POEM -- "The Tree" by Thomas Herr

The Tree

By Thomas Herr

Congratulations you are free
The island has an elderly tree and is free
Is free

And the branches crack
And the bark peels

The sun shines in through the southern window
Brightening a musky morning
The day after -
Congratulations are due.

And so having won
Election
You feel compelled to
Shout out to
The Mountaintop

And the tree becomes bare
Brittle
Bark is dark and scarred

And there is no audience they are
Filling a netherworld between
Yesterday and reality

And the leaves fall and few return

And as the morning erection dies, as it does
You realize

It is that The Tree was.

-

POEM -- "Mother Prepared" by Thomas Herr

I wrote this poem for my mother several years ago - on a day the doctors said she had no chance to live and he encouraged us to pull the plug on her.  But she still exists - having faced more than 15 years of inner isolation from traumatic brain injury.

In any event, she's still here and so is the poem.

Please pray for my mother (and my father), if you pray.
Mother Prepared
by Thomas Herr
I have prayed for you mother

Still a prisoner
?for crimes we have committed?
Weight great weight
We try to lift off
Mother of this spirit
Are you standing at the infinite white door

Are you perched on a branch
?will you finally fly away?
Freedom sweet freedom
Is today the day?
Mother of life my life
Will you hold my hand again

I perch
As
You perch where what
As
He is perched to follow

Hopefully
We Justify
your Anguish Now repelled
and you are here to let us speak
and pray
and though they say you cannot hear
You will
hopefully hear/feel this love

Heaving
Slowly rising
Slowly falling
Clicking, hissing
You have suffered enough

Jesus AND strings have kept you
And we ponder the truth
But you will know
Of our love
and the Love of Faith

But we cry.

We pray.

POEM -- "Bird in a Room" by Thomas Herr

I wrote this little piece in 1980. For reasons I keep to myself, this poem is pertinent to me today.

Bird in a room

By Thomas Herr

Awaken your thirsty soul,
Beggar Jack.
Helplessly, I watch as you struggle
In panic
To reach the edge of your circle.

Like a Butterfly in gusty wind
Or a bird,
Trapped in a room.

POEM OF THE DAY -- "The Dictators" by Pablo Neruda

I love to feature Pablo Neruda's famous love poems in our Poem of the Day series.  On those days, I sit and I pore through and consider dozens of what I believe are some of the most beautiful love poems, ever.  As we broadcast these love poems over Twitter...I look forward to the energy these tweets generate in re-tweets and comments.  Others love a good Neruda love poem, too.

But Neruda didn't just write love poems.  Active and outpoken in politics in his beloved homeland of Chile, Neruda could be very political and cynical and social.  He frequently found himself in danger for this cynicism, especially when it was published.

Here's a good one that as Americans we probably have a difficult time relating to, but if you're Chilean, well...thank god those days have passed.

Enjoy! 

The Dictators  

 by Pablo Neruda

An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles.
The delicate dictator is talking
with top hats, gold braid, and collars.
The tiny palace gleams like a watch
and the rapid laughs with gloves on
cross the corridors at times
and join the dead voices
and the blue mouths freshly buried.
The weeping cannot be seen, like a plant
whose seeds fall endlessly on the earth,
whose large blind leaves grow even without light.
Hatred has grown scale on scale,
blow on blow, in the ghastly water of the swamp,
with a snout full of ooze and silence 

-

POEM "Boxes" by Thomas Herr

Boxes

By Thomas Herr

One with feathers and sweets
Softness of my babies cheeks

One with cups of tears for mother
Past loves and blues

One with my brushes and quills
Picks and strings

One with Jesus but there's room for more

One with darkness
Have to keep that one closed

One with contracts

One without money

One with you

-

POEM "On the Birth of Two Babies" by Thomas Herr

I wrote this poem shortly after my divorce - it is a poem written to the mother of my two beautiful children. It's just a poem of thanks.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow.  Although we both parent on a daily basis, we still get together every holiday, and the whole extended family remains intact. I'm thankful for that.

Enjoy.  And Happy Thanksgiving!

On the Birth of Two Babies

By Thomas Herr

(Orig. 7/3/99 -- Edited 11/24/10)

I just want to say “Thank you…”

For giving me a son and daughter;

Welding us together

With an 18 year “guarantee”.

Thank you for containing

The silent explosion within you

For igniting

The fission of our essence

Silently, in your womb.

For you made one

Then two,

Out of something long forgotten.

For in them is my art

And in them is my poem.

And they make my mark upon the world.

And thank you for crying

With me

And thank you for smiling

With me

Tears of joy.

-

Poem -- "Poem for a Beauty Dead Man" by Thomas Herr

Poem for a Beauty Dead Man

This is for the Beauty Dead Man

Walking

Down the Avenue;

You can tell he’s dead

Because

He’s wearing beauty shoes.

You can tell he’s dead--

By the way

He steps around the beggars;

You can tell he’s dead

Because

His seats are made of beauty leather.

This is for the Dead Man

Trading

Funds instead of life;

No-one rents his head

Neither

His beauty children nor his beauty wife.

Here’s a poem for you Dead Man;

You know who you are

I cast the poem out to you

I don’t need to cast too far…

Beauty Dead Man you should make me laugh

But ugly Dead Man beauty makes me cry.

-

POEM by Thomas Herr -- "One Day"

One Day

By Thomas Herr

One day,

God may appear to me

In the form of the most beautiful Woman

I’ve ever seen.

One day,

The soft voice and

Gentle touch of my God

Might soothe me once again.

One day,

She may come to me

And I will curl up in the white down comfort

Of her immeasurable heart and soul.

One day,

She will make me smile again

On that day and at that instant

I shall surrender to God completely.

For what is God, but love?

-

POEM -- "Bonnie and Clyde" by Thomas Herr

Bonnie and Clyde

By Thomas Herr


Do you remember me?
It’s only months since we met,
Our souls are drawn so close, so tight;
But, we haven’t figured that out quite yet.

I feel I’ve known you forever it seems,
Whether it’s in my mind, or in my heart;
Or in a movie scene I’d long forgotten, coming back to me.

I feel we belonged but somehow lost,
As if in past life, we loved so strong
And for that we paid a terrible cost.

And that our souls
Have come home
And are beginning to embrace again
To find what we had lost.

Do you remember me?
I’ve pressed my heart against yours,
And felt the beat and felt the warmth
Of my own soul;
From eons and eons and epochs ago.

Maybe…

I was an Arabian king
And you were my queen
And you were my jewel

Maybe…

I was the President
And you were the wife unseen
And you helped me rule

Maybe…

I was a Western Lawman
And you were the love of my life
And you were my badge

Maybe…

I was a Roman Warrior
And you were my princess, my wife
Yes, you were my sword

Maybe…

I was a Prairie Settler
And you were always by my side
You kept me warm

Maybe…

You have been Bonnie
And I was your Clyde…
And we weren’t together when we died.

-

POEM -- "There Are No Words" by Thomas Herr

There Are No Words

By Thomas Herr (2002)

There are no words

To describe the state I’m in.

The passage of time

Goes quietly, and as it passes me by

It whispers to me

While those I Love grow old and die.

There are no words

Except to say there are no words.

There’s only the sound of a beating heart

Fueled by the fear of

Tears from

Beating alone.

-

POEM -- "Emperor Tomato Ketchup" by Thomas Herr

Emperor Tomato Ketchup.

By Thomas Herr

I.

Endless journey

Rising Alps

Hauptbahnhof

Old Village gold

Endless journey

Neon sex

Rising Alps

Hauptbahnhof

Endless tracks

Winding journey

Neon touch

Rising Alps

Endless green

Winding tracks

Winding journey

Neon touch

Endless orgasm

Blinding green

Winding tracks

Conquer journey

Endless flower

Alpen orgasm

Blinding orgasm

Slicing Alps

Completing battle,

I wear Breton Goggles

See God

And Reach Up to him.

Having made the march

From Cathedral to Cathedral

I raise my arms in triumphant blast.

I am Emperor Tomato Ketchup.

End.

POEM -- "Sigh" by Thomas Herr

Sigh

By Thomas Herr

Like a reflection on a clear pane of glass before me.
Consumed by such projection
I dismiss
All logic
In favor
Of
A
Dream

Like a reflection on a clear pane of glass before me
Life floats before me faintly
Images
and kisses
Picking tears
From
My
Cheeks

Sigh

Like a spirit passing through warm dense fog
Like a hazy reflection on the windshield
Like an image of what is not there
Like a ghost of a nervous rabbit
Like the King of Ice Cream, I am not.
For I see too much through tears.

Sigh

I have been invaded.

-

Poem -- "The Long Walk - Part I" By Thomas Herr

The Long Walk Part I

By Thomas Herr

He Thinks

During his Long walk to the market
Smoking Cigarette after cigarette
Fueled by nerves and Panic
Calmed by swirling smoke;

He Thinks.

Thoughts of failure
Bad decisions
A crack in his old pipe
Renders it useless.

What will never be?
Uncertain at the unsigned intersection
Of the dusty telegraph road
He presses forward in the hot sun.

The promise of Grandchildren
And all that love!
Gain him a few steps;
But there's no fireplace…

And Her actions
Give him no peace;
And serve to fuel his anger
For the next mile…

He pauses at the intersection
Of Impatience St.
and Misunderstood Ave. --
He is Blank.

Waiting for the cars to let him cross –
They flash by too close for comfort.
Selfish in their explosions.

In the best of times, there is still
The tender touch and the naughty spots --
They still give promise of wild pleasure

On the verge of seeing shore, the birds give hint.
Hours have passed and his clothes are loose and dusty
But he presses on for
He is always almost there.

When he arrives he forgets why he came.

-

POEM -- "Bankrupt" by Thomas Herr

Bankrupt

By Thomas Herr

Frowning family faces
Babies wrapped in only the best material
Double-stitched and inventoried
Amortized

Frowning families facing
A mortgaged mommy brutal facial
Weekly conciliatory texts from daddy number one.
Day trading his fatherhood away
He stands in shame in the long credit line

And all the While great bluesmen
Stand on the corner uninterrupted
Thrusting their shaking soiled hands
In the faces of the starving artists
And Daddies

And all the While world class poets
Trade in their souls
For nothing but empty promises
Using microphones needles and crack
And Daddies

Helpless as their numbers dwindle
They look for someone to listen
Or even join the ranks
But each and every day trade sucks all souls dry

Mortgaged lives

Bankrupt souls

-

POEM -- Echoes

Echoes

By Thomas Herr

In the day dreams and maybe night
Echoes of the past return
Echoes thought long gone;

What was yours and what was mine
Echoes hanging on to
Echoes thought long gone.

From the fear and from the fight
Echoes of the past return
Echoes thought long gone;

What has pulled me from the path but
Echoes hanging on to
Echoes thought long gone.

I think I might remember something that you said
Like an Echo from a distant land
Please come back again.

-

POEM -- "Shoebox" by Thomas Herr

Shoebox

By Thomas Herr

She took a photography class
25 years ago
She took a photography class
In another life

We have a camera now
It just came in
It’s complicated
But full of promise

We’ll take pictures
And we’ll store them in a shoebox
Even the ones of our children
Saving moments of emotion for posterity

And we’ll file them neatly
Picture by picture
File by file
In a shoebox just to have them

Shoebox after shoebox,
Filled with special moments
The stories behind them fade away
And you can no longer hear the sounds behind them.

And there they are

In the dark closet
Where they will sit for just a little longer
Than our lives
Shoebox, all things must pass.

POEM -- New Age -- by Thomas Herr

New Age 

by Thomas Herr
(2004)

This is the New Age of snipers
Hiding on blazing tin rooftops of mud buildings;
Waves of dusty shadows from the hot desert sun.

This is the New Age of fathers
Sniping after snipers with ice in their veins;
Red dots on the foreheads of the chosen ones.

At home mowing lawns
Raking leaves
Cleaning gutters
Painting trim
Baseball practice
Ballet recitals

This is the New Age of victims
Soldiers of God bent to kill;
We lie in the hot shadows together in fear.

This is the New Age of war
Lying in the dark, seeing in the dark
Vicious heart, beating hate, nothing here.

This is the New Age of snipers
Spotting a threat-a thread of evil
Quickly flipping the switch - ice in the blood.

Eye to Scope
Red dot on the target
Skill of balance and skill of smooth
Skill of falling deep in the groove
With smoothness and grace
The trigger is pulled

Pop…

He made his mark.

Puff of smoke on one end and blood splatter on the other.

Two souls lost.

POEM -- "Black Sheep" by Thomas Herr

Black Sheep

2003 by Thomas Herr

Black Sheep congregate today in quiet flocks
Where it was once forbidden
Like statues of spirit
They stand there.

And the rain keeps falling down.

The occasional loner
Sticks out like a sore thumb
Apart from the flock
He just stands there…

And the rain keeps falling down.

Footpaths on the ledge
Backyards with private gardens
Moss tunnels are cool and the grasses are green…
While joy and sorrow cling to yesterdays stones.

Why are Dogs so mean?
Why is he alone?

POEM -- Hunter Thompson

Hunter Thompson

By Thomas Herr

In this Winter
Of the never-ending snowstorm

I frolic in the flowered fields
With prostitutes for my sunshine

I still smoke my first cigarette every day
I still walk the fine line
I still skate the thin ice
I still roam the slums of my mind
I still soak up the bad and filter out the rest

I defy it all as an actor performing

I defy it all as a scientist postulating

Hunter Thompson;

You’ve got nothing on me.

POEM -- Empty Plate

Empty Plate

By Thomas Herr

January 17, 2005

There’s an empty plate of faceless
Negroes
Sitting on my country table.

There’s an empty plate of faceless
Negroes
Lying on their backs.

Head to Toe
Row upon Row
The faceless shackled Negroes
Stare back at all who care to look.

Care to watch them screaming?
Care to hear them wail?

I stare down
Like a child
At the plate of horror
-…Frozen…-
As though I couldn’t leave it
Until I was finished picking.

Or face an early bedtime.

Empty plate of faceless Negroes-
It’s part of a set, I think.

Empty plate of faceless Negroes-
I don’t know what to do with it.