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
Monday, June 25, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 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House remains unpublished.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
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House remains unpublished.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
Friday, June 8, 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
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
Thursday, June 7, 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!
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!
Monday, June 4, 2012
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
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
Saturday, June 2, 2012
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
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
Monday, May 28, 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
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
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
Thursday, May 24, 2012
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
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
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
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
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
Thursday, May 17, 2012
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
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
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
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
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
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
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
Monday, May 14, 2012
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
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
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.
Friday, April 27, 2012
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.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
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
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
Saturday, April 21, 2012
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
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
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
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
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
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
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...
Friday, March 16, 2012
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!
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!!!!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
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