Kokesh Wantanabe

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

Kokesh Wantanabe

 

There is no murder in Kokesh

A man is found on the streets

A sword implanted in his torso

The tip of his little finger severed

Dead but not murdered

There is no murder in Wantanabe

 

A man is burned like charcoal

His family is threatened

He is indebted to the mob

He leaves behind no note

His shame vanishes

His reputation is restored

Wantanabe justice

There is no crime in Wantanabe

 

There is no rape in Kokesh

A woman is found in an alley

Her clothing torn

Her undergarment ripped

from her body

She has nothing to report

There is no rape in Wantanabe

 

In Kokesh Wantanabe

Nothing is as it appears

There is no murder because

There are no murderers

There is no crime because

There are no criminals

There is no rape because

There are no rapists

 

In Kokesh Wantanabe

The people are happy and free

Who are these people

If not you and me?

100 Days of War

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: UKRAINE

100 Days of War

 

A constant reign of terror

Missiles bombs and bullets fly

Buildings leveled to the floor

People scattered in all directions

Hospitals and neighborhoods

Battered murdered and destroyed

Cries of horror everywhere

Soldiers at the door

100 days of war

 

Ukraine has stood its ground

Her soldiers proud and strong

Against the Russian hordes

Whose cause is weak and wrong

Merciless and brutal

It is evil to the core

Sworn to honor’s code

100 days of war

 

How long can this go on?

How long can they survive?

What are they fighting for?

They are fighting for their lives

For their people to be free

For their rights to be restored

100 days of war

 

Fear and Outrage

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: MASS SHOOTINGS

Fear and Outrage

 

Don’t worry mama said

It will subside

What you’re feeling now

That feeling deep inside

It seems it’s there to stay

As if the pain and sorrow

Will never go away

 

Go to sleep now mama said

Dream of happy days

Daffodils and cotton candy

Dance and run and play

That feeling that you’re feeling

Be strong be true be brave

It will not last forever

In the morning it will fade

 

Morning came and mama said

Darling child dry your eyes

Tomorrow will be better

I promise do not cry

But tomorrow came and went

And mama said with a sigh

Some sorrow never leaves

I don’t know why

 

The Damned of Donbas

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: UKRAINE

The Damned of Donbas

 

Remember the Trail of Tears

Remember the forced removal

Of the Cherokee from their native lands

Remember the long march from Tennessee

To the unwanted lands of Oklahoma

Remember the cries of white folks

As they stood along the path

And gave the trail its name

It would be a hundred years before

We called it what it was: genocide

 

History is repeated time and time again

A people uprooted from their native lands

Are severed from their ways of life

Broke and scattered they must rebuild

Their lives from the ground up

 

It has happened many times since

It is happening again in Ukraine

The people of the Donbas region

Are uprooted and scattered in a thousand

Different directions from Mongolia

To an obscure island in the Pacific

 

Those who profess love of Russia

May be permitted to stay

Those who stand by Ukraine

Are tossed about like dry leaves

In seven strong winds

 

There is a word for this crime

Against humanity

A word we must speak aloud

And never forget:

Genocide

 

The perpetrators of this crime

Must pay the price

They must live their remaining days

On earth as the damned of Donbas

 

Regression

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: UKRAINE

Regression

 

Of all the tragedies of human existence

Regression is among the saddest

To watch a loved one age backward

In a prolonged sunset of life

To become a child in thought

To believe others exist only to serve

To display emotions like a new hat

To perceive minutia as a grand event

To shape the world to your desire

 

As individuals may regress

So too may states and nations

War itself is a symptom of regression

The desire to dominate and possess

To absorb neighbors and former friends

To feign offense at the least provocation

The emotional outrage of a child

To bend the world to your point of view

 

Beneath the surface of the regressed

There lies a profound sadness

For in the expanse of true history

In the just fullness of rolling time

The regressive view cannot prevail

The world will not conform to your wishes

Outrage will collapse inward

The child will grow up

The regressed will grow silent

The world demands acceptance

 

The Alliance (NATO)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: GLOBAL POLITICS

The Alliance

 

It is time to expand the NATO alliance

To all nations that embrace democracy

At home we fight to keep the faith

Against the forces of autocracy

 

While the war in Ukraine still rages

All nations must live in fear

But for those bordering the aggressor

The threat is all too near

 

The Nordic nations are worthy

Of our friendship and support

When they ask to be included

The ball will rest in our court

 

Expand the NATO alliance

To the world let it be known

We stand with the nations of Europe

While Russia stands alone

 

Davos

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: GLOBAL POLITICS

Davos

 

They gather once a year

The richest of the rich

The chosen of the chosen

To discuss survival of the fittest

The existential crises of the times

As if they were mere observers

As if their decisions were sideshows

And not the main event

 

They control the horizontal

They control the vertical

What they discuss at dinner

Effects every life on the planet

Perhaps in the cosmos

If they choose to stop Putin

Putin will be stopped

If they choose to end Ukraine

Ukraine will be ended

If they choose to alter the climate

The climate will be altered

If they choose to bury democracy

Begin the funeral dirge

 

But they choose to do nothing

They stand by and watch

The tragedy of human life on earth

They control the horizontal

They control the vertical

They are the masters of this life

Their survival is assured

 

Mass Shootings

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: POEMICS

Mass Shootings

 

How dare we shrug at the blood of children

The death of innocents is always chilling

But to die in this manner…

A mad gunman (all mass shooters are mad)

Invades a sacred space –

Where the outside world is banished

Where an open mind is the only requirement –

And opens fire as if it were a war zone

As if wide-eyed kids were enemy soldiers

Where the explosion of gunfire does not end

Until blood covers the cold tiled floor

And nineteen children lie still

Motionless

Never to rise again…

 

To be a child and witness the slaughter

To have it imprinted on your mind

From Columbine to Sandy Hook

To a fourth-grade classroom in smalltown Texas

 

It will never end

Until America fundamentally changes

Until the gun industry gets out of politics

Until American voters stop pretending

That Americans cannot be free

Without a gun in every hand

Without access to mass-killing weapons

For every warped psycho killer

With a credit card

 

Mass shootings will not end

Until we vote out of office

Every self-serving politician

Who sold his and her soul

To protect the right to kill

 

Indian Schools

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

Indian Schools

 

We took children from their families

Sent them away to boarding schools

To break them of their cultures

To strip them of their languages

We regarded them as savages

Unworthy of our kindness

We beat them down with our religion

Replaced their history with ours

We punished them with civil manners

We told them they were dirty

Unnatural primitive and cruel

We instructed them to forget the past

Their tribes and tribal ways

Their ancestors were animals

Their elders were lost souls

We ordered them to sever ties

With all that came before them

And oh yes, we exploited them

Sexually and physically abuse them

We stole everything they valued

Including their dignity

Now we wonder why they drink

Why they do drugs

Why they live in poverty

Why they live apart from us

Why they turn their backs away

They are proud people

With long and storied histories

Of courageous warriors

And strong women

With words of infinite wisdom

With traditions and beliefs

They do not wish to lose

They remember what we did to them

They remember Indian schools

They remember the reservations

And how they came to be

So no, they will not forget the past

They will remember always

Until the past becomes the present

And paves the red road forward

 

The Aggrieved (for Haiti)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: REPARATIONS

The Aggrieved (Haiti)

 

The people of Haiti are much aggrieved

The price of reparations grows

The French extorted a King’s ransom

The greater costs we’ll never know

 

The American government took a turn

Exploiting the fledgling nation

Powerful countries will never learn

The intrinsic sin of occupation

 

Time has come to settle debts

For all the wrongs that we have done

The natural resources we have stolen

At the barrel of a gun

 

Why not begin with Haiti?

Let us treat them as our friends

By investing in their future

By an act of kindness make amends

 

Buffalo Killer

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: POEMICS

Buffalo Killer

 

In the latter half of the 19^th century

They killed buffalo to ensure that

The wandering tribes of the Great Plains –

The Lakota the Cheyenne the Blackfoot –

Would not survive

 

In the early 21^st century

A racist killer travels to Buffalo

To kill people with dark complexions

To make room for white folk

 

Who would have guessed?

White people – who own more real estate

Than they could ever use –

Need more room

 

White people – who have more power

Than they could ever abuse –

Need more power

 

The buffalo killers were instruments of evil

The Buffalo killer is the same

 

Somehow somewhere

(Make America Great Again)

The killer got the message

That this was how you make

The world safe for white people

 

The most disturbing thing is:

He is not the only one

And they all have guns

 

Replacement Theory

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: POEMICS

Replacement Theory

 

The “native born” are rising

Righteous indignation in their blood

Fear and trepidation of other faces

Come to take their places

In the high crime neighborhoods

In the rat-infested brownstones

In all the long-hour low-wage jobs

In the non-union labor market

In the slum cities with lead pipes

In the homes of industrial waste

On the reservations of pervasive poverty

where the real native born live

 

The “real” Americans are afraid

They’re coming to take our places

We must stop them at the border

We must stop them at the ballot box

We must stop them at the schools

We must end the free rides

that let them think they belong

We must stop their procreation

before they poison the American way

We are the genuine Americans

and we will not be replaced

 

Zarathustra

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

Zarathustra

 

The leader who wanted no followers

The teacher who disdained students

The preacher without a flock

The writer without readers

The man who stood alone

The individual who marked a path

Defined his own future

Stuck true to his ways

Never wavered never strayed

Embraced symbolism rejected symbols

Acknowledged the part he played

His vast mind held such infinity

That it embodied divinity

 

The father of modern philosophy

He condemned a generation of intellect

To a never-ending spiral of decline

A celebration of the sublime

A moment beyond time

His flame sparked a fire

That destroyed great empires

Only to wallow in the mire

Of eternal contemplation

A final resignation

In defeat

 

Black Hole

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: LIFE SONGS

 

Black Hole

 

There’s a black hole

100 million times larger than the sun

at the center of our galaxy

It is proven

There are photographs

We have recorded its existence

We have therefore witnessed

the end of all there is

within our field of knowledge

We have recorded our demise

One wonders what becomes of

All we know and love

What becomes of Shakespeare and Monet?

What becomes of Whitman and Yeats?

What becomes of Einstein and relativity?

What becomes of Hendrix and Morrison?

What of Billie Holiday and Janis Joplin?

What of Gabriel Garcia Marquez?

What of Steinbeck and McCarthy?

What of Eliot and Dickinson?

What of Hugo and Voltaire?

What of architecture and physics?

What of science and technology?

Have we created monuments to

our own experience only to see

it all swept away in the fulcrum

of a mysterious black hole?

Yes.  Afraid so. 

 

Final Tally

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES

Final Tally

 

It’s not over but the death toll winds down

Soon we will not count the covid dead

Soon the dead will just be dead

And the final tally will be recorded

 

Over a million Americans

North of the Mexican border

More than half over the age of sixty-five

Disproportionate among the poor

Among the black and Latino

Among the native population

 

The tally is tragically low

Multiply by two or three or more

The unrecorded dead will outnumber

The recorded dead by a large margin

 

Yet do not fret for they were old

Do not long mourn for their

Remaining years were short

Do not look back with regret

For they were burdens on their families

Burdens on their friends and loved ones

Burdens on all society

 

We cannot say so now

We cannot say so tomorrow

But the day will come

When we dismiss our sorrow

With the knowledge that the dead

Were mostly old and feeble

They were of less value

That those who survived

In the final tally it is

Survival of the fittest