Saturday, October 17, 2015

October 17

Asher Durand's painting:


  1. This is America

    Where respite from commerce is possible
    In pristine sanctuary
    Where awe can
    Reset the soul.

    Where vigilence is required as
    Wealthy vulgers lurk
    Over these
    protected resources.

    Where culture, language, creed
    Require the same park fee
    To experience
    One nature.

    Where access still slants toward those
    With time off, car, or models
    To escape
    The rat race.

    Where this may be our last chance
    To stand with great sequoia
    For moral

  2. Only In America

    Americans do not understand
    The reason for honking their horn!
    Where you drive to survive
    Only to arrive with a scorn
    Rather than warn
    As we go along being wrong
    Despite your swearing
    To care
    Driving with hate
    And arriving late
    Fighting for the right of way
    Fear appears as you steer
    Clear but remain without brains
    In the notion there is a commotion
    As you motion middle fingers in vain
    Only in America
    Where bigger is better
    And ignorance leads the pack
    Going faster in speed than you can
    Master the breed of truck and with
    Luck you don’t crack
    Only in America
    We are free to believe
    God gives us the right
    To overcome the stranger
    As we run over danger
    Against all the odds in sight
    And always with accidents
    As we look and act as if
    The speed we needed delights
    To be a fanatic
    And see in the tragic
    Bleeding of our
    Pursuit and plight
    As the speed limit sign
    Is designed to find
    Essentially our potential
    When we choose to crash
    And abuse going fast
    Refusing our death as eventual

  3. I recognized your mottled bark
    when you posed so pretty
    for Durand’s vertical study
    of a Sycamore tree but
    I thought you were my tree,
    not destined for East Coast
    verdant Catskills, never to be
    adorned with velvet moss patches.

    I am relieved to see that it is not
    exactly you, those leaves are too tiny!
    Why, they should be broad like a
    giant maple, with a furry prickle
    a slight brown crinkle, extending
    an umbrella from steady day-heat.

    I first noticed you in Teheran
    Lining my childhood streets
    with a sewer-juub at your feet
    watching as I hollered with
    my mother for a taxi cab home
    from the bazaar’s antique treats

    Now in Claremont, California
    you’re my heroic, spreading symbol
    branching over my own
    elementary aged-kids with a song,
    rooted and so grounded
    my arboreal habitat, that still
    sings and whispers to me.

  4. Follow Me To The Promised Land

    I've carved out a path for you
    follow me

    Reinforced with ancient stones
    follow me

    And blanketed with green moss
    follow me

    I've painted the sky with clouds
    follow me

    That nuzzle the highest peaks
    follow me

    Give shelter to newborn raindrops
    follow me

    And filter out the blinding sun
    follow me

    I've softened the ground with dew
    follow me

    Carpeted with Autumn leaves of gold
    follow me

    And scented it with wood
    follow me

  5. Asher Brown Durand The Catskills

    serene stillness
    sequestered with sweet
    shadowed silence