Waking Up with the Man
One day, on our way, we saw the Abjected. The Man, the downtrodden, suspicion subjected. In the inner city, in the alleyway, in the park and on the street, His eye is always on the beat. Widespread panic, universal appeal, A few hucksters capitalizing their spiel. Empathy given, souls being sold, Power arrangements annulled. Visions of justice, without redress, Undermined by the darker side of the human spirit. The Man, the Abjected gazed at each other, And couldn’t tell the difference between one another.
One of US
I began a journey one fine day. A village appeared on my way. As I approached, the guardian told me I needed a blouse, Handed me the garment and told me to enter the house. But my garment wasn’t exactly fitting, So, I was told when I was sitting, I wasn’t one of them. Accordingly, I continued on with my quest so dear. A town emerged on the horizon so near, The guardian told me I needed a cup made of clay, Handed me the cup and told me to stay. But my cup wasn’t quite right, So, I was told with all their might, I wasn’t one of them. Thence, I wended my way. A city centered on my route the map did say. The guardian told me I needed a nose made of paper, Handed me a paper nose and told me to enter. But my nose was fastened loosely, So, I was told profusely, I wasn’t one of them. I descended again upon a valley, The number of which I could not tally, A simple gathering in the center, Which I was told I could enter, Without condition or a certain term, I could stay awhile they affirm.
Boys Will Be Boys
Little boys running with gun toys, boys will be boys. Bang, boom, burst, whatever their thirst. Fire as the purge, now easily available at an urge. Fire, thusly urged, hidden, concealed and obscured. The King, the Warrior, the Magician, the Lover, Quintessence of supremacy, confronting the new heresy. A Force of Nature gone amuck, barely concealing its agitation. A Force awaiting its transformation. Archetype of the Sun, Elucidate, explicate, exuding, the mushroom cloud is looming. Bomb, blast, bash, dark fog descends upon the cash. When Crude becomes the new Golden Calf. The art of manliness, gone array. Splintering into esoteric groups like shattered glass. Alas, the King, the Warrior, the Magician, the Lover are still running with toys, And all we can say is: ‘boys will be boys.’
©2022 Daniel Weiss
All rights reserved
…born in Hollywood, CA, studied psychology at the University of California, Santa Cruz. Received his PhD from the Christian-Albrechts-Universitaet, KIel, Germany. Lived in Germany from 1982-2003 and was in Germany during the Cold War, the Reunification of Germany and the uniting of Europe. He was a community organizer for the new Jewish Communities in Schleswig-Holstein in Germany as well as an interviewer for the Survivors of the Shoah Visual History Foundation. He was also a klezmer musician in Germany, taught at Waldorf Schools in Germany, and worked in speech recognition for 18 years.