Paris Olympics

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

Paris Olympics

 

The heart of the western world is Paris

It cannot be denied

The greatness of London and Berlin

Is known far and wide

Amsterdam and Prague

Have many on their side

But that Paris is the very heart

Cannot be denied

 

The host of the Olympics

As gracious as can be

The majesty of the Eiffel Tower

The wealth of Champs Elysees

The Palace of the Invalids

The glory of the Seine

The pyramid of the Louvre

The famed Musee d’Orsay

There is no place like Paris

On this or any day

 

The Olympics brings its grandeur

Paris gives its charm

Combined it is a spectacle

The most glorious of stars

To win the gold in Paris

The silver or the bronze

Would bring a rare panache

Perhaps a poem or a song

 

New Bohemia

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

New Bohemia

 

Bohemia is not a place in Europe

Bohemia is a state of mind

A place where art and artists reign

Where no endeavor is more valued

Than the creation of a work of art

Where thoughts appear in song

Where dance is in the wind

Where each street is a poem

And every building a sculpture

 

Bohemia is a place in the heart

Where no one is afraid to speak

And everyone agrees: Freedom is

As necessary as food, air and water

Where the needs of all are tended to

Where the ambitions of politicians

Are set aside like yesterday’s news

 

Bohemia is a place of growing

Where a child is taught to follow dreams

Where every person has a purpose

Where no dream is too small

Where no vision is too large

Where the struggle burns within

The search for truth and meaning

The fulfillment of the soul

 

Bohemia is not a place in Europe

It is a state of mind

Where every individual is driven

To be creative and kind

Deliverance

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

Deliverance

 

We don’t need words that tickle the senses

But fall short of coherent message

We don’t need poetry that dances on

Starlight but never touches the core

We don’t need magicians that conjure

Silken roses from puffs of thin air

But never pierce the boundaries of thought

 

We need words that hit hard as fists

That move the passive soul into action

We need poetry that rides the waves of

Passion to a destination of outrage

We need conjurers to transform the silent

Masses of the uninformed and unengaged

Into dedicated armies of change

 

We need artists with a social range

Writers who will open doors of power

Voices that rattle the tallest towers

Leaders who rise to the critical hour

People who deliver times of change

 

A Dying Art

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

 

A Dying Art

 

I’ve always been attracted

to the dying arts

The arts for which society

no longer has a need

The arts that do not give

(they say) but only take

The arts that are sustained

by the generosity of patrons

The arts that have lost all relevance

in the modern techno world

 

Those who presume to know

The vagabonds of culture

The vultures at the door – but

never on the stage – have proclaimed

the death of the theater since

the time of Moliere

The holders of the poison pen

who have so often tried and failed

in the artform of their choosing have

declared in good time and bad faith

the end of the short story,

the death of the literary novel,

the demise of romantic verse,

the extinction of free-form poetry,

the inevitable decline of the written

word itself in all its transmutations

and yet the arts are still here

 

The theater has survived

a thousand slings and arrows

Poetry has survived the dumbing

down of the spoken word

Literature has thrived by paving

new avenues of expression

 

As Sam Clemens famously said:

Rumors of my demise are

greatly exaggerated

 

The arts in all its varied forms

will live as long as civilization exists