He brought balance to Annie Hall angst Casual confidence and nonchalance He must have had luck, somehow got through “A Million Dollar Duck” – his screen debut
(But enough about Tony, what about this duck? Was it once homely but had some good luck Bought some shares of Sony, made a million bucks The moral is you only need a little pluck
He was radiantly glamorous. Did Death pause And consider the camera and its now-lost cause Illusory grace captured his sun-lit dance First to last chapter, gone in a glance
We sat enraptured in dark. Carried. Bare feet in a park, lives ordinary. Death tenderly closes those eyes so blue Credits roll, the river runs through
The Penny – 1793
It was the mark of frugality, saved or earned For an offer of one, so much to be learned The going rate for another one’s thoughts (back before privacy was for nought)
There is no “pretty” for cost atmospheric And crypto from heaven is a pretty bad lyric Arcades, candy? And do I hope in vain That extinction won’t extend to that Liverpool Lane
“I know I get wild, and I know I get drunk But it ain’t like I got a bunch of bodies in my trunk My old man used to call me a no-good punk And I still don’t know why I think I’m an alright guy” Witty, wry and full of “what the F?” Echoes of Prine, Kris and Jerry Jeff He saw the log in his father’s eye And so fought the law of why-bother-to-try
“I think I’m an alright guy I just wanna live until I gotta die I know I ain’t perfect, but God knows, I try I think I’m an alright guy I think I’m alright”
He buried the orphans who died alone An honor more than what they’d known Bodies abandoned, left unclaimed The aged, unfathomed, new-borns unnamed
A Catholic priest who made some noise And hearkened back to the Berrigan boys Who knew God did not reside at the altar But at everyone’s side, not matter what you called her
He seeded his poems with humor and irony His themes major but oft in a miner key Working class roots seared by nobility Poetry infused with furious futility
Poet Laureate, well almost was He was not sorry but only because He would have said “up yours” to Mr. Blair And maybe that Tony should grow a pair
At thirty, he stepped into poetry They said, “Write what you know” “O.k. My mother’s still controlling me!” And where did it go?
“Don’t stick your arm out the window, Mother said. Another car can sneak up behind us, & chop it off. Then your father will have to stop, stick the severed piece
in the trunk, & drive you to the hospital. It’s not like the parts of your telescope that snap back on. A doctor will have to sew it. You won’t be able to wear short sleeves.
You won’t want anyone to see the stitches.”
The East Wing – 1942
“If the West Wing is the mind of the nation, then the East Wing is the heart.” said Betty Ford For us it’s just one more demonstration Of the tyranny we’re marching towards
Oligarch architecture gold leaf greed Oh my country tis of thee Billionaire checks which the Fuhrer needs So they can all dance on history
He had an uncanny knack for godliness As if defenders were not there And had “a handicap every bit as obvious as a man in a wheelchair”
As a player, Sugar Ray flawless On his way to the Hall of Fame But cocaine has its own laws his Achille’s heel took him out of the game
Game over and wanted to disappear Got sober, helped others to change He’ll be remembered for both his careers And for this memorable exchange:
“What do you think is happening to this team?” one reporter asked him “The ship be sinking,” Richardson replied “How far can it sink?” another reporter asked “The sky’s the limit,” Richardson responded
The tenor half of Sam and Dave Double Dynamite, Sultans of Sweat Soul Man, Hold On I’m a Comin’ to save Souls trapped in Bobby Vee debt
Their shows were scorching, kinetic Athletic, balletic and sanctified An aesthetic that was more than magnetic Audiences were left “liquified”
They met on stage purely by accident A musical match but never friends Shared hits and heroin, and oh how fast it went Walked offstage in ‘81 and never spoke again
I did not know of their differences I want to think art heals all That we can bridge our distances And that Art will sing with Paul
Dan’s Brain – 1949
“I have some sobering news” he told me “Alzheimer’s” – tears stood in for words “I’ll begin saying goodbye to the old me” And then he spoke of what he had observed
The lapses more than absent-minded The mapless tales of repetition His neighbor’s name, he can not find it Or the access to his erudition
He knew of trees in North America The Latin names of bush and bird He will forget this fucking unfairness And much of what has occurred
I do not think this is the end of joy Perhaps he will live in “used-to-be” And gradually return to boy When he first climbed up a tree
And saw a world so very vast A sky so very blue above And not a thing was in the past That day he fell in love
If I could write like Gehry architected Then you would opine as I finish this line “Oh my God, Caraher’s perfected How to bend time with a felicitous rhyme!
Denny demonstrates visceral power and structural bravura Wild exuberance that buries the prairie Right light longing for prayer pure as the Bilbao brilliance of Gehry!”
But alas I cannot hit those heights And to be frank, Frank is enough We need those singular genius lights And we need someone to write this kind of stuff:
There once was an architect named Gehry Whose designs were perfectly airy Unlike the Frank who preceded And as with nature, Wrightly receded But they were both good, very!
The Constitution – 1787
Despite its several flaws (only Caucasian men are people) It did create a nation of laws And worship did not require a steeple
Freedom of press and speech, how quaint And immigrants given a chance Now the original writing grows faint And we are down to one branch
The words are prison bars, restricting the view “All Glory to The State” obscures a sky of blue His work appeared in Russia, shut down in an hour To go beyond fear and touch us, art is power
To create despite tyranny – the epitome of brave But often it appears that we hesitate and cave We don’t need a Vladimir to imprison Pussy Riot Sometimes it’s the mirror saying “Why don’t you just be quiet!?”
The Center for Disease Control – 1946
Children died of measles this year None were vaccinated and this we know Other diseases are now near Hey! Let’s bring back polio
Eventually, Trump will be gone But we know what’s ahead For many of us there will be a new dawn But thousands of kids will be dead
Two brothers, acid obsession, their influence was dramatic Lysergic was brother Ken’s but Chuck was into lactic Probiotic yogurt, natural foods a quaint but quantum leap You could taste both and have a sacred sojourn into dairy deep
And weep at how astounding is your diet oh so cultured Especially if it’s counter and a cure for ulcers Then maybe roll or light up a bowl of Oregon reefer And then another bowl: granola and some kefir
It was a vow we sang to one another Ceaselessly bending sword to plow “Come on people now, smile on your brother Everybody get together, try to love one another right now”
The word love is not the lyric’s most operative That sentiment is distant when there is contempt But maybe it’s enough if all we got to give Is to at least consider an honest attempt
I think this is how love is perfected To not hate those who are evil And work to get others elected Let’s get together! Come on people!
Jesse never tired of singing this anthem But it overshadowed a greater depth For instance, this cover by Robert Plant and We know he was acquainted with death
Darkness, darkness, long and lonesome Ease the day that brings me pain I have felt the edge of sadness I have known the depth of fear
What was the world to this little baby? Piano, accordion, saxophone, drum An organ whirling – do you think that maybe Mom and Dad are who we become?
The Band would been just another band But for the swirling intricate organ Reigniting their world like a fire fanned Burnin’ from New York to New Orleans
They all are gone and yet The Weight remains As crippling as hard lives of grief As light as a needle on a record of strains Of “when I get off of this mountain” relief
Beaten by parents as a youth Because she would not conform to her name Appearances were not her truth And so she abandoned that game
At 14 she lived behind a dumpster Incrementally inched down the road Found a community that loved her And taught herself to code To survive was her only ambition And she had a mind Newtonian Which eventually led to transition and video games in the Smithsonian How many Rebeccas won’t take the risk? And those who do, how many are erased? How many Rebeccas will never exist Legally defaced?
Everyone has felt invisible Deep despair has come at us But I cannot imagine how to live with An arbitrary absence of status
“Fear Is the seat of fearlessness” They wrote, addressing chronic stage fright Even as they reduced listeners to tearfulness Welcoming into light of night, a four-year fight
Does disease know irony, death is delivered By that which provides the genus of life But reason and rhyme are both ill-considered To measure divine lines on edge of a knife
“Wasn’t it death that taught me to stop measuring my life span by length, but by width?”
Citing religious beliefs and his mother’s wishes He walked away from what he loved Preached loaves and fishes, but kids, a missus Called him again to pick up his gloves
Maybe he just wanted once more to thrill And savor being the unfavored savior It’s one thing to hear “I’ll buy your grill” Rather than, “DOWN GOES FRAZIER!”
Then rope-a-dope rumble when Ali owned the ring George was humbled, enemies to friends Did they talk about how just one swing Defined their lives of means to ends?
Were they gentle with one another When a hand was no longer a fist? Did they talk about George’s mother As Ali dimmed in the mist?
Down went Frazier and The Greatest Counted out in the final round And now Foreman is the latest Heavy is the heavyweight crown
Using symbols, with humans he communicated Played piano, Paul McCartney joined Peter Gabriel too and they were elated An unusual occurrence in Des Moines
A bonobo born and raised in captivity Ethical concerns – moral and legal And another question for music history Could he have been the fifth Beatle?
You felt it, Blue Velvet, before the brain was aware The uneasiness of ease, the too-bright Rockwell dawn Vivid flowered picket fence announcing “beware” Cut to contentment, a man in his yard, a finger gone
Just as were all preconceptions that a movie could never capture The every day and detail of the weirdness of who we are The rising and descension of disaster before after Has anyone ever been more benign and bizarre
A life distilled into phrases few A well-written obituary gets to a truth It’s in these hills of Malaysia I knew The buried beauty of botanist Ruth
If you imagine the earth tigerless You understand the need for a profound shift But when it comes to biodiversiveness She thought plants got pretty short shrift
She was dazzled by the profusion The diversity of ancient-forest plants She knew every year we lose some But awareness gives them a chance
This was her dance:
She said, “I focus on modest-size plants on the forest floor or on the sides of hills, because I could gather them myself, without the aid of assistants.”
And this is my dance:
We can change the world, each of us. Set outrageous goals in the ordinariness of our lives. And to begin… go sit on a hill. Then rise and do what you are called to do.
