Every Stormy Ship-Wrecked Sea

every stormy ship-wrecked sea
breeds a mermaid guidingly
blows an anchor gently on
leaves no deck to walk upon

a mermaid graces tumultuous hulls
stops the rain, calls the gulls
shines rays of hope through darkened skies
perspective to the high and dry

go deep down, sailor, to your grave
for there the graceful lady lays
then moves like phoenix toward the stars
all mermaids take you just as far

fear not the vortex or the void
nor unmapped seas still to be buoyed
be happy, mate, and stand up straight
mermaids know it is never too late

so petrified you cannot move
the undersea garden calls to you
her love is free, wet, and warm
take heart in this, boy, not the storm

From "Miss Brooklyn"
Taipei, May 28, 1989
revised August 2016 

Impossibly Inevitably Love

impossibly inevitably

acceptably encouraging

lightly dreaming

adorably amusing

she must mean love

uncannily connecting

warm feelings

care and empathy

trying understanding

i must be loved

coolly compassionate 

mother of invention

slowly inviting

mood lightening

it feels like love

captivatingly motivated 

sincere and idealizing 

youthful and cheerful

deeply endearing

it rings like love

actualizing fantasy

lithingly touching 

moist and yearning

i am burning

for mutual passionate love 

From "Miss Brooklyn"

Taipei, June 10, 1989

revised August 2016 

Taiwan Siren Song

the songs will be sung
lost material will be replaced
i will always love and be loved
but i cannot do it here

freedom will present itself in laughter
skills and knacks will find outlets
i will always do the best i can
but i cannot do it here

we will warm each other's bodies
help the children down the road
learn all there is to know
but i cannot do it here

life will be lived with love in mind
the innocent will be protected
no one's ass will be kissed
from here it starts, but not here 

no revenge or 'what might have been' 
when the kids are off the block
no more clocks ticking down
but it cannot happen here

From "Miss Brooklyn"
Taipei, November 25, 1989
revised August 2016 

The Ballad of Davy Temple

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

his gramps came over to New York town,
the poor conditions brought him down.
he met his rose on one fine day,
and now the people have to say,

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

the Zekes would raise a family,
in darling Brooklyn by the sea.
Mir met Jules who fixed plane wings,
when Dave was born Elvis was king. 

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

in Borough Park he was loved and grew,
conquered demons two by two.
with Tim and Abb and Mao Tse-Tung,
he mastered fate and learned the tongue.

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

he broke away in college days,
to San Fran bay and purple haze.
linked hearts with Buddha, Hari-bow,
to heal his broken-hearted soul.

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

in Chinatown he made his fate,
with Chak and crabs to Taiwan, mate.
he made a name, he took a chance,
made home and wealth and sweet romance.

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

he fought with Christians at their schools,
made them all look just like fools.
on his own, he made his mark,
shedding light upon the dark.

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

in Taipei, Taiwan R.O.C.,
his school the finest that could be.
kids with futures in the west,
because their English is the best.

Davy,
Davy Temple,
king of the wild frontier.

From "Miss Brooklyn"
Taipei, April 9,1989
revised August 2016

Leona, Leona

Leona, Leona,

nothing she does not know,

i miss her, 

i miss her so.

think i will phone her,

but it is not enough.

sweet child of mine,

bringing tears to my eyes.

i love you so dearly,

sweet Leona.

i want to kiss you,

all over your body.

i want to hold you,

close to my side.

my love for you, Leona baby,

makes me sing

and dance and fly,

makes me come alive,

and gives me new strength,

in the dead of night.

guardian angel, Leona.

brave and compassionate, Leona.

cute and wild, Leona.

clear-headed,

balanced,

reasonable Leona.

i miss you, girl.

i have peace with you, woman.

stay well,

be happy,

dear Leona. 

from "Miss Brooklyn"

Brooklyn

December 20, 1989

revised Aug. 2016

Joe Hill Continued

(Sung to the melody of "Joe Hill" by Phil Ochs)

Joe Hill was shot by a firing squad,
seventy-three years ago this day,
amongst those soldiers that done him in,
was one that thought Joe ought to stay,
was one that thought Joe ought to stay.

he was there on duty when they cleaned him up,
rode from Utah on a train tenderly,
stood around the pyre in the Chicago fire,
burning until his ashes blew off free,
burning until his ashes blew off free.

in the dead of night in the Illinois light,
he left the barracks for the field,
and there he knelt collecting Joe Hill's dust,
600 envelopes that held it was concealed,
600 envelopes that held it was concealed.

for fifty years and two world wars,
Joe Hill was kept somewhere,
when the soldier died Joe was archived,
Joe's spirit was kept alive in there,
Joe's spirit was kept alive in there.

the bags were found without a sound, 
where the ashes of Joe were gray,
they were mailed to Industrial Workers of the World,
who put him in their dusty vaults away,
who put him in their dusty vaults away.

until one day when the critical mass,
has the power to strike back fast,
ashes of Joe will be put in each worker's fist,
and the power of the union will last,
the power of the union will last.

From "Miss Brooklyn"
Taipei, November 19, 1988
Revised 2016

Gay Riot

the crowd chants 'no more violence' as windows shatter

broken glass, the gates are crashed

police are absent, media not

red on white reads 'stop the attacks'

a young woman cries 'we want Milk'

the others agree, 'unite or be weak'

microphones, from where did they come

another young woman caresses a bullhorn

she shouts to the people

people who heave at the city doors

popping glass spills like hail

bullhorn mouth brings reaction

another window breaks

artificial mouth shouting

lights in City Hall burn

who is inside?

seven hundred raised fists

as Diane grabs hold of the horn

Feinstein without audio

'let her speak' but she isn't heard

"'i don't want my death to be avenged,' he said"

someone on the Hall balcony holds a lit match

there's standing atop of cars, pouncing

'he got away with murder,' they sing

the jury has decided

the atmosphere is festive

pot is in the air

people smiling

a girl rubs on lipstick

a dozen people on the cars

Diane is gone, police haven't come

the crowd gets louder

'standing on a car, no matter,' says a young man 

fondling two candles in the air

'Dan White ate a Twinkie,

now lets bring the candy'

memories of Stonewall

the speaker is real and captures the crowd

talking of gay five-year-olds

i hear a guitar, more pot in the sky

'fight back, fight back, fight back,' they chant

'we are queer and we should be together' is the battle cry

a drunk asks me for a dime

asleep in the park when the noise began

the crowd is now one thousand

there's talk of D.C., Diane's house, the prison grounds

the car that i lean on is trampled by feet

'fuck you, Feinstein,' now it's her fault

slang and cursing, kissing and smoking

'the D.A. said this is how the system works'

'fuck the system, fuck the system,' the echo grows

this place has lost its little organization

the heart on the steps has lost its definition

suggestions wanton, laughing, shouting, glass breaking

'let's get White, let's get White,' say party-goers around the piano

like the New York blackout, it is just for kicks now

violence is building, things are being thrown

the crowd now two thousand

the police are here wearing crash helmets 

surrounding City Hall under siege 

'White was a cop, White was a cop,' say voices in the chaos

a newspaper box is thrown to the ground

the crowd makes its noise part of their own

a fire is set, the police back off

more windows crash, the crowd in a frenzy

thirty lock-armed cops move in slowly like heavy honey

 they ebb backwards to the edge of the building

an area of truce formed upon the steps

more windows crash

i stand in a muddy puddle watching

whistles are blown, trash cans are ablaze

'i got one of the windows,' a girl boasts loudly

they'd like to burn down City Hall

as the man on the balcony smokes a leisurely cigarette

missiles are thrown

 pigeons are flying confused from under the terrace

they must wonder what they have done to deserve this

this is fun

the people are angry but they are smiling

if the police rushed them, there would be bloodshed

no one has been injured yet

nobody is leaving, nobody walks away

this is national news

almost every window in City Hall is busted 

yet only two dozen people are dragging it down

while two thousand people chat and party

there must be plenty cops inside the Hall

the police have acted in the safest way possible

but if the people enter the Hall, there will be blood for sure

i hope nobody tries to enter

middle class white gay minority

the man on the balcony has gone

a TV camera, a microphone appears

this is a spectacle, everyone knows it 

more slap-happy than angry

as a tree goes up in flames and smoke

i smell burning leaves

a parking meter ripped from the ground

used as a battering ram

an hour and a half has passed

on the corner of Polk and Grove

the police have blocked off the side streets

the action contained to the front of the Hall

'let them break the windows,' says a cop with stripes

'contain them and let them burn themselves out' 

this is the strategy

the media is protected behind police lines

they tell me to move back though i hold a pen, not a rock

i don't have a badge so i have been branded

i move across the street away from shielded loveless eyes

they tell me 'go home'

tear gas pops

the police are here in force

an ambulance waits near the library

a dozen motorcycle police have come

the crowd has dispersed but for some heaving stones

'if you don't want to be involved, step back,' says a sargent

the riot is cracked into two, lookers and doers

the lookers shout from their place across the street

the rioters at the Hall entrance have a park behind them

but the police are surrounding the park

a car is ablaze by City Hall

the air smells of burning rubber

a dozen police car sirens wail and burn across the street

people are running

police are chasing

i sit on the library steps

\but now the library is under attack

'not the library,' i hear one stray voice say

the people are running

the police are chasing, not looking, not caring

the boom of gas tanks exploding

tanks exploding gas boom boom rubber gas

smell scream run away, they run away

fire here, bottles thrown there, here and there

running crazy away running police clubs fire fire

into the night the fires expand, the people spread out

cancer fire cancer crash boom boom boom

blowing blowing

off into the night

smiles and whistles off into the night

San Francisco

May 21, 1979

Revised August, 2016