THE SPECTATOR

Some of us do not care
For a diamond or shiny pearl.
No one stone could be so rare
As gazing upon this world.

What role were you cast to play
Upon this stage called earth?
Exactly how much would you say
The part you play is worth?

Can you play the businessman,
Acting in scenes of war?
Can you play the fisherman,
Selling his fresh albacore?

Can you play the workingman,
Bowing as royalty passes,
Or play the parasite ruling man,
Thriving on workers’ taxes?

Can you play a rich man in jail,
Buying his freedom with gold,
Or play the judge who sets the bail,
As though life can be sold?

Can you play the owner of land,
Who sells lots by the shore?
Can you make cement from sand,
To build the jewelry store?

Can you wear a military coat,
Or wear hats and jewelry?
Can you stand in line to vote,
Then wait for the decree?

Are you nicely uniformed,
In costume for your role?
Do you still feel so adorned,
Backstage inside your soul?

Can your lines be memorized,
To make your performance good?
Can real tears fall from your eyes,
If following the script, they would?

Part of the play is a comedy,
With laughter in the wings.
The rest is all a tragedy,
With chains and pains and kings.

Schools all teach the history
Of what mankind has done,
Passing the bloody legacy,
Each father to his son.

Lessons are learned quite well,
To teach men how to compete;
Claiming things to buy and sell,
To work and to lay concrete.

See the lawyer and the clerk,
The potter and the priest,
Placing all value in their work,
They soon will be deceased.

Governments and kings all say,
Their laws are in the right.
Soon the earth will fade away,
Its laws removed from sight.

The curtain finally will fall,
When the play does end.
Soon after the curtain call,
The play will begin again.

Shakespeare said the world’s a stage,
And we are all just players,
But some of us don’t like the wage,
And so are just spectators.

TALE OF THE PASSERBY

My parents came from the valley,
From beyond the distant hills.
Such is all they ever told me,
With questions, my mind did fill.

Born and raised on an isolated beach,
I knew of no worries or woes,
When idle pondering did finally reach,
The question of how the wind blows.

I asked my parents if they knew,
And my father handed me a knife.
He said the cities might hold a clue
For answering questions about life.

He said the wind has always blown,
He did not know how or why.
Such knowledge to him was never shown,
The thought only makes him sigh.

He gave me strange clothing, in which to dress,
He had kept them stored away a long time.
Soon he did pray for my soul to be blessed,
Using strange words, like law and crime.

“Millions of people abide in each city
And live until they die together.
Surely you will learn words like pity,
For I doubt it has gotten any better.”

I said “Tell me father, if you will,
Where can these cities be found?”
He said “Go and climb over the hill,
And you will see them all around.”

I put on the clothes my father gave me,
To cover up my body from sight.
He said wearing them would surely save me,
Where nudity is not thought to be right.

Taking the knife, its use still unknown,
I set out to find the rest of mankind,
Without whose culture I had grown,
And whose culture I was soon to find.

The first sight came from the top of the hill,
And my mind was stunned in awe!
Ignorance did make my thoughts stand still,
I was astounded by all that I saw.

Monsters, I later learned were machines,
Roared curses into the skies.
I witnessed their part in many scenes
Where paved architecture lies.

As darkness fell, the city was lit
By street lamps and neon lights.
For the first time, my spine was hit
By chills from unknown frights.

In mindless courage, I crept up near
To peer at the wondrous sight.
I bent my ear, in wonder, to hear
A siren that wailed in the night.

The people hurried through the street,
Silenced by the monster sounds,
Never stopping for another to meet,
Though others were all around.

At first I thought they were in a race,
Like running with father on the shore.
Weariness showed in many a face,
As if they barely could run anymore.

Hurrying so fast, they must miss a lot,
Limited to the degree that they see,
Without knowing what they have got,
And despite their money, it is free.

Awestruck at the edge of the town,
I was fearful to walk through,
Afraid of what was seen all around,
But curious for a closer view.

Deciding to chance a walk on the street,
I came barefoot from the sand,
Bruising my feet on the hard concrete,
And I could not understand.

What substance is this that replaces sand,
Where one cannot walk, or lay?
Who claimed the right to kill this land?
What do all the rest have to say?

Suddenly appeared a truck, then a car,
Rolling on rubber, down the concrete.
I wondered if this road went very far,
What demons have built the street?

Gaining the attention of a man walking by,
I showed him of my bruise.
He laughed and said that I should buy
Something called walking shoes.

I asked of the shoes he talked about,
He said they were gotten at the store.
The site of the store, I tried to find out,
He pointed to a building’s door.

I entered to be met by a man called clerk,
Who said he would help if he could.
I told him my feet, on the street, hardly work.
He explained that with shoes, they would.

So I learned to walk in leather shoes,
But shortly I was arrested for theft.
Not knowing money or about its use,
Without paying for the shoes, I left.

I was taken by men in matching clothes
Who all acted and talked the same.
I asked how long until one knows
How to play such a complex game.

Nobody answered but with a frown,
And not understanding, I smiled.
Locking my hands, they took me down,
And said charges would be filed.

They took me to a building for a trial.
I told them what had occurred.
They said I had to go to jail for awhile.
I left without saying a word.

Unaware they had done me wrong,
Until they locked me in a cell,
And then it did not take very long
To judge it all to be a hell.

The city had locks on almost every door,
On windows and most every gate,
With walls growing out of every floor,
Seeming to divide and to separate.

Invisible walls inside men’s minds
Made it difficult to communicate.
Love was stifled and hard to find,
Replaced by fanned flames of hate.

I watched as human beings walked,
Each going in a different way.
I listened as human beings talked,
All different in what they say.

Many seemed as though to complain,
According to words they would tell.
It seemed as though they were in pain,
Yet their bodies appeared quite well.

Born to live on the wild seashore,
In a Garden of Eden type scene,
I should not have looked for any more,
After knowing what heaven does mean.

Eagerly I hoped, awaiting my release.
Slowly, the end, time did finally reach.
I fled directly to the freedom and peace,
Left so long ago, on my father’s beach.

I still do not know how the wind blows,
But I am certain that it blows for me,
And for every soul that rises and shows,
We were meant, like the wind, to be free.

TACQUITZ CANYON

It was a long hard climb,
To seek heaven’s relief,
To this hill so sublime,
From the valley of grief.

The police you see
Are playing a game
That won’t let you be
In a land you too claim.

Their uniforms disguise
The devil’s tailoring,
Forcing us to despise
What they are favoring.

The lady, she has said,
She has yet to see a god,
But it’s in her head,
The hills have been robbed.

So I left without will,
Though I did not depart,
For I walk with the hills
Deep in my heart.

SUNSET MORNING

Sunset and the sky is gray,
Airplane motors humming away.
The highway is an endless trail.
Words are carried in the mail.

Words can devour peace of mind,
Appearing suddenly from behind,
To haunt our vacant memories
In lurking shrouds of vagaries.

Time will pass, and I shall see,
What tomorrow holds for me.
Direction in my thoughts is lost
Until each destination is crossed.

Waiting as the time does pass,
Surely, this life is not the last.
Because the end, we cannot see,
We must be in eternity.

Floating through infinity,
Like a boat upon the sea,
Clouds are moving in the sky;
Unknown is the reason why.

To look eternity in the face,
To see infinity within a space,
One must be more than a brain,
More than flesh, which drinks rain.

Meanwhile, I have some time to kill.
I think I’ll watch the whippoorwill,
Who does not worry, to live in strife,
But sings to make the best of life.

SUICIDAL GREED

Strolling along, casting shadows
On the shadows of the trees,
Heat extracting moisture,
Counteracted by cool breeze.

Sunlight warms the dusty dirt,
Hornets swarm the shaded eaves,
Manufactured by civilized men,
Who rake and burn the leaves.

Smoke ascending up and away,
Absorbed by the smoggy skies.
Newborn bird, tests its wings,
But it falters as it flies.

Young raccoon from wooded hills,
On the highway, its carcass lies.
A crying sun, looks upon,
As a planet pitifully dies.

Blades of grass, straining to grow
Through cracks in sidewalk plains.
Concrete streets continually spread
To block the soil from the rains.

Distractions from the visible truth,
Pollute and drown men’s brains.
Governments flood mass media fears
To keep their subjects trained.

Henry Ford can’t build a car
To take men to their souls.
Hypnosis of material wealth,
Destroys the minds it controls.

To television and commercialism,
Men’s intellects are sold,
Measuring the value of life,
By counting coins of gold.

A lizard from a broken bush,
Runs through scarce green weeds.
In bold attempts, the wind does blow,
Scattering life with seeds.

Striving for luxuriant survival,
Escaping man’s degenerative deeds,
With faith in the value of life,
Despite our suicidal greed.

PRISONERS

The voices of prisoners unheard,
In prisons hidden from view,
Locked away like some caged birds,
By mere luck it is not you.

The courtroom adjourned
As we stepped to the street,
With a lesson well learned:
The state can’t be beat.

We all have been fooled,
To accept the repression.
Our objections overruled,
No choice but submission.

We whimper and cower
And are forcibly taxed
To pay for their power
To give us the ax.

We watch without shame,
Blinded by what we see.
It is the same old game
From throughout history.

Come and see the Christians,
Criminals against the state,
Being fed to hungry lions,
It soon may be your fate.

PRINCE PACHUKA FROM PADUCAH

Plato was smart.
He was a very learned man.
Aristotle and Descartes,
Knew all a learned man can.

Shakespeare was wise.
He had a way with a play.
When it came to writing words,
He knew just what to say.

William Blake was a mystic.
He sure knew how to rhyme.
His poetry of visions,
Will last throughout time.

Buddha was the enlightened one.
His teaching brought peace of mind.
Held high in the minds of men,
In history, he is one of a kind.

Jesus was the wisest.
He had the most to give.
He told us all to share the world,
To forgive, to live and let live.

Jesus told men how to live
To make this world paradise.
Even though he was ignored,
Truly gave the wisest advice.

Napoleon won great fame,
As powerful, and without fear.
If, somehow, he returned today,
Crowds would come out and cheer.

Scholars by the thousands,
Philosophers by the score,
Masters of art and science,
Honored geniuses of war.

Many books about great heroes,
Looked up to and admired.
Daydreams of glamour and glory,
Ways of thought and living, inspired.

Rimbaud, Joyce and Baudelaire,
Finding questions in their youth.
Poetry, prayers and philosophy,
Streams of words in search of truth.

Socrates, Homer and Hippocrates,
All men of historical renown,
From Buddha to Christ to Hubbard,
None explains what is going down.

Many men ponder the universe,
Nearly all men ponder the sky,
Yet nowhere has it been written,
To explain just how, or why.

Never has a book been written,
Not a song, nor a poem or a play,
Which tells the meaning of existence,
And leaves nothing more to say.

No conclusion reached,
No final answer found,
In all the words of men,
In any language around.

In all the writing and talking,
With all the songs we sing,
Words do not go far enough
To explain what is happening.

Many questions are unanswered,
Countless truths remain unseen.
Word worlds of empirical facts
Create an invisible screen.

If truth does remain elusive;
For a lifetime, we never see,
Our only recourse is the faith,
Death may solve the mystery.

Maybe a man is wasting time,
To wonder about life is wrong,
But we cannot help but wonder,
How everything came along.

Prince Pachuka from Paducah,
He knows what is happening.
It cannot be explained in words,
So he smiles, says not a thing.

He watches as the world goes by,
Helping it to survive,
Knowing his being is its own reward,
He is happy to be alive.

LITTER

Stuck in a maze of concrete,
Who would ask for anything more?
The litter laws are so complete,
To get busted for an apple core.

HEAVEN

Overflowing clouds of rain,
Cloudburst showers of human pain,
Meanwhile, someone tries to explain,
What we as men must fear.

We have only to fear ourselves,
In dark minds where evil dwells,
Among the thought fires of hell,
A soul does glimpse a mirror.

People will come, people will go,
Cold and windy snow does blow
And few if any seem to know,
The mind is just a veneer.

One is here to pump gasoline,
Another puts screws into a machine,
Each wallows in his private scene,
A universe calmly waits near.

A criminal escaping on the run,
Lives and dies at the point of a gun,
Rots in a grave when he is done,
At the end of an evil career.

Red and green and yellow lights,
Flashing in the don’t walk nights,
Tourists come to see the sights,
Vacationing every year.

Forests burn in the concrete fire,
Napalm’s dropped by a jet plane flier,
Junkies shoot up to try and get higher,
The stars shed not a tear.

Gravity holds things on the ground.
Princes and paupers can all be found,
Walking, falling and hanging around,
Sipping on whiskey and beer.

Blood drips from a normal day.
Preachers stand in Jesus’ way.
Blue sky, on the earth, turns gray
Into a lost paradise, we peer.

History evaporates into thin air.
Caesar begs Brutus for his life to spare.
Combat chaplain says a patriotic prayer,
As dreams of love disappear.

Into the wind, the butterflies fly.
An infant watches, as they fly by.
Confused, he hears his mother cry.
The butterfly god does not hear.

Over a meadow, a sparrow takes flight.
An old man sees it enter his sight,
Groans and complains, he doesn’t feel right.
The sparrow sings songs of good cheer.

Awaken each morning and look around.
Hear the birds singing a carefree sound.
Realize, nothing can be more profound
Than knowing that heaven is here.

GREED

A devil stands in society’s shadows,
Disguised as laws and false leaders,
Who sent Jesus Christ to the gallows,
And left us with hypocrite preachers.

We see a king, called a governor,
Cruising a store fronted avenue.
Walk farther and turn the corner,
The Bowery comes into view.

Bowery bums, drunk all the time,
As they spend some time on earth,
Looking for heaven in a bottle of wine,
As though that is all it is worth.

The king lights up an imported cigar,
Made especially for his taste,
Lights his cigar, with a bill of one dollar,
As we ponder the meaning of waste.

Police escort his new limousine car,
Protecting his body and his wealth,
But a shiny car will not take him far,
With a soul that is weak in health.

We obey the royal doctrines of rules,
As buildings race up to the sky.
Houses of industry and its schools;
And we see robot minds drift by.

We learn in school, to believe in laws,
And to vote for these political kings.
Wealthy men use their vulture claws,
As they prey upon material things.

Stealing what they do not need,
Denying fellow men fair shares,
Seeking to succeed, in profane greed,
Never seeing beyond earthly cares.

Greed is one of the devil’s names,
It helps create the hell we are in.
Poverty comes from losing in games,
As we all strive for wealth, to win.

Floating on an endless stream
Of time that is without measure,
We all are waiting to be redeemed,
In search of a sacred treasure.