Marriane

Nineteen Forty-one; Holland, the Netherlands
Swastika flags darkened the skies of your ten year old eyes
Marianne

The decree for the gold and all silver, be brought to the city square
but Marianne, Marianne, take it down to the river and drown it defiantly there

Father kissed mother goodbye
fled underground to resist and to fight
But oh Marianne, my sweet daughter don't cry
For there is a God who is greater than why

On the door, blanched hands holding guns leading bone-thirsty grins
Nazi soldiers came searching for men kept hidden in your floors
Marianne

Up the stairs, to the loose floor boards, and hide yourselves inside
Marianne, Marianne, to the door let them in
but bar all the fear and the hate from your eyes

Too often I think I've reason to fear
When all for freedom was the hope in your prayer
So Marianne on nights when I feel alone
won't you hid me inside the floor boards of your home

A night to ponder

I can't tell which is worse: a world of friends i'll take for granted or a night spent alone without a friend in the world?

Shore Work: Thursday, May 24, 2007

Each day begins very much like the last; with the sound of 4 alarms, and loud resisting groans. "Rise and shine big guy," I say, as if i desire to begin this day more than Caleb, who by now is already lacing his boots as I role out of bed. I step into my long johns, and stretch a very undersized, wool- long sleeve shirt around my neck; smelling the 6 days of unwashed body odor as I push my head through the collar. Next are my jeans, socks, boots, and sweatshirt. I fix my watch around my writist, realizing my usual 10 minute late- 7:40 A.M. departure from the third floor of the Hilton- pausing quickly to switch off the heater and lather my lips with sunscreen SPF4 chapstick. Oh the Bear-den, where breakfast is all serious; Pancakes and scrambled eggs, eaten with serious faces of course. The silence is close to always broken with an intriguing dream of bowline, sheep-bends, and square-knots; coiling rope or mending nets; and how Kyle seemed to somehow involve them with the German Army and a dangerous bridge crossing; where he played Robin Hood and couldn't decide what outfit to wear. dangit, The Clock strikes 8 and never fails to invoke crude obscenities, as we 11 file down the stairs like wounded animals and meet the days agenda of Weston- the taskmaster, ringleader, or whatever you might say. "We got a long day ahead of us boys," he says while giving each of us our specific task for the morning. Like elves of salmon fishing, we trot to our places and begin to build the toys of a June 5th Season opening. The weather is cold, and the wind nips my bare fingers like a growing puppy, whose teeth grow stronger the longer we work out in the yard. Oh the bitter rain, however we pray that it might beat loud enough to grace the veins of Weston's sympathy, who might, just might give us the privilidge of working inside, where doors are closed and heaters sing sweet lullabies to our now enlightened charisma.

Tell me how-5/26/07

from the story that nature told, on this winsome saturday afternoon; one would think that life was right, that peace reigned, and good-will had been brought to all men. i see mountains- peaked with snow and clouds. oceans water- void of all strife and reckless abandon. i feel wind- with its bright coolness. i smell approaching summer- with its promised warmer weather. i hear birds and their massed choirs- singing songs that resound life and hint at nature's vastness. all this i see, and while i can enjoy its beauty, i am derived of simple words and thoughts to explain how it all can co-exist with the house that lies in shambles beneath my scanning vision. not only this, but the lifeless bones that sit entangled in the ashes scream out unjustified: TELL ME HOW- does death- suffering- injustice- you name it, walk hand in hand with a life too inspiring for words. i ache to make sense of it all, but comprehend little beyond the fact that i hate it all- this life and its black and white realities; that nature goes on and beauty exists- all the while grief fills the hearts of so many.

half awake politics

my liberal textbook, study guide, and 6 pages of well thought out notes, spill their contents on my desk and fill the mental list of today's accomplishments. I muscle up enough spirit to move on to Malcom X, neatly writing his belief beneath my last tid-bit of checks and balances. Oh american federal government, why do you numb my mental capacity, with your seperation of powers, and never ending supreme court cases. oh the lengths of oppertunity you promise me tomorrow, if it so be i'm not too tired to take advantage of my freedom. and so i shall continue writing, all that my hands will afford, and slowly make my to the civil rights act of 1964. (that last line would make a tight rap). 8 o'clock comes far to quickly, for me to worry about an elogant closing line, and so i'll close this bugger out, with a flashy-fine good-bye.

My Old Man

born into your line
your judgement became mine
and with my lifes first breath
allegiance sworn to death

a lamb to slaughter; wolf of a father
whose love like chains upon my flesh

my old man... soon enough

each morning i rise
to guilt in wakened eyes
and with my yesterday, you taunt into my face
and boast the light of all my shame

your thorn 'neath my feet; i walk as i bleed
a crushed heel between the teeth of...my old man

but soon enough it'll be your head, oh soon enough, soon enough

*my old man, yeah, his name's prideful
shook his fist and gave me an eyeful
all my joy meant all his shame
when he couldn't bare the wealth of the family name

*alan kaiser

Dirt

infant, with only an expectation to light their way
pauper, with irony in cups of dirt and nickels to prove he's genuine
all i see is helplessness and tasteless tongues
that swallow down a poison and rest in its delight

only daughter of an absent father, with running love to catch
oh my son of fists and bruises, with anger's guidance to lead
all i see is vein attempts and lost affections
that search in emptiness to fill

but am i that vain?
am i that blind?
to draw my arrogance like scales upon my eyes

am i that wrong?
am i that deaf?
to think all their cries for grace more helpless than mine

Oh God, be merciful on me

for I am only as clean
as the one whose dirt I choose to see

Ecclesiastes

Ashes remain, of the house she called her summer peace
Hands are stained, blistered and burned from fighting heat
and they stay, day after day, and sing out defeat

Like a fish stuck in a treacherous net
or a bird trapped in a snare
so an end befalls all men, unprepared

Can you tame the fire?
Can you breathe its smoke?
We could not that Friday morning, as we lost someone we love

We screamed Wanda, Wanda, yell out if you can hear me
Wanda, Wanda, yell out if you can breathe
Wanda, Wanda, yell out if you can hear me
And we prayed that this was all a bad dream

Look not to tomorrow
Look not back on yesterday
or you shall see the sorrow, if you miss today

Who knows

I heard the knock at around 2:00; threw the already propped door open, and found two gentlemen, (one grown, one still growing), both dressed in shirt and tie. The older gentleman, wth red pants, blue shirt, and a faded brown briefcase, fumbled around for a how-dee, and when we had said our rehearsed hellos; he, obviously not looking for me, asked if the people occupying the house were the same as a year ago. I went through a list of 20 names, until i came upon patrick, which sparked a brightened expression from his face, and to which he asked if I might find him. I did my best to get a hold of pat, but when he was not to be located, the younger gentleman, with brown pants, green shirt, and black shoes asked if i might be interested in having a little Bible study with them. I fumbled around for a way to say yes without sounding suspicious, thereby revealing the "10,000 ways with which to stump your foes", so avidly playing in my mind.

The next 45 minutes would be spent in complete and utter futility. Why on earth I am under any sort of an impression that men, with obvious intentions, knocking on my door, would ever recant and submit to the reasoning of the very one they presumed to be un-enlightened, is well beyond me; but yet we sat, (at least I did) on Mango's front lawn, like snakes playing dead, pretending to hear eachother's thoughts with sincerity; all the while keeping hidden our real agenda; the secret ambition that we might bare our poisonous fangs of "Biblical understanding", into the necks of our newly alleged "brothers on quest for truth's", anticipated slip of tongue; All the while, through our actions, we abandon the same gospel that we swear to know so much about, and thereby betray the One we've fought the last 45 minutes to justify.

Grandfathers

For 13 years of my life I had 2 grandfathers, and for 4 years now I have had none. While my 13 and 15 year old tears were genuine tears, and the picture of their bodies in a casket is altogether a reality that will never leave me, I have never quite experienced thier death's reality as I do now; 19 years old, and discomfited at the thought of so many things I now grasp an appreciation for, that then i neglected to take hold of; opportunities that will never again be put before me; stories i never heard, fishing trips i never took, and wisdom i never took full advantage to draw upon. I've come to terms with the fact that neither time nor grandfathers will ever be given back to me, so here's to what I swear never again to take for granted, and here's to what I miss most:

Grandpa Marv: A hot-dog and waffle for breakfast every morning; The word shit when you were angry, and the bad ass status i awarded you when you said it; Your always dirty, rugged, and beat up hands; Your 2 pairs of cover-alls, bearing the stains of a days hard work; Blue recliners, with a beer in one hand, and popcorn in the other; Renewed frustration at the Florida Marlins and intolerance for anything loud; consistent one dollar bills for the passing Polar Cup; Super-fly belt buckles, and Members Only jackets.

Grandpa Kaiser: The new life that you gave to dirty, broken, thrown away ball-point pens and plastic bags; Frugality and the refusal to throw anything away that could be fixed; Your lack of a right thumb, and the story of losing it in farm machinery, at 10 years old; Your rockin1977 black Lincoln Continental, so adamantly turned off at red lights to save gas; The auctioneer call and songs that involved yodeling; B-Love and fishing off the Lake Worth pier; The smell of squid in our back freezer; Mesh trucker hats; Honey in your coffee, and Denny's.

Shoot dang