Contemplations, Justice, Poetry, Reflections, Social Commentary

New Year’s

Sleeping into the New Millennium

On this singular occasion when the world is celebrating the end of a century and ushering in a new millennium

i am fast asleep, fatigued by the ceaseless flow of words, celebrations and consumer products filling the airwaves and my aging brain with retrospectives and prognostications.

Ok, i admit it, i’m a wee bit weird when it comes to secular feast days and super-hyped Hollywood extravaganzas from Fiji to Hawaii, and all points in between. Even poor little Cuba is given air time on ABC.  The Copacabanastill inspires nostalgia here at home.

The broadcaster, Peter Jennings, morosely speculates on life in that pariah paradise with its perennial dictator, Fidel.  Peter is pontificating on how “ordinary Cubans” were not permitted to attend the gala in the Copa. Where he gets his information is beyond me; he does not identify his source, however the implication is clear: Cubans are oppressed by their inability to attend this New Year’s Eve bash at the Copa.  Obviously this icon of American journalistic objectivity is unaware that ordinary Cubans, indeed ordinary Norte Americanos, could not afford to attend this event even if they wanted to.  

It is like the White House Millennial dinner, an exclusive invitation only affair, where the price of admission is steeper than at the Copacabana.  
What Peter fails to say is that the Cuban people are probably having one hell of a time partying as only they can, in their neighborhoods, bars, clubs and cabanas. They are not as slavish to spectator entertainment as we are but they do know how to party. The streets and clubs of Havana are jammin’ tonight. It’s too bad the networks won’t show the good times the Cubans are having without U.S. control and domination.

Contemplations, Nature, Poetry, Reflections


in Montclair Canyon strolling and stumbling

on desiccated stones in the canyon creek 

inhaling the fragrance of blossoming flowers

until I pass under palm fronds into an Ashram

secreted in mystery where I meditate & pray

for Peace & Love as a breeze 

whispers in the trees that my spirit is

free from the world

                                    the flesh

                                                and the ego

Black Lives Matter, Contemplations, Justice, Poetry, Reflections, Social Commentary


I wait in the courthouse

for my 13 year old client

to be brought to Juvenile Justice

After patted down and frisked

by arsenals in uniform

he shuffles from a concrete cell 

in shackles of shame

to the court room and back

to his steel spring bed

He is a child at risk   

who when released

returns scared & scarred 

to the hood

without a neighbor 

Where homies share war stories

as cop cars cruise

to catch gang bangers

and wannabes 

in the ghettos and barrios 

of the other America