A Long Hard Road Part IV

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part IV

 

They came to California on a promise of jobs

Where there was fruit on the vine and peaches

on trees just ripe for the picking

But there was way more refugees than

there was jobs

 

And there was a whole lot of people with skin

a shade darker working those fields of plenty

long before the dust bowl migration

 

They gathered together in sprawling camps of

makeshift shelters and worked like slaves of labor

 

Long hard hours for little pay

Kicked and spit at like stray dogs

 

When the boss man came up short on his payroll

Or got a little greedier than he usually was

He’d call the immigration bulls

 

The Mexicanos would go a running

Those who weren’t fast enough or were

Just too tired to run would be rounded up

Like cattle and took down to the border

 

Sometimes they took em in planes

A man name of Woody sang about it:

 

  The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting

  The oranges piled in the creosote dumps

  They’re flying em back to the Mexican border

  To pay all their money to wade back again

 

  Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita

  Adios mes amigos, Jesus y Maria

  You won’t have your names when you ride

  the big airplane

  and all they will call you will be deportee

 

You might wonder how the poor white folk

couldn’t see that what happened to them back

in Oklahoma is what happened to the

Mexicans here in California

 

Cheated out of their homes and pushed off

their land

 

You might wonder how they couldn’t see that

What happened to them happened to the

Cherokee a way back in Tennessee

 

It ain’t about the color of your skin

It’s about how much you have in your pocket

It ain’t about how you talk or where you’re from

It’s about greed

It’s about never being satisfied with what you

have but always wanting more

It’s about not caring who you have to cheat or

abuse to get what you want

 

It’s all connected

One long hard road

It’s all the same thing

And we’re all in it together

 

  This land is your land

  This land is my land

  From California to the New York island

  From the redwood forest

  to the Gulf Stream waters

  This land was made for me and you

 

(for Alan Arnopole and Woody Guthrie)

 

 

A Long Hard Road Part III

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part III

 

A dust storm came and it never left

It stretched out half a continent

High as any man could see

(of course you couldn’t see a thing)

 

Those were the Dust Bowl days

Hard times multiplied a hundred times over

Ain’t nothing you could do about it

Some say it was the farming ways

Swept out the natural brush, dried out the

land and made it ripe for the taking

Some say it was the revenge of the Cherokee

Payback is a punch in the gut

(but the Cherokee are not vengeful people)

A dust storm the size of Texas picked

up the land and blowed it all away

 

A man named Guthrie grew up in those

times and put it down in a song:

 

So long, been good to know ya

So long, it’s been good to know ya

So long, it’s been good to know ya

This dusty old dust is a gettin my home

And I’ve gotta be drifting along

 

He joined the army of the great migration

Thousands of poor folks with all their belongings

stacked up like hotcakes on an iron skillet

heading down the highway of the lost and

misguided looking for the land of plenty

 

When you think about it (and I do) it

sounds a lot like the Trail of Tears

Only there weren’t no people lined up to

watch the long loathsome trail of hardship

It came a way too close to home

 

Busted down and nearly broke

They came west to California

Where they hoped things would be better

For some maybe it was

For many it just weren’t

And that’s another story

 

A Long Hard Road (Part II)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part II

 

The great war between the states

The war of the whites over black slaves

was a blessing to the Cherokee and

all other native tribes

The whites with their weapons and their

endless thirst for land and treasure

left them in peace

The Cherokee thrived

against all odds and all manner of adversity

the Cherokee survived

 

But when the great war ended and the slaves

were freed the whites remembered

They saw what the Cherokee did

That their tribal ways and culture endured

They saw and didn’t like what they saw

Injuns were supposed to learn the white ways

They weren’t supposed to live in tribes

The were supposed to live in homes

with fenced yards and small farms

 

So they passed laws that broke up the land

into small lots that couldn’t survive hard times

 

So they passed a law that paved a highway

over the red road of days past

 

They called it the Oklahoma Land Rush

 

So the Cherokee and others were pushed

out of their homes once again

They became tenant farmers working the land

alongside poor white farmers for next to

nothing just to put food on the table

 

The Cherokee found a way

The poor white farmers not so much

But that’s another story

 

 

A Long Hard Road (Part I)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part I

 

This is a story about how things go together

Told in the language of the common folk

A language meant for talking

For telling stories in a crowded barroom

For speaking out loud in a circle of friends

It’s the language of Faulkner, McCarthy,

Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie

(but that’s another story)

 

This story begins in the green valleys,

endless forests, rugged mountains and

winding rivers of rural Tennessee

It may be the story rightly begins long

before Tennessee was even a name on a map

when the seven tribes of the Natchez Trace

lived and prospered on the mother of all rivers

before the great white invasion

 

But this story begins with the Cherokee

Known by the whites as the civilized tribe

(Tecumseh and Crazy Horse might disagree

but that too is another story)

 

The Cherokee invented their own syllabary

so they could write and read in their own language

They wrote their own constitution

They formed their own democracy

They elected their own representatives

 

The Supreme Court of the United States of

America (an audacious name but there it is)

recognized their lawful sovereignty but at that

time a man from Tennessee who grew up with

the Cherokee and led many of them into the Battle

of New Orleans was elected president of the

white man’s nation

 

His name was Andrew Jackson and he didn’t

think much of the Supreme Court’s decision

In fact he tossed it out with the daily trash

He ordered the Cherokee, Choctaw, the Creek

and Chickasaw herded up like cattle and

moved a thousand miles away to a desolate

land no white man wanted (until they did

but that is another story)

 

It came to be known as the Trail of Tears

but it was not just Indian tears on the path

to the setting sun where all things go to die

 

The poor white folk and black folk and other

folk lined up along the trail to watch a proud

people humbled by hardship and pushed to

the edge of their limits

 

They watched and their tears became a river

flowing, a path of sorrow, and a tribute to

the human spirit

 

Thousands of folks native to the land packed

what belongings they could and marched the

long hard road to Indian Territory

 

Some died, some escaped and many endured

It would come to be called Oklahoma

(but that is another story)

 

Son of Nixon

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: DEMOCRACY

 

Son of Nixon

 

I am not a crook he said

Yet it ended in disgrace

Take another look he said

My time was out of place

 

Had I the votes today he says

The courts would bow before me

I’d always get my way he says

The senate would restore me

 

I worked with Chairman Mao

I worked with Brezhnev too

If I was president now

I’ll tell you what I’d do

 

I’d take control of everything

All branches at my call

Declare myself the people’s king

My house would never fall

 

As for the curse of Watergate

It would not have come to light

The false news and the deep state

It’s all a pack of lies

Appeasement

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: GLOBAL POLITICS

 

Appeasement

 

Neville Chamberlain appeased the Reich

Before the Reich invaded Poland

Our leader knows it is not right

But he’ll give Zelensky no land

 

Mexico appeased our president

Before he launched his trade war

A tariff where all the money went

Slamming shut an open door

 

I understand the need to please

The big bully on the border

But that’s no reason to appease

It just fuels his cruel disorder

 

Our good neighbors understand

He is not a man of common sense

He only cares about his brand

His sense of fairness bent

 

Appeasing him will do no good

It will only make his fire burn

All who’ve known him understood

This man will never learn

 

Clemency (for Leonard Peltier)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN JUSTICE

Clemency (for Leonard Peltier)

 

Half a century behind bars

For crimes he did not commit

Fifty years proclaiming injustice

Five decades of taking the hit

For the crime of not being sorry

That the FBI agents were dead

For surviving the deadly shootout

That the FBI agents led

 

Way back in the year of seventy-three

On the Pine Ridge Reservation

At a place called Wounded Knee

In the heart of the Oglala nation

The American Indian Movement

Planted a staff and laid their claim

To justice the Indian way

 

For seventy* days they held their ground

Seventy days to the nation’s shame

Two warriors of AIM lost their lives

Though few can remember their names**

They remember the name of Leonard Peltier

For he alone took the blame

For the shooting of agents Coler and Williams

For the killing of both the same

 

Peltier was not at Wounded Knee

But he was chosen to pay the price

A person of native bloodline

Had to make that sacrifice

 

There is no justice in America

As long as Leonard Peltier is held

For the crimes of someone unknown

Half a century spent in hell

 

* seventy-one

** Frank Clearwater & Buddy Lamont

The Crusader

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN POLITICS

The Crusader (Pete Hegseth)

 

Those who do not know their history

Are most often condemned to repeat

They very worst of our worst atrocities

The Crusades ended in defeat

 

The Crusaders killed with utter pleasure

Annihilation was their only plan

They led massacres at their leisure

Killing children, woman and man

 

They believed their sword was blessed

Because they wore the Crusader’s cross

All sins forgiven when confessed

They never thought about the cost

 

In innocent lives and human suffering

In generations sworn to hate

All to grasp that illusive ring

To stake claim to their eternal fate

 

Now some would like a new Crusade

For another century of blood

Exchange the bullet for the blade

Watch the stream become a flood

 

(Trump’s choice for Defense Secretary

is a champion of the crusades.)

 

Trying Times

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: UKRAINE

Trying Times

 

“These are the times that try men’s souls…”

 

  -- Thomas Paine, The American Crisis

 

As it was in America circa 1774

So it is today in Ukraine

It is a hard fought and bitter war

Sometimes it seems in vain

But those who stand it now

Through winter’s harshest strain

Deserve the eternal blessings

Of all who love Ukraine

 

We cannot blame the ones who fall

Who can’t endure the pain

For many answer to the call

Before their hopes are slain

Who cannot climb another wall

Though their love will never wane

 

Forgive them for their changing hearts

Their loyalty is plain

The war has broken them apart

We fear it breaks Ukraine

But those who stay the course

Will stand forever tall

The heroes of this dirty war

The love of one and all

 

(Ukrainian soldiers flee the battlefield.)

 

Days of Change

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN HISTORY

 

 DAYS OF CHANGE

The assassinations of JFK, MLK & Bobby

Each event a nation mourned

Each event a hidden element celebrated

We wondered who benefited

Who struck a deal with the devil

Days of sorrow

Days of change

 

The killing of the kids at Kent State

The killings at Jackson State

Shit got real fast

We knew how they hated us

We did not know how much

Days of sorrow

Days of change

 

The resignation of LBJ

Now we knew we could bring change

We could stop an evil war

Bring peace to the killing fields

A new era of hope and wonder

That’s when they killed Bobby

Days of sorrow

Days of change

 

The resignation of Richard Nixon

The man who embraced China

The man who elevated dictators

The man who won 49 states

The man who hired burglars

And kept a long enemies list

Resigned in disgrace

Days of wonder

Days of change

 

The morning the twin towers fell

An act of unconscionable violence

The death of thousands

A declaration of vengeance

The global war on terror

Iraq and Afghanistan

Days of sorrow

Days of change

 

The reelection of Donald Trump…

Jack Random is the author of eight novels (including Pawns to Players and Wasichu), three collections of short stories, two volumes of plays, ten volumes of political essays (Jazzman Chronicles) and six books of poetry (including Life Songs and Lost in Her Soul).  His most recent works are Poemics Americana and Poemics International (Crow Dog Press).

We're Still There

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: IRAQ

We’re Still There

 

We invaded Iraq without provocation

We created the backlash of ISIS

We proved ourselves an imperial nation

When we exploited the 911 crisis

 

ISIS became a growing concern

When we left Iraq in tatters

The conquering nations never learn

As every empire shatters

 

We left Iraq an absolute mess

Iran exploited our disaster

We did what often we do best

When ambition is our master

 

We lost the war to national pride

But not the kind you’re thinking

The pride was on the other side

Our ship of state was sinking

 

We left Iraq many years ago

We were caught in a dragon’s lair

As doubt in our intentions grow

We acknowledge we’re still there

 

Moving the Homeless

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: HOMELESSNESS

Moving the Homeless

 

It doesn’t matter whether you call them

The unhoused, homeless or unsheltered

The unhoused are homeless

The homeless have no shelter

 

The homeless have always been

As long as the river runs

As long as the sun rises in the east

During the Great Depression

The homeless lived in Hoovervilles

Or followed the rails in hobo camps

There were soup kitchens for the poor

There were shelters from the storm

When times got rough in one place

The cops moved them along

The railroad bulls beat them

Catch em if you can

 

We’ve come a long way since then

But the homeless are still here

In ever increasing numbers

They camped in parks until the rangers

Came around to push them out

They camped by the riverside until

The river cops pushed them out

They camped on the streets until

The street cops pushed them out

 

I don’t know what the solution is

But pushing the homeless from one

Camp to another is not an answer

It’s just a way of avoiding the question

We have a right to expect some service

Of all individuals – even the homeless –

In exchange, individuals have a right to

Expect fulfillment of basic needs

Including food and shelter

 

The Strange Case (Julian Assange)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: HISTORY

The Strange Case

 

The strange case of Julian Assange

Will be an anecdote in history

He exposed the dirty lies of war

But his motives were a mystery

When he aided by omission

The campaign of a pretender

He went after one candidate

But he spared the worst offender

Who ever landed on the stage

With the help of Brother Vlad

In defiance of his age

We went from good to bad

 

Those who were offended

By the consequence of his actions

Will not accept or forgive him

Or his strained loyal faction

We hold him much to blame

For the threat to our nation

He should hide his head in shame

He should forego the celebration

For his reasoning was lame

When he served the Russian station

Did he really go insane

Or did he just enjoy sensation?