Me and Others, 1973

Some people criticize my style,
Whatever they see it to be,
They see me as a freak of--
Society.


They see me as a long-haired
hippie, whatever that is,
Some think of drugs,
Others think of sex,
Still others think of lawlessness,
But it is known of these.


If only people would see
And not just observe.

Mayor Cobb

 It was a normal day in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Nothing abnormal ever happens in a town of 400 people.  A town with one traffic light, a post office, a city hall, and a few stores.
 Mrs. Franklin, the town postmistress, was sorting the morning mail.  She never had too much mail to handle, since all the mail usually went either to Mayor Cobb or Doc Mason.
 Mayor Cobb had been the mayor of Sheridan for 14 years.  No one really remembers where Mayor Cobb came from, because he just appeared in town one day, ran for mayor, and has been mayor ever since.
 Doc Mason was the town doctor and vet.  He was the richest man in town, but that distinction didn't mean very much, since no one had any money to pay him.  All the money that comes into Sheridan is the result of passers-through, since Sheridan depends on its gas station and restaurant for its income.
 The 10:39 freight train was right on time, this morning.  Mayor Cobb had called a council meeting for 11:00 to discuss the plans to build a motel to attract tourists.  Everyone was devoted to Mayor Cobb.  He was a stocky man with brown hair, but he was growing bald.  He had brought Sheridan together and relatively prosperous. 
 This particular day was slightly different, though.  A policeman came to Sheridan that day, in search of an escaped convict from the chain gang down the road.  Patrolman Nelson had never been to Sheridan.  He found the city hall and asked to see the chief of police.  There was no chief of police in Sheridan, since nothing bad ever happened.  So, Nelson had to see the mayor.
 The moment of the eyes meeting between Cobb and Nelson was somewhat shocking.  Nelson remembered this face on an old wanted poster.
 Yes, Mayor Cobb's real name was Charles Evans.  Fifteen years ago, Evans shot and killed a family of blacks in New York City.  Because of interstate flight, the FBI was called in.  It was just as Evans had simply vanished.  Now 15 years later, the patrolman recognized this man called Cobb to be Evans.
 The shocked stare cooled down.

Marriage, 1971

Life
 Strife
  Wife
   Death.

A Manifesto for Rightists, 1973

 Rightist workers are few and far between.  They are from all walks of life, and they take the form of judicial rightists or rebel rightists.  Each type has its place in our society.  Neither type is better than the other nor worse than the other.  They use different tactics, but they get the job done.
 Judicial rightists are those who work through the courts or through other legal means.  They are the lobbyists in Congress, the ACLU, the NAACP, and other organizations.  They secure the court decisions, the laws, and other actions in order to make the nation into a "land of the free".  The early 1960's saw the judicial rightists "do their thing".  There are still judicial rightists everywhere, and there are many more of those than the second group--the Rebel Rightists.
 Rebel rightists are those who take the law into their own hands.  The two most popular methods used are demonstrating and rioting.  The late 1960's saw the emergence of the rebel rightists.  They are somewhat violent in their non-violent attitudes.  They are said to be attention-getters, which is basically true, because without attention, there can't be action.  Action is what it is all about.
 We, in the "United Society", are a combination of these two rightist factions.  Some of us go through the proper channels, while others do things themselves.  Either way, the job must get done or it can't be done at all.  Whether it is right to have injustices or not is a questionable issue.  It must be seen, however, that as long as there's injustice. there will be need for "US".  The United Society.

Male Chauvinist, 1974

With the morning breaks
a new day and sunshine
sees the birds awake from
the stormy night of last.


For all days, the sun
comes out somewhere and
brightens up a dark corner
of the world with its rays.


The mothers of America
break open boxes of Kellogg's
Corn Flakes to faces of tired
and hungry people with eyes tight shut.


Then it's off to work for
the fathers, off to school
for the kids, back to
sleep for the mothers, and--


Peace until 3 p.m., when
school is out; supper at
6 for father, and it
starts all over again and again...

The Luck of Boston Carver, 1970

 Boston Carver was a meek, little man with thin-rimmed glasses.  He had no family or friends.  The largest and most numerous scars that one had ever seen were on his body.  Lost in the bustle of life, Boston was ready to commit suicide.
 When he was a little boy, he was beaten on and kicked every day he was at school.  He would come home and tell his mother about the cruelty.  Sometimes, he would be crying.  During college, Boston was top in his class, but the school clowns tore up his diploma after graduation.  His mother died when he was 24.  His father left them when Boston was two.  Boston had no brothers or sisters.  He got a job as an office boy for a newspaper, but he quit that job.  Another job was offered to him by Swiftco Industries.  They wanted him to put check marks on boxes, if they were full of Swiftcoes.  The wage for that job was 30 cents an hour.  Boston made enough money to live in a box in an alley.  He stole food from markets and stashed it in his box.  No one paid any attention to him.  He tried to starve himself, but he got too hungry.  He wanted to slash his wrists, but he couldn't find a knife.  He wanted to shoot himself, but he didn't have a gun.  Boston had all the luck in the world.  He got an idea.  Maybe, he was not meant to die.  He quit his job at Swiftco and started to walk.
 He walked out of town, and he started to talk with the people that he passed by.  Boston Carver was a preacher.  All the talk was centered around his suffering as a child.  He would tell the people about his being kicked and beaten.  He would say that he learned about suffering, and that everybody else should learn how, too.  People would follow him.  They came by the thousands.  One day, he was walking along an icy road.  A truck was speeding down the highway, and it skidded on the ice.  It tried to avoid Boston, but it was too late.  Boston was dead.  His followers laughed at Boston's corpse.  Boston was dead.  He had all the luck in the world.

Love Me, 1991

Love Me
Why don't you Love Me
'Cause you Like Me
Too Much.


Tell Me
Why can't you Tell Me
That you Love Me
So Touch.


You said that
You like me
And you just
Said it to me.


You said that
You wouldn't talk
To Me if you
Didn't like me.


Show me
You like me
If you won't
Love Me.


Call Me
And say that
You want me
To stay.


I can't make it
Without your love
I can't live on
Without your smile.


I can't make it
Without your touch
I can't live on
Without your love.


Love Me
If only for a while,
And then you
Can Go Away Again.

Love is Pretending, 1991

I ran into a girl I knew
 A dozen years ago,
She looked at me as if to smile
 Or even say hello,
I couldn't think of her name
 As I looked her way,
She opened her mouth as if to speak
 But she had nothing to say.


I wasn't sure she'd remember me
 Since it had been so many years,
She had left me for another
 And I had cried a lot of tears,
The voice I spoke that day
 Was shaky at best,
I guess you all know the rest.


She pretended she knew me
She pretended she cared
She pretended she love me
Now she was there.


She walked right past me
 And didn't say a word,
I stood and watcher her
 It was all a bit absurd,
If love is pretending, then
 She can't be beat,
I guess I'll know the
 Next time we meet.


She pretended she loved me,
She pretended she cared,
She pretended she liked me,
And all I did was stare.


Maybe I was too shy
 To make the first move,
But she really made me
 Fall into that groove,
If love is pretending, then
 I know it's true,
Because the one I love--
 Is really you.

Paige and George, 1991

Protect him
And help him
In sickness and need.


Give her
Everything in
All her
Needs.


Do the
Good things that will
Enrich your lives.


Open life's doors to
Rewards so you will
Grow beyond all
Expectations.

Love Is Forever, 1991

Love Is...
Love is Forever
When your love
Is one.


Love Is...
Love is Together
When your love
Is shared.


Love Is...
Love is Caring
When your love
Is loved.


Love Is...
Love is Wanting
When your love
Is there.


Love Is...
Love is Marriage
When your love
Is Forever.


For your love
Is special
And you're special
To me.

Look at Me, 1973

When do I find out
what life is all about?
Won't you tell me please?


When does love come to me
like it's happened to
thousands before?


Right now, I don't know--who I am,
And I want to know--who I am,
Won't you tell me--who I am,
Look at me, yes please
Look at me--and tell me.


In the past few weeks,
life has been hard--
and time has been going down.


Why can't time just stand still,
instead of it crumbling
up my mind?


I don't know where
I'm going or what
I'm doing now.


Who am I?
Look at me--
and please tell me who I am?


I ask for a gun,
please give me a knife,
I've got to hang myself,
where is some poison,
or how about a little suffocation,
won't you help me, please?


I ask for a way to kill myself,
and all I get is a lecture
from a girl, named Sandy.


She tries to help me,
perhaps she understands me,
but no one will know the complications.


So now, I'm sitting and writing this song,
And asking for some help,
To you, who are listening, may I ask you--
Look at--me and tell me who I am?


Yes, look at me--look at me,
and tell me who I am?

A Look at Europe a Year Later, 1974

Whether you go to the
garden spot in the world
or whether you don't, you'll
see that people are there
for the zoo.


Yes, the zoo is made up
of English, Italians,
Israelis, Germans, Swiss,
French, Spanish, and
Portuguese viewed by tourists.


I was a tourist at
the zoo and the
inhabitants acted like they
were supposed to, so the
pictures turned out good.


I don't want to go back
to the zoo, but I do
want to go back to the
people and break them
out of their prison.

Long Ago (a perfect time), 1971

Long ago, at least it seems long ago--
The sky was blue,
The grass was green,
The trees were tall and majestic,
But man took it away, and it died.


Long ago, at least it seems long ago--
There were no bombs,
There were no wars,
There was no hate or bigotry,
But man didn't like man, so he killed his fellow man.


The judge tried man for his murder--
But the man didn't care--
He killed the judge, and man conquered.


Long ago, at least it seems long ago--
Life was calm,
Life was peaceful,
Life was beautiful,
But man took life away,
He was a great man.

Living Live Life, 1974

Too often without power
 do we really see the light,
  and sometimes this light
   never shines.


For us, live is a maze
 or corners, each one with
  a specific circle of experience
   for us to live.


We must go through the
 maze in order to obtain our
  lives, but those lives are
   never to our own satisfaction.


To live is to love the
 living, but my life is not
  the love, it just exists,
   and the time has come...

A Little P.S.

You see something growing
out of a person.  A
sensitivity that reaches for
anyone who will understand.


A little boy, coming to
age, is trying to say
hello to anyone,
who will hear.


The people who are
really concerned see
very close the feelings
of the whole person.


So now, he creates
in a sense of reality
and says hello to a
person, who is really a person,
Not just a heartbeat,
Not just a breath,
But a real person,
Which is you.

Live For Tomorrow (part 2)

Whether a poem can express
 a total feeling or not is and
  will be a debatable issue.


But the time has come to
 extend ourselves and the
  living for tomorrow becomes
   YOUR tomorrows.


If you think it will be
 easy, then think again,
  as the road will be rough
   and the future--uncertain.


So live, live, live for tomorrow,
 And you will survive and be
  happy--knowing the love together.

Lift-off to Nowhere, 1971

 Five o'clock in the morning and all was not well.  Capt. Timothy Andrews was about to make the first exploratory trip to the planet Zicon-2.  His breakfast of crushed and frozen oatmeal did not go down too well.  Nervousness had taken over Capt. Andrews' body.  His valet came in to tell Timothy that he had better get dressed, because he was leaving in three hours on a rocket-pad for a 12 year trip to Zicon-2.  He put on his space suit, his helmet, and his heating unit.
 Charles Williams, the flight director, came into Timothy's room.  Dr. Williams was there to tell Timothy about the trip.  He told the Captain that Zicon-2 was discovered by Prof. John Corru on the planet Mars.  At first, he thought it was a star, but he found out that it was a very large planet.
 Over the intercom, a voice said, "Okay Captain Andrews, we're ready for you.  Zicon-2 is ready for you."  Timothy excused himself and told Dr. Williams that he had five minutes to get to the rocket-pad.  Timothy stood in the wind tunnel, and it zipped him to the pad, which was four miles from the dressing room of Timothy Andrews, in six seconds.  (The tunnel needed some work done on it.)  When he got there, he was met by 70,000 technicians and 6,000,000 people that were cheering him on.
 The rocket was a mile high and 57-feet in circumference.  It had sixty compartments for fuel; 25, 4x6. rooms packed with concentrated food; and one room for Timothy to stay.  There were magazines and newspapers from all over the world for him to read.  This trip was to be non-stop.  He stepped into the rocket and adjusted his foam-padded seat to fit him.
 The countdown was approaching the one minute mark.  59...58 seconds to go and Timothy was checking his instruments.  His nervousness was increasing with every tick of the clock.  He realized that he might not come back.  32...31 seconds to go and Timothy ignited his fuel cells.  All was in order for the lift-off.  15...14 seconds to go and Timothy grasped his throttle and closed his eyes and prayed.  The last seconds were ticking away, 5...4...3...2...1...0.  The earth shook from Cape Kennedy to Ankara, Turkey.  The blast of light was 200 times brighter than the Sun.  Timothy was flying at a rate of 100,000,000 miles per hour.  His first stage ejected by the moon of Neptune.  He was really moving.
 A crisis arose.  When it came time for Timothy to have lunch, he opened his first box of food and found nothing.  He looked in the other boxes and found the same thing to be true.  NO FOOD!  He tried his water fountain, but it was empty.  NO WATER!  He got on the radio, but no one heard him.  An idea cropped up in his head, "Could I turn back?"  The rocket was so big that he would have to go into an orbit in order to turn it around.  He looked at the star-map, and he saw the nearest place was Zicon-1, which was four years from Zicon-2.  He put out a S. O. S. call, but nobody heard it.  Timothy recorded in his log that he was dying, and nobody could hear him.  He tried one last thing.  He dropped off three of his fuel stages and ignited them with the fourth one.  The blast of light covered the solar system, but no one saw it.
 Another thing came up.  Timothy spotted a star that was blocking his path.  The star's gravitational force was pulling the rocket closer to it.  Just a few more feet, the rocket would melt.  The outer coating of metal was melting.  The cabin in which Timothy was sitting started to cave in.  Timothy screamed.
 He jumped out of bed.  Timothy asked his wife where he was?  Then he realized that it was all a dream.  A voice came over the intercom in his bedroom and said, "Captain Andrews, your rocket to Zicon-2 is ready.  Please Sir, it is going to take off, please hurry."  Was it real?

Trampling, 1972

You see the sunlight on wet lilies which stand tall on the hill,
But who are you to say that you are like the lily or the sun?
You are like the hill where things grow upon you.

Fight, 1972

You fight for peace but your heart is filled with hate.
You want to love but you fight against it.
You live in kindness but you'd push a wheelchair down a hill.
Why do you do this?

Mountains, 1972

I see waterfalls and changing leaves,
I hear the songs of the birds,
I feel the crispness of the air,
While people die of hunger, sickness, and war.

Life is Like, 1972

Life is like corned beef and cabbage.  You can take it or leave it.


Life is like Communism.  Some people hate it.  Many people like it, but it still exists.


Life is like moss.  It grows on hard things and soft things, but it still grows.


Life is like a roman candle.  It shoots up, explodes, and fades out.

Life is for Survivors, 1980

Ten years is a long time...
It's almost 1/2 of my life,
or just 1/2 of knowledgeable life.
And it's all happened over again.


Love, war, hate, persecution,
 death, sickness, passion, lust,
  and everything else pulls together
to make ten years of life.


But, this ten years is different,
when it concerns life and what has
 come before.


Before, I had a blurry life
 with wasted dreams and
  nothing to live for
   but to breathe and
    breathe again...


Ten years is not a long time
for those who have been there
a long time, but for suicidal
lunatics--it's everything and
it's me.


Surviving is everything.
Ten years is nothing.
Life is dying.

Life (an essay)

 A person puts on a face to let other people see him and like him.  But, what are the feelings inside him?  Are they good, bad, indifferent?  The answer cannot be told, except by the person himself.  A person might think that he knows all there is to know about another person.  Does he?  The answer lies with the person he knows.  If he knows all the facts about a person from the time that he is born to the time that he dies and does not know the innermost feelings, then all of his knowledge is worthless.  Sometimes, he might get bits of information on the feelings, but usually that isn't enough.  What is enough?  To know the whole person--not just the facts but the feelings as well.  This is true Life.

Life, 1969

Rolling hills,
Rocks and rills,
Wondering where it will go,
I don't know.


Tall trees,
Birds and bees,
Where will it end,
My friend.


How can I live,
Without something to give,
How will I stand it,
I will just have to sit.


Large walls,
Boys playing ball,
How can I survive,
Or stay alive?


Life is hard,
Like a prison guard,
How can you live,
Without something to give?

Analogy of Importance, 1972

 Once upon a time, (cliché), there were two boys--Super and Frankie.  Super lived in the big city, and Frankie lived in a small town.  Both boys had black hair, both had blue jeans, and both wore glasses.  The difference was the length of their hair.  Super's hair was long and bushy.  Frankie's hair was in a crew cut.  Super was called a freak.  Frankie was called a hick.  Which would you choose for a friend?  Personally, I'd choose the freak, because he would be more important in this world, today.  You don't think the hick is important in this world, do you?

Letters, 1972

To the sun:
 the brightness excels your smile,
 the light shines around your space,
 within the dark reaches of life--
 you make it real,
 you bring the world closer to me,
 so do your thing,
 please, before we die.


To the moon:
 GROW UP!  WON'T YOU?

Leaving

Well, here we are,
Driving in my car,
It doesn't seem true,
That this is the last day with you.


Tomorrow, I'll be gone,
I'll get up at dawn--
And go to war,
To help an army kill some more.


I probably won't come back,
Then you'll feel that you lack--
me,
Don't you see.


Why do I have to go?
Just to watch my blood flow,
I love you so very much,
Now, I put my foot on the clutch.


Nothing is left for us to do,
I'm leaving you,
Right now I'll cry,
So later--I can just die.

The Laugh of a Dying Man, 1974

 It was as though a bullet pierced my skull and took with it the brain matter that had made up my being.  Before the death, comes the flashing of my life before my eyes.
 From the day I was born until today, I prided myself on being sensitive to others and free from prejudice.  In my world, it is not wrong to be proud of yourself, just as long as you don't take it to an extreme.  I am proud of my acting ability.  My best performance was Joe Ferone in "Up the Down Staircase", but the role that touched more people was one of the two roles in "The Breaking of Bread".
 I did this play, while at Anderson College in Anderson, S. C.  It was a play, which we did twice at the school and at three area churches.  The play brought tears to some and cheers from others.  We had to turn down offers for other performances.  Something always went wrong in our performances.  For instance, in five performances, I got a bloody nose, a bad back, and a hurt leg.  The guy that had the other role in the play got a broken wrist during our last performance.  It took a kind of sensitivity to pull off that play, and that sensitivity really can't be expressed unless you did the play.
 And today, I was going to use it for my independent study in Drama as a play that I would direct, and then use for a performance.  I have already written a 10-page paper on the play.  When I presented my paper to my teacher, today, he said that he had read the play, and said, "It's not much".  Those three words were the bullets that tore my head apart.  A man, my teacher, that I once respected, is now very low in my life.  I do not like him.  I do not respect him.  I do not think that he has any feelings.  He is not sensitive.
 My feeling of total freedom from prejudice is no more.  I cannot bring myself to love him, when he destroys something that to me is very beautiful.  My teacher is typical of our world--insensitive and cruel.  And, I laugh at myself for actually picking Drama as a major, when the cruelest and most horrible people are in it, or else they're in jail.  My prison is my life.  Can a bullet give life?  I've never seen anyone get shot and laugh, because they're shot.  The people that laugh are those who watch the shooting, and even then, it's not funny.  Bullets don't kill.  People kill.

Last Day of Classes, 1974

Listening to music at half past eight,
Wishing that tomorrow would come and
   stop the wait,
Because tomorrow is when I leave
Lifting bags with one big "Heave"!,
If that's how you spell it.

Well anyway, Christmas is coming
While grades come too and show
Whether I will pass or fail or
Whatever will happen between me
  and my school.

So I write to only say that
I feel like I'm fixin-to-die-rag,
and Country Joe and the Fish,
and many more, too.

And a girl smokes three cigarettes
 during exams for nerves and more
  during class for munchies.  And
   stomachs gurgle and growl with
    the smell of ciggies.  And
     1:00 comes and you eat.
      Yum!  Yum!  and get sick.

So, where is my love at the
train station or the airport
or the bus terminal or where?

She's home on the phone
talking to a boy about
Friday night.  And so it goes...

KLM Flight 7758 Now Arriving at Gate 7, 1978

What is life?  Something
 you read about in a dream
  years ago or was it just a
   fleeting wisp of glory known
    as Camelot.

Pies and skies and drama
 too were there when things were
  down and I dreamed of the day
   when we could say hello
    at least once.

And we jumped and pushed
 until we were numb or just
  a little uncertain about
   things to come or things
    already gone.

Now we are flying as high as
 is possible or maybe the
  altitude is getting to us and
   we are passing out or even
    passing in.

And the songs we sing are a
 mere reflection of our life in
  general of days gone by and
   are here now or at least
    it seems to be.

So if you see me walking
 down the street, I pray the
  Lord my soul to keep and
   if I die before I wake at
    least I hope to be skyjacked.

Kill Me, 1990

Marshmallow bears are in my head,
I wish that I was dead,
Did I wake up today?
I don't want to play.

Where did my money go?
Oh yeah, to buy some blow,
I can't hold a job,
Find me somebody to rob.

Everybody hates me,
I can't even see,
I'm on my knees,
I want to be free.

Colors are tossed in my mind,
That stuff makes me go blind,
Why do I keep on taking it?
'Cause I need a hit.

I want you to kill me,
I'll pay you a lot of money,
I don't know where I'd be,
If I didn't have a key.

Watch me speed in my car,
I don't know who you are,
So let me go and get some more,
Help me up and find the door.

Everybody hates me,
I can't even see,
I'm on my knees,
I want to be free.