Gary Beck

I lie in illness bed
and do not know
if I will live
to see the next dawn.

Too tired to think,
images past
creep through my head…

A waterfall
I stood under
with lively friends,
a bird concerto
the first night in the woods,
singing until the darkness faded.

So much beauty
I was fortunate to see
that I cannot regret
imminent departure.

I wake each morning
just after sunrise
sweeping my metal detector
back and forth,
hand shovel, swag net,
always ready
for the big find
that’s never there.
The punk kid
goes out on his surfboard
every morning and insults me:
“Hey Pop. Find any treasure?
Ha, ha.”
One day
I’ll find something great,
maybe a rolex watch
and show him.

I walk the streets of Dream City,
see the homeless on every corner,
cardboard signs proclaiming need,
yet few stop to give alms.
I listen to the people I pass
speaking foreign languages.
I carefully look around
and the city is familiar,
A shock. It’s not Calcutta!
It may not look it anymore
but I’m in America,
becoming a third-world country.
So many have fallen
so far, so fast,
I barely recognize my land.
The capitalists may as well give away
the Statue of Liberty,
the inspiring French gift,
not much different now
from the Eiffel Tower,
a tourist attraction.

We were still colonies of Great Britain
and missed The Thirty Years War,
since G.B. had her own problems
and wasn’t meddling on the continent.
So we didn’t sign the Treaty of Westphalia,
the first treaty negotiated without the papacy,
that established sovereignty since the treaty declared:
‘One nation shouldn’t interfere
with the internal affairs of another nation’.
The signers didn’t respect it for very long
and by the time we became big enough
to interfere with the affairs of others
we weren’t obliged to respect their sovereignty,
since we never signed it in the first place.
As long as we had sufficient power
we never let ideas of sovereignty
hinder our aggressive expansion
as we interfered in the affairs of others.

In the prevailing climate
of imminent destruction
of civilization,
it may no longer be
in our nature
to save ourselves
before it is too late.

One peculiar condition
I’ve found in this strange life
that when I think I’ve seen it all,
something new comes along
more horrible or beautiful
than I’ve seen before,
renewing my still eager expectation
for continuation.

editors note: Yes! Please, let’s continue. – mh clay

After thousands of years
of uncomfortable evolution
I sit on concrete balcony,
far removed from nomad hordes,
earlier agricultural enclaves,
medieval conjoinings,
warming myself
in the weak, spring sun,
not entirely different
than an elderly lizard
hulking on a heating rock
lethargically awaiting
the encroaching desert.

In the intermittent struggle
between capital and labor
that started in the caves,
or even earlier,
the wealthy usually triumphed,
or when briefly toppled,
wangled their way
by any means necessary,
until once again they directed
the destiny of mankind.

Jacquerie, rebellion,
revolution, all resulted in masters,
new or old,
well-disguised puppets,
dancing,
as they made the people dance
to celebratory tunes
applauding riches.

When election year arrives
presidential contenders
have already worked hard
telling us what we want to hear,
however unrealistic.
Once ensconced in office
promises are forgotten
while the burden of problems
generates excuses.

Service men and women,
firefighters,
police officers,
military,
other functionaries
vital to society
insufficiently appreciated
by bloated consumers
frequently sheltered
from traumas of life.
Now that we are removing
the capable blue-collar class,
outsourcing jobs abroad
complementing the flight of capital,
the growth of servitude jobs
does not inspire confidence
that we will retain
men and women
who will walk through fire, bullets, blood,
to protect us.