UNDER THE GUN

Under the gun…everybody’s under the gun…presidents…rock stars…diplomats…nuns…everybody’s under the gun…Philippines…Mexico…Texas…Ohio…parking-lots…playgrounds…everybody’s under the gun

One day you may feel the fear anytime you hear a helicopter – helicopter – helicopter – helicopter – over your head…RUN…you’ll be under the gun

Europe is under the gun… Rio is under the gun…Western Sahara…Chad and Ethiopia…Uganda is under the gun.

Housewives…superstars…right wing death squads…boss on the job…everybody’s under the gun

Take a trip to the East the belly of the beast Iraq Iran dead babies in the sand…Turkey…Syria…Lebanon…Afghanistan…everybody’s under the gun

One day you may feel the terror of looking down the barrel of a semi-automatic bought at a gun show sponsored by a city…FREEZE…

Café Racer…Cascade Mall…Jewish Federation…everybody’s under the gun

Chicago…L.A…even little Santa Fe

Some day you may feel the terror of red lights…blue lights…sirens in the distance…HANDS UP…

Under the gun…everybody’s under the gun.

LITANY

The little violence

            grows

The murmur of violence

            grows

The unheeded violence

            grows

The common violence

            close to surface

            easily rendered

The everyday violence of language and gesture

The sharp words of friends, total strangers, or lovers

            out in a flash

            gone in a flash

            take lives of their own

            find strength with their own

The everyday violence

            grows

The little violence

            grows

Feeding on apathy

            dull consent

As etiquette, training, straight jackets

            break

And the violence grows

And the darkness grows

And we cry in our sleep

            scream in our dreams

            of violence

And look for a Jesus

            violence

Or look for a Ghandi

            violence

Or look for a King

            violence

Or look to ourselves

            and cry out a prayer

            beg for a light

To lead us through

            this darkness

            this violence.


HAVE MERCY ON US


Dearly Departed

I
humbly beseech you

Saints and Sinners

Pray for Us

we are barbarians and fools

ora pro nobis
dona nobis pacem
miserere nobis

Amen

(102 unarmed black victims of police shootings - 13 officers have been charged with crimes, 6 for one murder - the crimes have ranged from misdemeanors to murder.)

(photo credits - cartoon "Under the Gun"  www.cartoonmovement.com; "Litany"  businessinsider.com)

           

FRANK’S ENCHANTED WORLD VAUDEVILLE (Starring Frank): Gang Bang Frankie

Two years ago, after a surgery and up to my eyeballs in Oxy, I wrote an eight part piece titled Frank’s Enchanted World Vaudeville (Starring Frank.)  To keep it real I performed the work after I’d recuperated.

Frank’s etc… is personal mythology comprised of a smidgen of autobiography and a whole lot of fantasy/fabrication.  Frank is an alter-ego, but he’s also pure myth – a warped Paul Bunyan or Pecos Bill.

Why “Frank?”  It strikes me as a particularly American name, albeit East Coast, and of a generation.  Francis, Frank, Frankie – ol’ blue eyes… 

Here’s another piece of it, to the approximate tune of an ugly song I learned in the Army - Gang Bang Lulu.

GANG BANG FRANKIE

Frankie had a habit

he could never shake

when Frankie went without his dope

his whole wide world would ache

But the boys they liked to feed him

and keep him on the nod

working out their daily grunt

while Frankie dreamed of God

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long

Frankie holed up in the basement

had some blankets and a bed

a burner that he used for heat

a bulb above his head

He had no big ideas

the bulb would signify

when it flickered

Frankie shivered

curled up and wish’d he’d died

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long

The diner it was spankin’ clean

and always lit too bright

but Frankie found his refuge there

and made it through the night

One time the cops surrounded

Frankie’s vinyl booth

they said you gotta come with us

we just can’t leave you loose

They dragged him to the station

threw him in a cell

before young Francis died he saw

another piece of hell.

Singing gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Gang bang Frankie

Banging all night long.

ELEGY FOR A VET

There was this young guy, Hood - I don't remember, maybe never heard, his first name - who rotated from Nam to our unit in Germany.  He had the sweetest face, and the saddest eyes, and I had a little crush on him, but I stepped way back because that just couldn't happen.  Hood was a loner, and I never saw him hanging with anyone.  He was a SP4, combat, airborne, and got busted down the ranks to Private, and then was gone.  I don't know what happened to him.  This is a fiction about all the sweet guys who got ruined.

ELEGY FOR A VET

The idiots marched him

from the paddies

to the peaks

from the jungle

to the forest

from the cold war

to the tropics

and back again.

Anymore –

he didn’t give a shit.

Beyond anywhere

he watched death

smudge everything

even the air.

Worlds collide

Flesh panics

Shoots smack with the whores in Saigon

drops through smooth and dark

ultimate airborne

falling

forever

forever

falling

Passed out drunk

curiously warm

in a snow bank

in Montana

That's where he died.

That’s where they found him.

Here's another one:

Counting Cadence

War

American as apple pie

G.I. - government issue

Your soul might belong to God,

but your ass belongs to the US Army.

Hood, sweet young sad eyed G.I.

Pissed off

emptied out

Stretched too thin for fuck you

just wants left alone

Rotated

outta Nam

to cool your heels

do your time

low profile

Deutschland

but

worlds collide

would collide

no matter where

no matter what

Ghost kid

had that look

scared everybody

Could have dissolved

no energy to him

occupied so little space hardly there

but

Couldn’t stay straight

couldn’t abide

pissed off

emptied out

fuck you

insubordinate

Fuck You

no matter who

no matter where

Universal Code of Military Justice

got him

Count Cadence!  Count:

Spec 4

busted

PFC

busted

Private

busted

court martial

stockade

gone

Bring it on down:

airborne

ranger

combat

sad eyed

gone

Hood

sweet young

G.I.

Hood

U.S. Army

made him a ghost

disappeared him off

the face of their

spit shined

brass buckled

highly starched

cold

war

universe

Sweet young sad eyed G.I.

gone.

YA UN RAT

When I was studying French in high school, we learned a song titled, "Y'a un rat dans l'grenier," and though I've mistranslated "grenier," the title and the tune have stuck with me all my life.  Here's what I've finally made of it:

Rats in the granary

rifles and flashlight

blast those eyeballs

shiny and bright

good for a joke

good for a laugh

got enough ammo

time will pass

bored to death

Saturday night

rats in the granary.

Train at the crossing

boys on foot

boxcar’s open

let’s have a look

grab the ladder

grab the dream

train starts movin’

whistles scream

bored to death

Saturday night

train at the crossing

rats in the granary.

Youth ain’t long

sure is hard

spend your life

in your own backyard

go to school

go to church

alarm clock rings

out you lurch

dead end job

in your dead end town

with your dead end girl

and your dead end crowd

rats in the granary.

Drink drank drunk

Marine Corps, man

fall asleep loaded

rise in the sand

trade your toys

for a bigger gun

trade the rats

for rag-head fun

you’re a killer now

sights on jihad

all grow’d up

and you’re bad

rats in the granary.

Rotate home

nothing in mind

take a quick look

here’s what you find

people in the streets

talking to god

sitting on the curb

life on the nod

stand in line

shuffle to the shelter

Saturday night

helter skelter

rats in the granary

rats in the granary

rats in the granary...

Seattle

11.02.2016

 Raffi has a kinder, gentler take on it:  Ya Un Rat

Strolling toward the Celebration

All of us

are

chained

By What

is

all

we

need

 to know

in

order

to

Let Go

Late morning weather: 

Sunny slightly breezy

Flowered & green

Air quality:  edible

Lunch: 

Savory scone – bacon/cheddar/jalapeño

Raspberry jam

Coffee

Jesus

no kidding

was

fully human

that’s the beauty

&

the pain

and

The Resurrection

is

a

living

metaphor

All of us

are

changed.

RW/Seattle

7.27.2016

Bonus Track

ARCARO'S

Mornings

When I’m through

at the gym

Having punched

in out and around

air,  moments, and people

I shower

change
and

walk the street

like a razor

slicing paper

Clean.

RADIOACTIVE

RADIOACTIVE

She's radioactive

I'm a wilderness road

When we got together

The landscape glowed

The cactus jumped

The coyote howled

The roadrunner ran

And the rattlesnakes crawled

Ice and fire

Cadillac dreams

Everything’s real

Just like it seems

She got the rhythm

I got the rhyme

Put them together

Have a hot town time

She was pure plant poison

I was the King of Rome

When we got together

Coliseum groaned

Christians ate the lions

Pope ran off to France

Mussolini and his girlfriend

  did a topsy-turvy dance

Ice and fire

Cadillac dreams

Everything’s real

Just like it seems

She got the rhythm

I got the rhyme

Put them together

Have a hot town time

I’m a bad boy basset

And my name is called Moose

She’s the same thing too

And one night we got loose

We burned up the town

And we burned the town down

Got lost in each other

And never got found

Ice and fire

Cadillac dreams

Everything’s real

Just like it seems

She got the rhythm

I got the rhyme

Put us together

Have a hot town time

Yeah,
Put us together
Have a hot town time.

IN THIS DREAM

IN THIS DREAM

of the American Dream

A young man drives

his convertible

Oh, sure,

’58 Impala

candy-apple red

down a coastal road

with an angel

Let’s call her Angel
riding shotgun

She's long & languorous

got her left hand on the young man’s knee

right hand surfing California air.

In this dream

of the American Dream

the tank is full

the tunes are rockin’
the road is open.

The young man

pulls into a beach front lot

and hand in hand with Angel

walks across the sand

to water’s edge and stops.

Angel steps into the surf

Sun sets like a fiesta.

Take it
one way
or another
it's a gorgeous dream
this American Dream.

The young man
wonders

if waking up
would be worth the effort.

RW

3/29/16

RESURRECTION SHOWER

After months

flat on my back

I began

my return

in a nursing home

in a wheel chair

under a shower

with a 
tender aide

playing a fine spray

of hot water

onto my head.

Pleasure

so intense

I saw stars

and shivered

and laughed

and called

Thank God!

And that tender aide 

lit up

joined my glee

  

ran

a soapy cloth

across my chest

and whispered

Al-Hamdu Lillah

Al-Hamdu Lillah.

RW

2016

GOOD FRIDAY

I.                    IN THE GARDEN

(after Mahmoud Darwish)

He saw what was ahead

and he cried.

He cried

from his eyes

and from his whole face

He cried

from his chest

and his arms

and from the tips of his fingers

He cried

from his whole body

and he bled

He bled from his whole body

And then

He was betrayed.

II.                WHEN IT WAS FINISHED

When it was finished

His mother's heart

was fully pierced.

When it was finished

Crows fought

for the unfurling ribbon

of his last words.

And when it was finished

Darkness rose

from broken tombs

stars and comets

crossed the sky

Judas lit

a single candle

in the upper room.

When it was finished:

Three soldiers

in camos and balaclavas

snapped their steel wands

and pushed the crowd back

from the high mound

his friends

lowered the cross

closed his eyes

and pulled the nails

a wild dog

slunk up to him

sniffed his matted hair

and stood gazing

at his face.

When it was finished

The rain began

and the rain

washed him

and the mud

anointed him

and the women

wrapped his body.

And when it was finished

They left him

to the tomb

and made

their way

past endless rubble

through checkpoints

and concertina wire

made their way

past trash fires

and crack whores

made their way

into narrow lanes

past grilled and boarded storefronts

into darkened parlors of frightened men

and hungry children.

  

And when it was finished

Hell welcomed Him

and knelt before Him

asking

if He had died

for them

as well.

III.             JUDAS

Betrayal isn't the greatest sin

It's despair.

God would have forgiven Judas

but he lost all hope

and so became

the only saint

in Hell.

RW

2010-2016

Crucifixion - Jackson Pollock

The Sundays in Lent

Not a believer, but not one to discount the stories


The Temptation in the Wilderness
(Mark 4:  1-11)

After forty days

Of solitude and fasting

A man might gnaw at a stone

Thinking it was bread

Or grow wings

And fly

Around the cities of his mind

Or walk naked

Thinking

He were clothed,

Decorated,

And perfumed.

A man might do these things

And people might say

He was possessed.

I would say

He was

Hungry.

II.                The Transfiguration

(Mat 17: 1-13)

A Matter of Fact

Erie, Pennsylvania

   Starbucks

Like every Starbucks

   corporate living room

   filled with strangers

Nat King Cole

   on the sorta hip

   always inoffensive

   “juke-box”

   competing with

       the grinding

       and steaming

       of coffee.

I’m pondering

   a biblical summit meeting,

   Christ transfigured,

   locked in conversation

   with Moses and Elijah,

But what they’re talking about –

   I don’t know.

At the table

   next to mine

A gray-haired

   rolly-polly

   black man

Has made himself at home

   with crossword puzzle, newspapers,

   and prominent -

a brown, leather bound bible

I have a feeling

   he’d know

   and wouldn’t mind

   my asking:

“Excuse me,

   are you a student

     of scripture?”

“Yes.”

“Mathew 17

   Jesus on the mountain

   Peter, James, and Andrew.

Jesus talking to Moses and Elijah,

   what were they talking about?”

“Mathew 17,

   “Peter, James, and John,”

     he corrects,

“Jesus was thanking them

   for paving the way,

   and he was promising them

     he would continue the work.”

“The work.  What work?”

“Redemption.  It’s all about redemption.

And that

   was that,

Matter of fact,

   even as Nat King Cole

     lost his baby

     and almost lost his mind…

Even at Starbucks,

   It’s all about the work.

The Woman at the Well

(John 4:  4-42)

In the long shadowed evening

   In the first quiet of the day

He sat at the well’s edge

   And brushed a pebble

   That fell as lively as a star

   Down to Jacob’s water.

She walked

   Across the shadows

Balancing a jar on her shoulder

   With her shadow

     Clinging to her.

Who is this,

   She wondered,

And as the pebble touched water

   All her secrets

    Rippled between them.

He asked for a drink

   And she gave her eyes

He asked for food

   She opened her heart

He told her everything

   And she forgave him

And was never thirsty again.

But he,

    He would cry,

     “I…thirst!”

IV.             Sight to the Man Born Blind

(John 9:  1-41)

Left to his own devices

He would have perfected his blindness

And faded completely from this world.

But,

The prophet packed his eyes with mud

And as he washed himself at the river

The world assaulted him.

He found himself answering questions

That had nothing to do with sky, or sun,

Or the astonishing and transparent water

He held in his hands.

His frightened parents,

whose faces he didn’t know,

denied him.

Lawyers,

who considered the flash of wonder

in his gaze

criminal,

questioned and berated him.

The Prophet,

whom he loved,

used him as a lesson.

And then

the man born blind,

fled into the colors of the world

and disappeared from the story.

V.                The Raising of Lazarus

(John 11:  1-43)

Even Jesus

   Must have been

     frightened

   as he reached

   into darkness

    wrenched

    the spirit

     from beyond

     and forced it

          back

          into

     his friend’s

          body.

Even He

   must have been

 aghast

 at how nature roared

at this intrusion

 and Lazarus walked

     out of his stinking tomb.

   Even He

     must have

wondered and wept

as they embraced

and the wind

howled a sand storm

around them.

CRYING FOR A VISION

In this world

you could

cry for a vision

That short strip

of East Tenth Street

was a long walk

for a little kid

Sidewalk littered

with horse chestnuts

Horse and cart

rag man

clopping up the street

calling out for

                        Rags!

                        Rags!

Emma next door

Julia down the block

Leukemia wraith angel

            Richard

on a stoop

around the corner

You could cry

for a vision

you could holler

and get drunken

dads and uncles

Polish Falcons in their hearts

stumbling into houses

made of brooms and mops

holy water in the taps

bird daughter straining up

   from her crib

greedy for whatever

she can get

You could cry

you could holler

You could crawl on all fours
in your grandfather's living room

tattered wolf pelt on your back

and get a cane

across the ass

with a get-outta-here
snarled
worse than any wolf.

You could cry for a vision

   you could holler

You could sit on a rock

in an empty lot

grinning like the bag-of-bones

   you are

‘til the sun dries you up

and you’re just a skull

on your own bone pile

that some dog you thought

   was yours

is pissing on

And maybe

at that moment

a long haired

loose limbed

sun tanned

   kid

will come along

and laugh and

time

will

stop

as you

are illuminated

and become

that kid’s vision.

(thanks, Van)

(and Candy Teeth Creative)