America’s Birthday, 2020
A Poem for A Troubled, Paradoxical Land Full Of Pain and Potential
A Poem for A Troubled, Paradoxical Land Full Of Pain and Potential
America was, is and may forever be:
A living paradox.
A land where…
… backyard barbecues bring neighbors and friends together
to commiserate and maybe, for a little bit, to celebrate
the nation they live in, or were born in,
a nation beset by divisions and fences of the heart,
but a nation which got its start
promising liberty, justice and freedom for all.
… storage sheds shred the landscape,
filled with things unused and forgotten
by people too busy to slow down
and smell the stink of the System
that makes them the richest
yet poorest nation on Earth.
… purple-mountains majesties stretch
gloriously from one border to another,
sheltering meadow paradises
where Nature lovers
lose their worries and slow their hurries
while scurrying about are marmots
merrymaking for the Moment,
lost in simple Being.
… back-alley crackheads search desperately
in grime for salvation in a rock,
chasing a clock that ticks ever faster,
while bastards in business suits
in climate-controlled board rooms
snort lines and celebrate the good times,
knowing that if caught, they won’t likely do time,
not caring that their brother in grime will spend time,
much more time, for the same ‘crime.’
… phour phurry hippie phreaks
from the backwoods of Vermont
made it big doing what they want —
promoting love, brotherhood and phun through music —
using an alternative, emerging type of collaborative capitalism
during late-stage, heart-and-Soul-less capitalism,
and becoming rich in every way in the process.
… athletes of all sizes, skin colors and genders
bend the laws of gravity with grace and dignity,
providing respite for the hungry and the hard of money,
hours of joy elating over balls slammed through hoops or hit over fences, hoping foolishly — perhaps — that these gifted heroes can,
off the field, live up to their play on the court,
disappointed when they don’t
but remaining in fandom ever the same.
… teenage boys teeming with testosterone
find salvation in ever-realistic re-enactments
of drug wars in South American jungles
or in post-apocalyptic American zombie wastelands
that somehow remain beautiful
while their fathers wish
some creative game-maker
had a pacemaker made of gold
filled with love for the human Soul
and so would roll out an adventure tale
for teenage boys where they explored the world,
finding kindness, rescuing damsels in distress,
maybe making a mess of it,
but learning from the experience
that love is so much grander than war.
And more — oh, so much more! — in a land so vast,
so filled with potential, so lost in itself,
its people warring for the very Soul that it was founded up,
land of the free, home of the brave,
this land of mine
where I no longer reside
except in dreams
and hopes for the future.
May you discover your calling, America,
may you realize your dreams of brother-and-sisterhood
and freedom for all,
may you —
at last —
be who You came here to be.
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