That little ape that came down from a tree
and used a stick on his enemy
and called aloud to his family
to show what a great brave ape was he
made followers out of you and me.
That little ape that got caught in the rain
and used some branches to cover his brain
and thought up gods for rain and for tree
to explain away the mystery
made worshippers out of you and me.
That little ape that had more than enough
and didn’t know what to do with the stuff
and instead of handing it out for free
put others to work for a salary
made employees out of you and me.
That little ape that schemed and planned
and put a fence around some land
and told his followers they’d be free
if they fought his next-door enemy
made soldiers out of you and me.
That ape whose stick is his bravery
whose ignorance makes theology
whose avarice makes wage-slavery
and makes a cause for nationality
makes monkeys out of you and me.
Venice as Mecca
I sit here on the sand,
a holy place on sacred land,
remembering the tribes and clans
that gathered here, took counsel
and dispersed; foreseeing all
the ones that will arrive,
drink our blessed water and survive,
only to disperse in turn
to spread the word
amongst a disbelieving world.
Take heart, my heart,
for here is never lost
anything forever (but the soul
at times sent wandering
along some other plane).
It too returns home safely
found like a cache of nuts
the squirrel lays by against
a cold day in hell, forgets,
then comes upon in time
The promised land is here;
The time is near at hand.
Dawn Over Venice
The sun, like henna,
bleaching the night away,
off back windows
Making the chrome shine
on passing cars
then filling the sky
with its golden copper
Fire-ball, the people
to Winchell’s for do-nuts
and coffee, starting
The good morning with
Categories: Poetry, The Venice Beat Poets
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