Poem of the Poor Man
by Charles Dermer (2012)
Don’t give me your kind words, keep your polite phrase
But a 5 dollar bill will go a long ways
To helping my children get clothes on their backs
And move from the slums to this side of the tracks
To find a bright future and escape from our past
So stuff it with your false praise
I can’t eat a “thank you” or chew on a “please”
But give me twenty dollars and I’ll be down on my knees
Shining your shoes and saying yassur
And giving you service and changing your world
Just don’t make me climb trees
But let’s not get cosmic it’s just an exchange
Of monetary transactions, it’s nothing so strange
That value is packaged in paper and coins
And money is congealed power and strength in your loins
With it you can still get your home on the range
Trade it for sex or give it to charity
That selfsame quality gives it its rarity
That the poor man struggling to climb
Trying to make it without committing a crime
and make his way home through the austerity
To America
by Charles Dermer (2013)
In the land of plenty
I made my fortune dear
In the school of thought and action
I made my meaning clear
There is no evil, I’d like to believe
there is no good, I’m glad to concede
there is no heaven, I’m told that it’s true,
there is no hell, knock on wood knock on you
Milk and honey and wine and beer
The land of plenty is the land of cheer
The place of happiness is all that counts
And if you don’t like it you can count me out
And if you can’t take it, you know where to go
First to heaven, then to hell, and off to her show
Where up is down and right is wrong,
and don’t you dare break out in song,
Now life is long and saints are few
But stop and see what we can do
Before the end of this paragraph
She’s the lady with the loud moustache
and the guy who always wants to crash
Scheming to make a great big splash
He’ll never get what I have though
Even with all of his dough
Plus I’ll throw in a 2 x 4
Until you find me on the floor
Trapped beneath an old leaf blower
And a vintage album by Robin Trower
There is no power, there is no quest
There is no good nor better nor best
There is only stop and go
and wait until you’re a broken floe
And watch your step I’ve got to blow
So see you in the morning
Milk and honey and wine and beer
The land of plenty is the land of cheer
The land I love is the place I’ll die
But not before I touch the sky
And burn my finger on a crimson moon
And follow the lemmings to high cliff swoon
Cheese and crackers and rice and beans
The land that feeds me is the land that seems
the one that really wants me be
and makes my dreams reality
Milk and honey and coke and pot
The land of Lincoln is the land that’s got
All your dreams wrapped up in thought
And all your hopes lost in a knot
Beef and chicken and fried pork rind
He always kept with his own kind
He kept on to the old work grind
Last was seen down river cryin’
Don’t you worry though it’s all okay
After the darkest night is the brightest day
After the hardest rain is the freshest air
And if it’s before the flood we shouldn’t care
Milk and honey and wine and beer
The land of plenty is the land of cheer
The land that I will always hold dear
The place where I will never fear
The life where even normal is queer
And every day I’ll shed a tear
Of sentimental yearning, an emotional journey
a new day for learning, with the hope of returning,
to become an attorney, before being carried out on a gurney
And file an amicus brief to get some relief
On behalf of the aggrieved, who’s also peeved
That proof of law is not truth of fact
And gracious conduct or lack of tact
Makes no difference to the autodidact
Or the users of snake oil and crack
So back to beginning and off to the stars
To bars and cars and flights to Mars
and end of time and cosmic flow
Freedom is the way to go
So I doff my hat in gratitude
And loosen up my attitude
And put a bib beneath my chin
And say America! Deal me in.
Milk and honey and wine and beer
The land of plenty is the land of cheer
Pushing 60
by Charles Dermer (2013)
I’ll pave the path from death to me
With a trail of dollar bills
I’ll sell my tears to the highest bidder
And blood for the biggest thrills
For death will pass around us,
And move on down the block
And life will be as it once was
One less hour on the clock
The seasons move on round and round
The days they flash right by
And life or what it’s meant to be
Is just a glimpse in tonight’s sky
And she who would make all thing clear
Shows up in a neon sign
Nude review! This means you too!
So go fetch your birthday suit
Or tutu if you’re feeling blue
And do be do, I say to you
I woke up once this morning
And a second time just now
But let me show you how it’s done
Just before I’ve got to run
And beat the cars and beat the Sun
To go home one more time
To reach home one last time.
For if it’s you and what to do
And if it’s round and round we go
For if it’s me and what to be
And if you find me set me free
I’m off to see the show
I’m off to sell the show
Where the dreams are made of
Thought clouds in a sea of snow
Where the drums beat time for
The band has got to go
Ka thum ka thum ka thank ka thinke
I think therefore I am I think
Reveals my existential wink
And track my mind through all the clouds
And shoot my feelings into crowds
And talk about my flexicord
And memory on my motherboard
And happiness goes out to sea
With baby, me, and Jan makes three
The co-ed gives tres bien company
Until we see it cannot be and go about our
Way from thee, away from thee,
Well let it be, it had to be,
And yet it is, from now to then
With time to stay, make holiday,
And send them to the proper-tay
You’re so propah, she sayz to may
Our little ones, all grown up yet,
And when’d they reach your mass in stones,
Your weight in sand, wait here instead,
And do what you’re told, she said in tones,
That is, if we all speak with but one voice
And if we speak with one voice then,
why not two or 20 phones?,
And why not 3 hundred and twenty two?,
Or whatever number of voices there are.
And the people fell into chaos, into rubble,
Wretches among men, no laws, no reason,
Brute survival and desire, trespass and false witness,
Raging tiger, brazen liar, all the ins and outs of survival,
All the ups and downs of a Christian revival (Hallelujah!)
The convict clout speaks to us, looks slowly askance,
And takes a chance when he makes a glance
Do it though, he’s got to go, but not before you hand off what you owe
Who you know, and the truth held in a handshake,
The contact historically made, the contract hysterically laid,
Clasp of bones, muscle-bonded frame, and disheveled men
Shouting “It’s only a game.”
The garden isn’t ready yet, the owner came to say
You’ll have to make a change of plans, you can’t stay here today
The life you’ve lived will have to go, your very self is nil
The men in gray suits say to me, “Trust me with your will.”
If you’re got the courage, you’ll change your ways
You’ll fight on to see more weeks and to seem more days
when you end this craze, and find your feet,
And make a stand, and make your stays
On past the road, up past the highways,
And even past the next days, and the next
Until geologic time takes over, and makes mock
Of all our petty little concerns and conceits:
NATURE TAKES NO NOTICE OF YOU
And Socrates, and Jesus too,
And Marx of course, has got to go,
And in the limits of time, feelings most sublime,
And nature in her aloof all-knowing and unconcerning majesty
LOOK ON MY WORKS AND TREMBLE
But she says nothing, and appears on a thousand faces,
To confuse and bedevil and confound and trick and betray us
And parlay under the dais, the life of the partay.
The traitor woke before dawn, put her garb on,
And she walked on down the hall
She walked on down the hall.
She was followed by two men,
A priest and an executioner
Lord have mercy!, exclaimed the priest, in Latin,
And a third, I forgot, the local tough nut not afraid to inflict a little pain
And get things going again and again, but only one on today’s schedule,
Her name is his mother her name is your sister her name is my father’s brother’s wife
First boy to carry on the name from now until our kind passes from history
Which we shall never live to see (by definition)
We are in ascendancy
Or near mid-peak
Or past the high,
Do we get another centur-eye?
America is in decline I think, it will not be a pretty thing to behold,
(But am I talking about myself getting old?)
A kink, a strutted deformed moment and we fall,
But what is there to catch us, a wall?
Forward, march, to hill and haven,
From Kentucky to a Grecian raven,
Why talk with meaning, I mean what’s it for?
Why not nail it on a door?
And cry with screams and agonies
Jesus, Jesus, please come to me!
Oh God this hurts way way too much,
Let’s turn the page to happier stuff,
Of picnics with the kids, and dining with the folks,
and loving the wife, and taking those tokes
And cheering the blokes for being fans
Of such a broken-down pathetic good-for-nothing team that only
A bloke could like it; a blokehead you might say, better than
A cokehead, for sure, or an emotionally unstable and juvenile whitebread,
this will simply not dulia, with corny emotions, a cornucopia of horny corns,
thorny stems on a rose, thorny rose on a potted plant from Mars,
kernels of truth in satisfying honey-nut sugar bars.
And so the end is in sight, it beckons with beauty,
But not before I complete my foresworn duty,
And if it’s pain before gain then I choose to abstain
From deriving the thriving inconsequential contriving
From hill to dale and from dirt to air,
I’ve lived a life for which there’s no compare,
From top to toe and from eye to tooth,
From alpha to omega, from chowline to keggah,
it’s a good journey; we’ll even tip that old beggah,
We’ll meet at the park near the booth by the pier
For golden gourmet she’ll always be there
Lady Godiva, please let down your hair
Charles Dennison Dermer, Jr.
April 30, 2013