Eve of Construction

In 1965, a protest song written by P. F. Sloan called “Eve of Destruction” sung by Barry McGuire hit the airwaves.It was a very profound and direct song for its time. I remember listening to it and wondering how we would ever get out of the mess we were in called Vietnam. But more than that the war of generations was coming to a head. The establishment was no longer something to be blindly obeyed. We questioned everything. And here we are some 46 years later and find ourselved in another fine mess. The economy, the wars, the drugs, even our food has become problematical. Chiildren are silenced with drugs even as babies. Our food is tained with hormones, antibiotics and genetically modified to such an extent that in many cases it has become indigestible. Big Ammo, Big Agra and Big Pharma are seemingly at war with humanity to drug, under-nourish and kill. What has happened to the integrity of our leaders and ourselves.

Yet I sit here almost optimistic and consider us to be on the Eve of Construction. 10 years after that fatefull day in September when the Twin Towers stood no more, we have construction, we have a memorial to those who lost their lives, we have a new tower being built at 1 World Trade Center. We have urban farming empowering people to grow their own healthy food, even in the middle of the city. We have artists using their art to enlighten and invoke peace and harmony.

Yes, there is much to be thankful for and much to create – it is a good create our future, our destiny lies in our hands and if we deliver from the heart and the soul we will succeed. It is a brilliant business, this one to create a better civilization. It is the job of each of us. It is time to end the mockery and the pettiness that envelopes our lives. It is time to reach out to our friends and neighbors and show them who we really are – that humanity is basically good.

We cannot let the bad guys win. We must take it upon ourselves to confront and handle what is wrong and move life forward. I do not mean to preach I just mean to put poetry in the world with a dash of harmony and some beauty. We must sparkle and live our lives to the peak. We must stay loyal to our beliefs. We must seek freedom for all and all for freedom.

We must make it the Eve of Construction.

Caravan to Nowhere

Caravan to Nowhere

Once they were through

processing the women

girls no bigger than your thumb

tiny girls looking for work

and a way out

not so smart girls

and brilliant girls

young women

really

but more like

girls

they were put to work

 

They were promised

the big time

the show

how they could

make lots of money

be famous

drink whiskey

and drive

huge automobiles

 

They wanted

that western

fame & fortune

thing

more than they wanted

life

so they were put to work

sacrificing

everything

getting nothing

 

Tthey danced

with the merrymen

sang them songs

and did other things

that were not to their

heart’s delight

nor any other

part of them

 

The freedom

the life

they had before

was no more

there is a difference

between

a hard life

and one

that is cruel

tainted with the taste

of metal

and the feel

of barbwire

 

All because of the

Promise

when they

climbed into that van

scampered on to that boat

leaped into the abyss

of poisoned pledge

of fatuous riches

and private glory

 

They found themselves

puppets of subjugation

slaves of the 21st century

landlocked captivity

without escape

 

 – Bondage

a caravan to nowhere

 

Some say they are gullible

some say they are naïve

whatever they are

they are no more

ground into human

snowflakes

precipitating the heat

that destroys them

dispersed with the wind

they wished

the caravan had wings

 

 

In My Daddy’s Day

IN MY DADDY’S DAY

In my daddy’s day
He went off to war
So very young
It was a war you
Had to fight
Objections
Conscientious
Or otherwise

So his blasting
Out of high school
At tender age
Had only one
Destination –
South Pacific
Headquarters
For the holiest of wars
Where the sun
Beat down all day
Like midday

In my daddy’s day
He went off to war
So very young

© 2011 lgjaffe

Neda

Neda

Neda
you came to me
in vision.
your long arms
your long fingers
your lips
called out to me
never forget
you said
never forget
and you faded
a rosebud
in November

© 2011 lgjaffe

Untitled

Neda

Neda
you came to me
in vision.
your long arms
your long fingers
your lips
called out to me
never forget
you said
never forget
and you faded
a rosebud
in November

© 2011 lgjaffe

Where Are These Faces

Where Are These Faces

They loom at me in the dark
They are more than shadows
They gather dust

Where are these faces
grown into symbols

They lie inert until
someone springs them
from the corpse
they have come to personify

Where are these faces
When you need them
To kiss you
To hold you
And huddle from the dark

© 2011 lgjaffe

Where Are These Faces

Where Are These Faces

They loom at me in the dark
They are more than shadows
They gather dust

Where are these faces
grown into symbols

They lie inert until
someone springs them
from the corpse
they have come to personify

Where are these faces
When you need them
To kiss you
To hold you
And huddle from the dark

© 2011 lgjaffe

My new years #poem – We

Poetry Week Proclamation from the Mayor of Clearwater

Last night Poets for Human Rights received a beautiful proclamation on behalf of National Poetry Month from the City of Clearwater.

-- Turning words into miracles... Larry Jaffe Poet Laureate Youth/United for Human Rights www.LarryJaffe.com www.Facebook.com/LarryJaffe www.Twitter.com/LarryJaffe

OF WHAT IS FRIENDSHIP MADE – A #Poem

OF WHAT IS FRIENDSHIP MADE

She flies with oratory
and breaks silence
with brave new words…

I read between lines
and find places
where tulips are planted
honeydew melons wrestled
from the sea.

She is a farmer
words pressed
to earth
tilling soil
– such sweat
soaked passion.

I claim to know
her from distant lands
where pharaohs roamed
and Jews were meant to die

When she gave me
loving cup of water
quenching ridicule
parched thirst.

Eyes wide and wounded
know despair
pray for joy
musing with muses.

© 2005 lgjaffe