NO APOLOGY!

let's get something straight.

i'm a full-fledged member of the

60s generation!

The Generation!

not generation x or double x

or even xxx.

No!

i graduated from high school in 1965

and graduated from college in 1969.

i am completely, unapologetically

a complete product of the crazy, wonderful,

mad, hopeful, imaginative, Imaginative,

love-crazed, liberating, generous, brave,

exciting, pure, unadulterated, unexpurgated,

committed, dreaming, dreamful 60s!

the generation that fought for african americans,

women, kids, foreigners, the generation that ended,

ENDED!!! the vietnam war, the generation that kicked

nixon out of office, the generation of martin luther king,

malcolm x, john kennedy, robert kennedy, medgar evers,

the black panters, the weather underground, angela davis,

william kuenstler, bob dylan, the beatles, joan baez,

you name it, you name them, any and all, revolutionaries,

dreamers, fighters.

and us, we, i? we inhaled it, ate it, were eaten by it,

entirely consumed by love and truth and justice

and the will to fight the motherfuckers who pushed

fear and hated on us and the world.

did we lose? NO!! they killed us, murdered us,

lied about us, tricked us, all of it.

but they did not kill us!!

we are here, 60 years old, 65, 70 years old.

you think we're "senior citizens," that shitty,

terrible, bullshit, castrating, condescending term.

you think we're only good for endless commercials

about medicine, illness, hospitals, "senior citizen centers,"

and the rest of it, all of it denying our power, our wisdom,

our endless libidinous energy and courage.

but you're wrong, totally full of shit.

we are here alive and well.

waiting for some generation, ANY GENERATION

to try to match us! waiting for any generation

to join us!!!

rich quatrone July 18, 2012

let's get something straight.

i'm a full-fledged member of the

60s generation!

The Generation!

not generation x or double x

or even xxx.

No!

i graduated from high school in 1965

and graduated from college in 1969.

i am completely, unapologetically

a complete product of the crazy, wonderful,

mad, hopeful, imaginative, Imaginative,

love-crazed, liberating, generous, brave,

exciting, pure, unadulterated, unexpurgated,

committed, dreaming, dreamful 60s!

the generation that fought for african americans,

women, kids, foreigners, the generation that ended,

ENDED!!! the vietnam war, the generation that kicked

nixon out of office, the generation of martin luther king,

malcolm x, john kennedy, robert kennedy, medgar evers,

the black panters, the weather underground, angela davis,

william kuenstler, bob dylan, the beatles, joan baez,

you name it, you name them, any and all, revolutionaries,

dreamers, fighters.

and us, we, i? we inhaled it, ate it, was eaten by it,

entirely consumed by love and truth and justice

and the will to fight the motherfuckers who pushed

fear and hated on us and the world.

did we lose? NO!! they killed us, murdered us,

lied about us, tricked us, all of it.

but they did not kill us!!

we are here, 60 years old, 65, 70 years old.

you think we're "senior citizens," that shitty,

terrible, bullshit, castrating, condescending term.

you think we're only good for endless commercials

about medicine, illness, hospitals, "senior citizen centers,"

and the rest of it, all of it denying our power, our wisdom,

our endless libidinous energy and courage.

but you're wrong, totally full of shit.

we are here alive and well.

waiting for some generation, ANY GENERATION

to try to match us! waiting for any generation

to join us!!!

rich quatrone July 18, 2012

WHAT WE DO TO CHILDREN

Sandusky and Paterno surprise everyone.
Then, tell me, why don't thy surprise me?
Shock me, yes. Surprise, no.
Read Criminal Schools, my play.
Look at Iraq and  Afghanistan.
Too much of a stretch for you?
What, that we should have violently
barged into two poor nations for the sake
of oil and future markets and turned them
into chaos.
What of the children in those countries?
And what of the young people here, almost
all of them poor, who go to fight these wars,
if you can call them legitimately wars, which
implies equal armies in combat, and learn to
kill and destroy, who themselves are killed,
who are maimed both physically and emotionally,
only to return to America and receive poor medical
attention or none? And what of their families, these
existentially courageous young people whose courage
could and should have been put to much better
use and guided by elders in this country?
But, then, we do not have elders, do we?
We have "senior citizens," people not even afforded
the dignity of being old women and old men and,
yes, elders with wisdom we make a place for in
our society.
So, the abuse of children at Penn State?
A surprise?
When football rules that university, when the money
involved in the program and the advertising and all
the rest of it.
Protection of children?
In our schools, on our streets, in our homes?
Hardly.


Rich Quatrone July 12 2012

GIVING UP MONEY

A poor man never gives up money.
Money has already given him up.

Middle class and wealthy men give up money.
As if they ever really could.

As if, when the appendix goes, or the mind,
the family won't come running in and save
the guy.

Or as if inside the imagination the comfort
of having the rent paid or better having
been brought up in a house your family owned,
as if these aren't permanently inside you.
The foundation laid by the making of money
by someone, anyone, behind you.

The poor man has no such luxuries.
The poor man would never give up money,
and certainly never voluntarily.

To the contrary, the poor man will get his
money any way he can to feed his kids,
his family, himself.

The poor man would like to have a second
pair of pants or another shirt.

Or even a ten year old car and the ability
to pay the car insurance.

So, let's stop the crap about giving up
money.


Rich Quatrone July 2 21012

PREVIEW

You try to stay low, keep your head beneath the fray,
avoid the carnage, the remorse, the guilt, the violence
of spirit and deed.

You try not to take sides.
But the sides will take you one way or the other.

You will relive your sins in the end.

Rich Quatrone July 2 2012

THE LONG DRAFT

Most of my poems you don't see.
They are on draft.
Ready to be drunk.
Ready for the stink of the skunk.
Ready for the ghost in the trunk.

You don't read my poems.
They are caught in the draft.
The chill of the kill if not the thrill.
I do not easily take the pill.

What has it been?
I do myself in.

That's the joke.
Choke on that.


Rich Quatrone June 25 2012

BACK TO CIVILIZATION

1.  Patti Smith's on Letterman with a crooked eyeball and
a drummer and Lenny Kaye barking into the mics.  Kaye led
the Zoo at Rutgers in the 60s and I'd see him at the Ledge
and in my Sociology lecture.  He went on to get a master's
in history at NYU. Now he barks into microphones in 2012.

2.  But Cape May and the Peter Shields Inn with Diane
were beautiful. For two days and nights I was not lonely.
Diane was happy. I was happy.

3.  Read the first chapter of Shades of Gray.  Slick.
Glanced thru the sex scenes. I'm jealous because The Magic
House remains unpublished. And the sex scenes in my novel
howl the truth of existence. At least my existence.

4. My sons are in crisis. My younger son going off on his
own. 24 years to this moment. It was inevitable.

5.  I could bark into microphones but I refuse to do it.


Rich Quatrone June 13 2012

WORK

                   work is all I got left
                   to do nothing is to contribute to the mess
                                                --Donel Arrington


You see, there is hope!
Talked to 53 year old friend at the gym this morning,
the two of us lamenting the state of the world, of America,
of humanity.
But we agreed there is hope.
There are young people who have not succumbed, who
have not become cynics, dead inside, gone.


And I find this poem here.
The beauty of it, the intelligence, the love.


I think of my sons' band with its internal problems.
All the struggle to be strong and make beauty in music
and lyrics.
The work involved. The effort. The discipline.
It's not for the weak of stomach or mind.


Yet I believe we're going to make it!




Rich Quatrone June 8 2012

Psycho Social Spiritual Pollution

I feel the pain -
     Destruction and shame
     anger and hate and rage
In all this beauty i can't
     help but wonder why
     we don't change
Can't escape past Babylon
     no matter how deep
     i get, in meditation
     the jungles the valleys
     the forests the mountains
     the hot springs the love -
          the garbage
          just keeps piling up
     encroaching in on every last
     piece of natural land
     my enemy is my friend, so i take a stand!
     if i can learn to breathe again
     if i can learn to shake her hand,
     his head ego my shortcomings
     of crust running down
     my spine, entrenched in the
     perverted divine outreaches of
     civilization,
          hesitation
               lost in formulation
     of the new world inside
     i know where hope goes when its died
     cuz I've birthed her from the base of mine

I cry a thousand tears for the 300 child
hourly malnourished deaths,
images of war constantly
run through my head,
work is all I got left
to do nothing is to contribute to the mess

Bless bless bless
it's like a game of chess
and pawns are just the less
fortunate of the rest,
     gotta build gotta feed
     gotta squeeze and release
          this stake that’s been driven through
          our collective hearts!
Restart the pause
of an etiquette long gone,
unclick the bars
and un-slick the fog of humanities bind
transitioning in the time of epochs unwind
no denying the power of the times
change is the only constant
and it's accelerated with breath
we are the next step in human evolution
fuck all this pollution
be a part of the solution!

THE TIGER SWAMI

"I used to wrestle wild tigers with my bare hands.
No, not the doped up ones in circuses. The real deals.
Once I wrestled the raging Bengal tiger. He'd been starved
for days by those who kept him. My enemies. By the time
I faced him, he wanted my blood more than anything that
beast had ever wanted.  I was getting old, but my arms
were like anvils and I was ready.  Yet, there had been the
dream of the old lady who said I would be maimed and close
to death and that I would lie ill for six months. But after this
travail, I would emerge a holy man."

The American newspapers reported the story with typical
contempt and mockery.  It ran beside an ad for a Rolex
and over an ad for a vacation along the Rhine.  The second
ad displayed a sexy girl with alabaster skin.

By the time I'd faced the Bengal my spirit was polluted.
I wore the Rolex and drove a BMW convertible. I rode
a Ducati bike 160 miles an hour on the Autobon.

I had digressed enough until I read William Blake's
"The Tyger" and realized I could defeat the Bengal.

"The Tiger Swami almost lost his right arm.  His ear
dangled by his cheek.  Blood spurted everwhere. But
the mighty tiger lay exhausted and stunned on the
jungle floor.  The Swami lay in a hospital in Calcutta
for exactly six months," reported the New York Times,
in the Sunday Sports pages.


Rich Quatrone June 4 2012
43rd anniversary of my Rutgers College graduation

SHE SHE

The thing is she sticks with me.
Almost six years.
I have no money.
None.
My ex pays the rent, the utilities.
I drive my son's old Toyota.
I don't travel.
And now I have tinnitus.
Yet she sticks with me.
She's the wrong woman.
I'm the wrong man.
But she's still here.
She could get a dozen other men.
All sorts of men.
Rich men, poor men, white men,
black men, cool men, hot men.
She could get women.
Tall, short, intelligent, crazy,
wild.
She could have any of them.
But she sticks with me.
We would dance and rule the floor.
One night we danced without music
in front of the crowd.
The band was late.
We said fuck it and went out and
danced our dance.
I used to give her a  lap dance between
sets to the house music.
Women and men would stare.
We didn't care.
We loved it.
And each other.
We'd kiss while we danced.
We'd tease each other and do the
dance only real lovers can do.
And now it's over because of my ear.
And yet she's here.


Rich Quatrone June 2 2012

THE LAST TRICK

This Magic House is not so magical anymore.
Or so it seems.
The Garden of Eden has been chopped down.
Eve herself left years ago. And, as much as Adam
has loved, no new Eve has arrived to plant herself
here for storm, locust, or disease.
Adam himself has grown fat and tired.

"I suppose I never told you the Magic House
and Eden were one place, did I?"

No, I was never informed of this, said Satan
who promised not to come back for years.
At least for years, if not forever.

But Adam has not lost all his faith, not all of it.
Most of it, yes. Enough to lose sight of love, to
have lost even his memory of the magic, the creative,
healing force of the magic, that which defies the physician
and the priest.

Yet there is still one last trick to perform.


Rich Quatrone May 28 2012

MEMORIAL DAY 2012

I see the parades in Bradley Beach. Grown men
acting like boys, marching in unison, playing on bagpipes
and drums the childhood tunes of the military. Dirges
we were taught as children would lead us to manhood
and heroism.  Things all little boys aspire to, dream
of, and will dream of forever, really.

I see the runners, all white, mostly corporate types,
running to the sounds of air force and marine and
army fight songs played by a bugle player and
a drummer.

This is what we do here in America after ten years
of death, destruction, brutality, endless Orwellian
wars where the American deaths are broadcast
daily on televisions and computers, while the hundreds
of thousands of Iraqi and Afghan deaths go unmentioned.

We are all heroes, you know. Every one of us with our
holiday ballgames and parties and rock and roll nightclubs
here at the Jersey Shore.

We are all 21st Century heroes.

Rich Quatrone May 28 2012 Memorial Day

SLAMMING POETRY: THE POETRY OF THE 1 %

Check out today's New York Times "Books of the Times"
review and find Alien Vs. Predator by one Michael Robbins.
Poetry endorsed by The New Yorker and now published
by major house Penguin.

Poems without heart or substance. Playing with language
is the primary attraction.

So, this is what we've left with our pulling out from the
community.  Those of us who have retreated into our
own private reveries and nightmares.  I will take first
blame for this, or at least blame enough for myself.

There are others, some of whom know who they are.
And there are the cast of imposters, whose names I've
said often enough elsewhere so will leave them
unmentioned this time.

Of course, this poem, the one you're reading, is unnecessary,
is it not?  The world hasn't changed at all. Yet, the planet
can no longer tolerate our persistent ignorance and cowardice.

We do have the likes of the young bloods who start
sites like the one I'm writing this on.  Let's hope they
don't abrogate their responsibility to themselves
and to the world.

Rich Quatrone May 24 2012 8:46am

DO IT FOR THE WOMEN (for Joey)

Do it for the women!
Read Shakespeare, read Baraka, read Ginsberg,
read Whitman, Blake, read history and philosophy,
learn science and math, learn foreign languages,
learn to read music.

If doing it to expand your mind and consciousness,
if doing it to create a conscience, if doing to connect
to Dr King and Malcolm and Mailer and Sontag
and Adrienne Rich isn't enough.

Then, if for no other reason, do it for all the
great women!!


Rich Quatrone
May 23 2012
858am

FEED ME POEMS

okay i admit i'm a beast no better than the rest of them
a beast hungry and greedy and ugly and fat and old
and losing the contact that place the heart the pussy
the cock of it all

i admit it i'm a fascist pig the man in blue the man
in black i am the crack in the sky the ones who die
and dye the cloth we call brotherhood

i did it, i did, i did it

and i still do it

so, sew me together whether you like me or not
give me a knot to stop this slide down the rope of
despair

grab me by the goddamn hair man do what you can
to save my sorry ass

feed me your poems that's a start a way to reach
what's left of my heart


rich quatrone may 17 2012

YOUNG BLOOD'S SONG AND THE MUSIC

i'm jealous
jealous
only the way an old man can be

am i really old?
does my throat not sing song
is the city dead to me

the lower east side

the upper west side
      columbia
the west end cafe (they say its name
is gone) where ginsberg and mark rudd
and keruoac and that pretty movie actress
used to be

and bill wertheim
and his sexy girl up there on 125th

i was there!
a brief time
before the world caved in
but i was there!!

with fritz the bartender i was crazy about
but too timid to make a move
fritz the beauty who studied in clown
school in dc

fritz who came out of my brother's
bedroom and my heart dropped

fritz fucked my big brother
and all i could do was walk away
like a rejected dog

i was there
jose venegas and me on the columbia campus
high as kites looking up at the black heavens
stars too numerous for my imagination to
figure out

          jose saved my life when i sold paper
                flowers in the village and the spanish
              boys wanted to kick my ass
               
but young blood is there now!
not then
                  now!

                lennie tristano plays the keys
               only the way an old italian can
                       play the keys
             

rich quatrone may 17 2012

The Revolution is Romantic (Lower east side ballad of the moon)

Woman singing in the park with guitar torn between two bare hands for old dirty dollar bills,
           Back on Ludlow my two friends kiss and wait to go to work,
           Dogs bark
           People walk, strollers and all
           More engaged in conversation than
           they are with each other
Drums beat, and we meet in the middle
           the revolution is romantic and so are
           we as we watch the moon float
           to the sound of the sax and
           Coltrane's mask of reed and space
           and time doesn't really exist does it?

           I dunno...
           I dunno anything anymore never
           have, thought i did sometimes but
           I was wrong and still am wrong most
           days and time tick tock live till
           your heart stops loving, i hope not
           carry over after it doesn't beat no more

               and is this love real?
               is that really a question?

I wish you were here again
and its freaking me out
you with your sexy hips
and your baby and your eyes
and your smile
and i feel electric when im with you
without i think about
its true i guess
I'm writing this stupid
fucking poem about it
get off my chest
I bless this moment
with a kiss from me to
you through the heavens
and the moon,
        and i'm listing to Mo-town again
        smiling and singing the Temps, Al Green

       "I can't believe that its real..."

and i just wanna feel like this forever
on the lower east side
with you on my mind
darlin, with you by my side


5-9-12
nyc

            

WHAT OUR BODIES SAY TO US

If we only knew how to listen to our bodies.
How to listen and then to have the intelligence,
the wisdom, and most of all the courage to do
what they tell us.

But the vast majority of us do not know how to
listen. Not in the West particularly.

Here we beat the body into submission.
We starve it, train it, exhaust it, we pleasure it,
often without love, we demand it perform in
gyms. And then we display it. We tease each
other with it. Or we compare it to others, most
often with hubris or, at times, malice.

But we never listen.

Our relationship to our bodies if like the relationship
we had with Vietnam, or to Afghanistan now, or
to Iraq. The same relationship we had with the Natives
in the "Americas," and with the Africans we made our
slaves

We have not listened to our bodies. And we still
don't.

What our bodies really tell us is beneath this
colonialist mentality. Beneath the capitalist mentality.
Beneath the greed, the aggression, beneath the militaristic
attitude we have towards ourselves and others.

Our bodies tell us to go deeper. To yield. To surrender.
To feel. This, more than anything, to feel. And what we feel
in ourselves we should feel in others. To learn compassion
and empathy from what we feel.

Our bodies tell us to love. To give. To empty the storehouses.
To release the silos of their grain. To ease the pain of the workers.
To share the bounty. To heal the terrible, long damage
and violence we've inflicted, on our bodies and spirits, on the
earth.

And our bodies promise us things not even this poem
can imagine.


Rich Quatrone, May 16, 2012, 8:12am

Musical Meditations Pt 2

When I open my eyes

occupy wall street is

changing the tide

global revolution is the

bike we ride to power

our technological machines,

yes we are still human beings

not cyborgs reliving the scream

alive now and passionate

about life!

kiss me hard

so i know its alright

to be attracted to

the movements we

write about at night

finally! a spark to ignite

it took so much darkness

for us to find light

fire shines bright

for it burns with the

yearning of a generations

young plight,

When I open my eyes

I'm standing on the edge

of the universe

speaking in tongues to the tribe

smiling wide with the recognition

that yes, we made it

thus far,

               bars cross the charge

and large fat men

that used to rule the globe

now sit in cells

no more political prisoners

just crooked politicians

judges and CEOs'

bankers and lawyers, -

and home is where the heart is,

and mines in struggle with you

brothers and sisters across

this outstretched land

that we are feeding upon

living upon,

loving upon -

we are one with this

breathing earth womb mother

of us all walking feet

bare in mud and puddles

and rainstorms,

               concrete

she fills my being as I write this,

because we are all connected -

hope fills my aura as I collect this

because we are all reflections, -

of each other

of our mother

this great divide of vastness

that inspires our minds

through mountains and rivers

and valleys, and buildings -

we are free in each others

thoughts right now, -

When I close my eyes

I see you smiling back at me

and I realize that this

is how it's supposed to be

inspiration flows through magical

smiles and the two twinkling eyes

before me,

               your memory etched

upon my soul so that

I may grow in unison

with you, and us

and we are all one

yes, I feel that now

more than I’ve ever begun

to feel anything before

i laugh at the cure for

our cultural disease for i

see how easy the answer

was all along!

just humble yourself and know its beyond

When I open my eyes

I'm in front of At&t

Occupy Atlanta comrades at my side
the battle is raging global revolt on my mind
Food Not Bombs and Cop Watch

            It’s been such a long time

Free classes going on at Peachtree and Pine

The evil forces are glaring they plottin tonight

Hated boys in blue be disruptin the vibe

Quality of Life oink corner of my eye

Undercover agents fuck the FBI

Homeland security covert we see

                        You damn spies

The revolutions being live streamed,

                        Still not televised

You pigs wake up before the day you die

Cuz being in the wrongs the legacy you leave behind

What will your kids think when they see you in time?

On documentaries and Youtube beatin protesters outside,

Of the capitol building, Zuccotti Park, New York Times

How do you sleep at night? Do you hear the cries?

Pushing young women with tears in their eyes…

“Who do you protect? Who do you serve?”

Blood and broken bones still got out signs raised high

Re-call elections we provide

Takin over offices to make the government align

With the people and their hearts

Dismantle 1% design

Take Back The Block

At the Pittmans reside

Boycott Chase bank racist

With black fist with we ride

When I open my eyes

I’m standing on a cliff

At Larson’s beach in Kauai

Overlooking as whales breach

Then fall back to the ocean

Sending pieces of the pacific  

Shooting up toward the sky,

Contemplating endlessness

Land centers pulling us to where we are

Pushing to the stars,

This connection of travelers

We stay on the move to find each other

Inspiration in conversations of magic

                        And universal power

When I close my eyes

Babylon is falling behind

Streets are being dug out

And replaced by trees

Yes this just in : We ARE

                        Living the dream

Restoration projects are painting

The seam that we’ve created –

Beginning to see the vision,

Elders teaching wisdom

Youth kick it and listen

Evolution in the consciousness of the globe –

My heart swells up,

In future present tense we’ve already won

From the gluttonous belly of the beast

Don’t invade Iran all we want is some peace

And freedom and some of that psychological release

                                                Ease –

When I open my eyes

Your naked and giggling

Vibrating in front of me

Your two eyes sparkle in the moon light

            And I want nothing more

            Than this moment we’re sharing

Spiritual creation at our bodies demanding

Ebb and flow of us becoming one

With the cosmological structure

Of how it all begun

            And I’m happy we waited for this

            Moment to come

Perfect cell formation we elevate beyond

When I kiss you its magic

            Universal love

This is why I meditate

What I try to become

You’ve opened my heart to beat in synch with the drum

Of divine force of life

Synchronistic patterns ignite me to live

Like I might die tonight

Thank you for letting me cuddle up to the light

When I open my eyes

I’m hysterically laughing

With Brennon Bridget Yaro

Kevin and Bobby not thinkin

Bout tomorrow,

Epic meals in café’s of small

Town arrays

And hallways of professional

Building estates

            And being brokes never been so fun

            And when we meet again we’ll be having

            Some of the most spectacular conversations

            That our minds can gather

Scattered memories of people places and things

Noun’s put me on to these literary schemes

And no I’m beaming recognition my love

            Around the globe

When I close my eyes

Im caught in limbo with

Past loves on my mind

Wish we could speak

Wish we weren’t confined

To thought patterns

That trap our intentions behind

The fear and pain of the race for a mate

Societies claim to what makes us all sane

When love doesn’t move like we’ve

Been taught that it does

But flows like water in all directions because

That’s the nature of energy untouched

And it just gets stuck when we bottle it up

So let it flow let it roll

And lets all catch up

Because forgiveness on the real

Is all that we’ve got

To cross before our relationships get lost

On the edge of history like ghosts in the fog

All alone on our death beds

Wishin that we could start

The process before we had

Gotten this far

I miss you all

And know your all stars

From lovers to friendship lets not get caught

In the trap of emotions that just tangles the heart

Reconciliation from miles apart

Reflect on situations your all in my heart

When I open my eyes 

I'm feeling more alive

than i ever have,

people fighting back

coming together as one

feel the trees breathe

yes, the battles just begun

back from the dead

conquered the drug induced slum

no mass alchohal

revolution of the minds been won

eatin mad raw salads, doin

pushups for fun, smile in my eyes

the work of resistance is love

when i open my eyes

i'm surrounded by all the people

i love

when i open my eyes

i see all that we could become

keep on fighting, keep the faith

because the world it waits

on us to change

and so did we but realize now

that we are the ones

that can change everything

dont ever become 

less than your dreams

something your not

yes follow your heart

yes follow your heart

when i open my eyes

we are winning

global spring beginning

           to blossom.

 

Chomsky on Occupy

"Noam Chomsky: Occupy" [Paperback]: According to independent publisher Zuccotti Park Press, "In Occupy, Chomsky comments on the cornerstone issues, questions and demands that have been driving ordinary Americans into the streets. How did we get to this point? How have the wealthiest 1% waged class war against everyone else for the past 30 years? How can we get money out of politics? What would a genuinely democratic election look like? How can we redefine basic concepts like ‘growth' to increase equality and quality of life for all?" With this book, you'll also receive a free copy of Tidal magazine, containing the latest in Occupy theory and strategy.

HUNGER GAMES

she tells me she can't go to the movie
with me. she'll have anxiety. she can't
watch children killing children.

i say we've watched children killing
children for years, in vietnam, in iraq,
in afghanistan, in every war, in every
nation. it's no different from the movie.
the rich send the children of the poor
to kill the children of the poor.


rich quatrone 4//25/12

APRIL IS THE FOOLISH MONTH

how do we occupy our hearts
when our hearts are so damaged and hurt

i used to tell students who complained
of broken hearts your heart should be

broken every day by life; it's a broken
life you have to be wary of.

so occupy wall street, main street, fleet street,
drum beat, no heat, no food, no rent.

occupy get bent, he went, you lent and
bucky dent, occupy the present.

how do we occupy a broken heart
when hearts are broken by life itself

how do we occupy washington when
the place we live is bought and sold

how do we occupy the old who have
nothing to lend and see the end?

rich quatrone 4/21

POEM IN THE LAST YEAR OF EARTH

POEM BEFORE THE END OF THE EARTH

dreams
nightmares all the time
28 out of 30 days
scenes from the past
my dead mother calling to me
two nights ago a ghastly figure
in a dust cloud following me down a dark road
i turned and waited for it to arrive
a face, clearly defined, Death itself
before me
my mind, my imagination the earth itself
screaming out
6000 years of failure
25 million years of failure
until now
what are you going to do
occupy wall street?
yes, occupy wall street, that's a good beginning
but we'd better occupy our own hearts
our own moral faculties
our own intellects
we must not burn the books in favor of ipads!
what the hell is that?
occupy your own sweet life, then prepare yourself,
educate yourself, get ready for the battle
for earth and souls
what should we do, one asks
what should the future be?
take to the streets, is my immediate answer
don't be nice about it
you really are dealing with bastards
they don't give a shit about you, the nation, the earth,
nothing at all
they only care about the incessant, compulsive urge that
drives them into oblivion
one long, endless, selfish orgasm
that's what wall street and wall streeters are about
from lower manhattan to nebraska
to spring lake to boca raton to new mexico
in their bedrooms, boardrooms, bathrooms
it's all the same
the urge to act, to move, to do something, to
be busy, with anything, for any reason
never, for a moment, to stop and feel themselves
alive, to suffer the human condition consciously,
nobly, to see, feel, the interconnectedness of all living
things, to care a wit about people in iran, syria, china,
russia, or new jersey
occupy yourself, then, come out strong, fearless,
be a million dr. kings, a million gandhis, a million
robesons, malcolms, a million thurgoods, fierce,
and make yourselves known
but i don't, as i say, see this as a sweet occupation
i don't see it as easy
expect to be jailed
expect to have casualties
expect to be mocked and taunted
but never quit
what does the future hold?
it's all in your hands, you tell me.


rich quatrone 4/18/12

Just read Tom Hayden's article in The Nation, "Participatory Democracy From Port Huron
To Occupy Wall Street, April 16 issue. Worth reading for Occupy Movement. A good history, context, for what's happening and where we come from.

arrival

Finally figured out how to get here.
Will say more soon.
Rich

SCENES FROM OCCUPY ATLANTA WE ARE GEORGIA RALLY

On March 17, 2012 OCCUPY ATLANTA held a rally in front of the Georgia State Capital to protest SB 469 and other racist, sexists, and anti-immigration bills pushed through by the Georgia State Senate on March 7th...

My Trip to the Martin Luther King Jr National Historic Site

Today I had the honor of visiting the place where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr worked, preached, and was laid to rest... As well as a Beautiful museum dedicated to him and his legacy.  I was moved to tears many times throughout the day especially in the room dedicated to his funeral persecion and death.  The energy and emotions that flowed through me here were almost too much to handle.. The site is located in south Atlanta, Georgia... keep up the struggle, keep up the fight for economic justice that Dr. King was fighting for when he was murdered by the U.S. government!

"

"Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent."    MLK Jr 

The carrage that carried his coffin at his funeral...

One of my favorite pictures of two of my favorite heros...

Painting Outside...

Ghandi statue outside

Church he grew up in and later preached at with his father...

His and Coretta's final resting place...

Thank You Dr. King and All the freedom fighters of the past!!!!