
but sitting in this courtroom
i am making up a prayer
why if saddam was so evil
did we have to........

I am not a man called infidel
nor was i ever lionheart
i never conquered islam's lands
nor set myself apart
from those who followed other faiths
so let my message now be clear
it is those with persecution minds
my shining blade should fear.

A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With dark green needled memories
Of childhood dreams and mysteries
Wrapped present-like in front of me.

A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
I glimpse a past wherein i see
The child that then grew into me
Not forward fast but haltingly.

A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
A time for being with family
A time that's gone so fleetingly
Yet lives for always deep in me.

A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
When twelfth night comes whole hauntingly
One lingered look and then i see
No Christmas tree where it would be.

A Christmas tree! A Christmas tree!
With feelings now felt tearfully
No home, no kids surrounding me
No corner in my house to see
The magic of that Christmas tree.

I know I am
The Negro Problem
Being wined and dined,
Answering the usual questions
That come to white mind
Which seeks demurely
To Probe in polite way
The why and wherewithal
Of darkness U.S.A.--
Wondering how things got this way
In current democratic night,
Murmuring gently
Over fraises du bois,
"I'm so ashamed of being white."

The lobster is delicious,
The wine divine,
And center of attention
At the damask table, mine.
To be a Problem on
Park Avenue at eight
Is not so bad.
Solutions to the Problem,
Of course, wait.

My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder were I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?

Wedding Poems