Posts Tagged ‘flying’

MISTER POLITICIAN

Posted: November 10, 2015 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

GOP_Candidates_3751_5166

While watching the Clown debate tonight (Nov. 10) I remembered this song I wrote a few years ago:
  
          MISTER POLITICIAN
          By David Allen

Mr. Politician
I want to tell you
What’s on my mind
All I need is
A few moments of your precious time.

How do you feel
When you hear
All those children crying?
How can you sleep
Knowing there are innocent people dying?

             We want to give you
            All of our trust,
            So please remember
            What you do affects all of us.
 

Mr. Politician
I want to show you
You’re turning blind
All that I need is
A few minutes of your precious time.
 

How can you smile
When you see
Refugees in all those lines?
How can you laugh
When you see
The diseased coughing up their lives?

            We want to give you
            All of our trust
            But you don’t remember
            What you do affects all of us. 
 
Mr. Politician
Would you tell me
What’s on your mind?
All that you need is
A few moments of my precious time.

 How do you love
When you are so
filled with all that burning hate?
Open your heart
It’s a start, before it’s way too late.

             We want to give you
            All of our trust
            But you must remember
            What you do affects all of us.

 Mr. Politician
They want to sell
You some TV time.
And all they need is
A few million dollars and your mind.

 How does it feel
When you hear yourself
And know that you are lying?
And how do you keep
At least one of your two faces from crying?

             We want to give you
            All of our trust
            But we’d fell better
            if you trusted us.
 

airline_passenger_portraits

ACCEPTANCE
By David Allen

Flying over the pacific
is never peaceful –
I return to the problems
I left behind when I fled
to the East.

The woman sitting next to me
strikes up a conversation,
she’s the mother of a Marine
assigned to Okinawa
and is returning after a visit
to her first granddaughter.
“She is healthy,
God bless,” she declares.
And this woman’s husband
has a successful electrical business
in St. Louis — “God Bless!” — and life,
“Praise the Lord!”
Is good.

Somewhere in the conversation
I mention I am going to Indiana
for the birth of my second grandchild
and a brief trek to New York
to tout my new book of poetry.

She asks to look at the book
and I find one in my bag,
and, as she reads, I watch
out of the corner of my eye,
pretending to read a magazine
while trying to fathom
her reaction to my poems.
My blood is all over the pages.

I spot her reading
the one about another flight
and the religious Filipina
and scientific Japanese student
sitting next to me, the dirty old man poet
reading Bukowski and dreaming
of smooth, creamy white thighs,
and I wonder what my new seatmate
is thinking.

When she is finished
she mentions the poems are
“interesting,” and handing
the book back asks –
“Have you accepted Jesus
as your personal savior?”

I smile, realizing the conversation is
about to end and answer,
“I tried several times
but he never accepted me.”

And we slept in silence
the rest of the flight.

——————————————————————————————————————————————-

(more) CoverMy second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available on Amazon Kindle. The paperback edition is also available. If you want a signed copy, email me at david@davidallen.nu. Order your copy today! I am like most poets — poor.

http://www.amazon.com/more-David-Allen-ebook/dp/B00N6W3DP8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=undefined&sr=1-2&keywords=%28more%29+by+David+Allen

Here’s a review:

5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.

AND HERE’S MY FIRST BOOK

Cover

Like my poetry? Then buy my book, “The Story So Far,” published by Writers Ink Press, Long Island, N.Y. You can find it on Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Story-So-Far-David-Allen/dp/0925062480/ref=sr_1_13?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1397184666&sr=1-13&keywords=the+story+so+far) in paperback and Kindle formats, or by sending me $10 at:

David Allen
803 Avalon Lane
Chesterfield, IN 46017

Boing 747 London - Bangkok

SOMEWHERE OVER THE PACIFIC

It takes all kinds
crammed into economy class
on this massive 747
hurtling over the Pacific.
Sleep escapes us,
the evening meal and snacks
are devoured,
the feature films
have played out.
Assigned the window seat,
I have already made my two
seatmates stand
for my trips to the head.
And now,
bored,
sleepless,
I turn on the light
to read some Bukowski:

“lovely women walk by
with big hot hips
and warm buttocks and
tight hot everything
praying to be loved
and I don’t even exist.”

The pretty Filipina
sitting next to me,
her petite body comfortably fitting
into the middle seat,
always has a nice smile
when I pass my trash
to the aisle.
She takes note of me turning on
the light and
slips her glasses carefully
out of a leather case
and draws a book
from the seat pocket.
I take a glance,
the Bible;
she turns to Acts 3,4.
I wonder what she’s reading.

The young Japanese man
in the aisle seat
turns on his light
and opens the latest
edition of Popular Science.
He reads about “What’s New.”

We are all stereotypes —
the dirty old man/poet,
the devout Catholic Filipina,
and the science-minded Japanese —
on our way
to someplace else,
coming from
over there.