Ranch Poem- “Freedom of Our Nature

4/30/10

Freedom of Our Nature

The Allston/Brighton police station
won’t give me back my drivers license.

I peel the purple pillows off the couch
each night before bed.

The children’s chillums circle around
but I’m ready to sing better and piss clean.

Icelandic volcanic ash buries Europe,
Chinese monks bury a quake’s victims.

I am wondering in the future tense
if overexposure is to be mystery’s death.

All you destitute idlers that want to ignite,
meet me at Irving Plaza to get shpongled.

There is a music festival for everyone today,
a melodic reason to convene as a family of diverging thoughts.

Within our histories there lies music and art,
the individualistic components of a collective free soul.

A powerful resentment is slowly forming
against the Complex, Industrial-Military-American.

Millions of non-service military jobs in this country fuel the fire,
GIVE THESE WORKERS GREEN JOBS.

The homosexual jewish American guru warned that
“the terror of (war) is making the same terror here inside our country.”

Wait ’til the day comes when the non-violent
outlaw stance becomes the global majority.

Because the heat is now on the Goldmen Sachs
and the GMs and the Foxs and the State Farms of this world.

And those who desire righteous justice and honest global understanding
have instantaneous international communication coming to them.

For years I have fearfully observed older generations,
but the Rigid is dying or at least deflating.

Now maybe things can cool off for the perpetually oppressed
weird and different folks of this world.

Governments blindly pass on some ambiguous goal or purpose
to its people that cannot be understood, cannot be fulfilled.

“Let the old people wallow in the shame of having failed,”
because even the Hell’s Angels conceded to failure.

We may be jailed, we may be slaving away, we may be trapped
but our emotions must not change the freedom of our nature.

-RwmG

Ranch Poem- “Raging”

3/9/2010

Raging

Raging
can be such an
adrenaline rush.

It’s for
the creative
ones, the fortunate.

These
blue hearts all scream
out in dreamy peace.

Everyone
can hear our cry
from way over there.

Further
that we push-the
better-cus’ we love!

And we
fill our hard drives
with Otis Redding.

And we
drink up and dance
when the ice thaws.

And we
do use our heads
when it really counts.

-RwmG