Where are the Trees in Liberty Plaza, America? - (NOT Zucotti Park!) - a poem

Liberty Plaza NYC

Where are the trees in Liberty Plaza, America???

...

When will the trees in liberty plaza

Reappear?

Jesus rose on Sunday day? Did he not Rowan darling?

They cut down twenty four living creatures
Trees! Living Things! That is -
Not Iraqi children or women or old men…

(HEY not my scales of importance -
not Anubis' feather scale of things !!!
but Dick C's - sucking on his daily tube of oxygen
or rummy man sucking on his daily bottle of tankoray
remembering the great American Crook Dick NExxon.)

The TREES !!!!!!!!!

(they once gave shade in the downtown 
corporate human desert --
in my wallet is a picture of my two year old son
smiling a great wonderful human smile -
on a Spring Saturday -
his pampers full of poop and ---
Steve's Pizza sign in the backgound…)

They cut down twenty four living things
To make way for official vehicular parking
Supposedly connected with WTC debris removal
Isn't that right Rudy - cold lips - darling!

((Rudy - cold lips - cold hips
Popsickle stare 
Darling poster boy of the new world order!)
(Donna god bless, now you have a life!
You probably were a good human wife!))

When will the concrete stare of Liberty Plaza
Be brought back to living tree life???…

Perhaps only when a second bush
Wins a ga-dam second war
And loses a ga-damn second World PEACE!!! ! !.
?????????????????????

Where are the TREES?! 

copyright-2003 

the great dark

A great dark bird (B-1)
circles above.

It is hard to ignore as I
approach and park, then go
do a late day routine.

Lines in the desert seem
more crisply defined with
clear blue sky overhead.

Black silhouette
against electric blue
is hard to miss.

Driving here everyday sees
training flights all the time
as they round the city.

Oddly comfortable,
a nation’s ready defense
against who or what
I sometimes wonder.

My errand is done.

The image returns as
I start up the car and
look through the windshield.

The great dark bird
continues to fly.

It casts large shadows
while it coasts on solar winds
slowly maneuvering near
its unseen home mountain
(Davis Monthan Air Force Base).

This while four young chicks,
training jets in standard gray,
(not the usual A-10’s)
keep careful speed and distance
to the mother bird.

This all, with nearby
afternoon football play
in a still green autumn park.

Long shadows, fading sun.
A warmth of Sol on the face.

Driving away from the park
and daycare retrieval
I notice (and am part of)...

The great dark’s spread
of larger wings,
casting its personal shadow
on us, my son and me,
as it seemingly glides to conquer
near ground in landing.
over a house as horizon line.

Momentary illusion, partaking
interrupted by reality and
a sobering thought.

The cost overruns had
nothing to due with grace
or beauty.

Haunting end day images
mix with Oppenheimer’s
Hindu recitation. – echo
“ I am become death...
...a shatterer...”

(be not death! I reply)

Where there is life, there is God.

Power. Power.
A dropped egg?

Potential death.
There or here?

Hopeful design
never (a prayer)
to be fulfilled.


(11-29-95, Tucson)
- -

Dreams and Cosmic Flows

-
A flutter of eyelids,
ah, a quick path to sleep.
How long until, if at all, to
dreams and cosmic flows?
(Does one have the soul
of an artist?)
-
The canvas of night unravels
in less than predicable or
perfect forms.
-
Dreams. -
Cosmic flows.
What is the answer
to my - ?
I forget the questions.
-
Oh boy, here comes the ride.
The flow of brushstrokes
and sculpture's clay shape
a new beauty.
-
Faces of people are
seen and unseen.
-
Past residents of earth depart
while future friends assemble.
Memory is a tricky thing
in sorting out which is which.
-
Familiar faces blend with
faces masked.
Do I, did I, know, this,
these other people?
-
While a favorite time
can paint a backdrop
of night or day,
nothing seems focused
or even noticed.
-
Strange words. Noises.
Conversations repeat.
Am I hard of hearing?
Oh boy, a loop.
A loop repeats cosmic
messages?
-
Flow and freedom from care.
One's daytime, earthbound spirit
must soar while dreaming.
The energy flows.
Dreams are such wondrous things
most times,
almost like magic.
-
Colors do not greatly matter,
nor temperature,
so much as textures,
smooth walls, rough touch
faint adobe hues,
can sometimes frame
my dream picture.
-
Do I dream in black and white?
-
Noises. Conversations
with eloquent people,
those with whom I
might want to meet.
They are just like me
perhaps.
-
Is their spirit on furlough too,
in a dream as well?
Have our paths in essence
really crossed the way?
-
Is there a mission? A
purpose to this dream -
any dream?
-
Does the mind truly
wake not to another
but to true reality?
-
The mind does wander
besides wonder.
-
Is daytime - awakeness -
true reality or
the reality in another
realm of perceptions
full blown, of, from
cosmic connections?
-
Questions later, though
rarely during the process,
of the personal artform known
as this, the (my) dream?
-
All too soon as a favored niche
in repose is found,
all too soon the muse wears off.
Stardust, dreams, whatever
are shaken off with eyes
fluttering and blinking
into focus.
-
What is at hand is at hand.
Dreams or waking
all seem to fit perfectly
as they occur
and part of some
present and perfect now.

- -