“Two O’ Clock”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(6-20)

Overnight.

My favorite time for creative compositions. I sit at the desk, and a magic show transpires. One that seems to conjure spirits from another world. Loosing voices trapped in the loam for centuries. Cries of yonder folk, long vanished from this globe.

I peer at the computer screen and cheer “Hello!”

Overnight Prayer

Two in the morning

Warning, warning

Baseball bumped in the COVID age

Turn the page

This restless season is shot

Forget me not

I am fraught

With trouble trees

And a sadder me

Protests in the streets

On goes the beat

This world has to change

Be on its way

Through generations of hope for change

For the gray clouds

Of judgment day

What never came

Say his name

George Floyd!

What do you believe?

George Floyd!

America, America

My country ‘tis of thee

America

Sweet land of liberty

I can’t breathe

George Floyd!

Cellphone video

History is a time-flow

A thousand years shall pass

We’ll still be here

Grazing in the grass

Still wanting, still hoping

Still battling

Still knowing

The sunrise kiss of a new day at hand

Means less when they strike up the band

A mournful stride

Gold casket

With a mortal man inside

Taken away

Taken from us

Take a knee

At the back of the bus

The rise of our lowest

The to and fro-est

This tradition of protest

Is sacred to see

But from my horizon

Out here in the cow dung

Country kid running free

What can the chant of voices raised

Mean to me?

Neighbors wave the Southern Cross

Like the century had been lost

And I sulk by myself

Cry for lives lost to haste

How can stars in the night

Fade into the white light

I ask though the answer

Is known to linger

Like a mother’s embrace

Like her kiss on a baby’s face

We’ve been here before

Just like 1964

But for me and you

“What can a poor boy do?”

I live in a trailer with my dog

A trip through the fog

Two canes, broken window frames

Up all night

Stories to write

Poems, prose, perfectly posed

Sat at my desk

Black Lab at my toes

The harsh arrival of day

A few hours away

I write in the rubble

Watch the starlight sky

Night time makes the soul fly

Watch the world die

Pop will eat itself

But I’m here on the bottom shelf

By myself

A kid with good intentions

Never winning

Never more than an honorable mention

Feeling shunned

This day is done

Yet I go on

From pike to prawn

Swimming upstream, bravely

Against the tide

Against the wind

Flowers in the dustbin

Beerdrops on my chin

The outcast stone

Is my kin

Let’s take a ride

From Lake Erie to the south side

I want to slide

Falling, falling

Fall into disrepair

Like a broken office chair

Wood slats

Broken bats

Empty bear traps

Stretched-out suspender straps

The old man who made me laugh

In yesterday

Sounds suddenly sane

His crazy seed

Is me

I hear and fear

The NASCAR clan

The ones who praise

The great ‘I am’

A zoot-suited Dandy Dan

Arguing about the Civil War

I wonder ‘What for?’

But the time-slip is in effect

This nation is a wreck

An uncashed stimulus check

Hunt and peck

Knee on the neck

This country looks away

Toward the Coronavirus second wave

And Election Day

Pride of gay

Hey, hey, hey

Streets of fire

Words on the wire

Philosophers from an ancient age

Had their say

They spoke to us

The future-bred brain trust

Gone to rust

Gone, gone, gone

Stone dead forever

In chrome-tipped boots

And leather

Don’t need a weatherman

To take a stand

This is the moment

When our patience is spent

Our time to pray

For deliverance

From this awful age

My my

Hey hey

Testy Trumpers, toasted and tossed

Who’s the boss?

I’m at a loss

This world goes for naught

While we accept

Less than we expect

Damn us

Damn us

Damn us all!

Watch the raindrops fall

Change is near

But till then

The old ways reappear

Grinding gears

Sharpening spears

Ax handles fling

Secret societies

Round the ring

Robes and signs

Dark designs

I choose a different path

More clever, by half

A baby’s laugh

Pure and clean like the driven snow

Look out below

It’s a song by the Ramones

That makes me smile

While fire and ash

Blows rudely in my face

Paul Harvey says

‘Good day!’

An hour had passed. With a visitation of wordsmithing in the balance. I felt satisfied, for the moment. Undeniably content. Glad to rest. Glad for inspiration and the challenge of channeling a rebellious moment in the dark. A stray spark. A candle in the dark.

Glad for an early beer.

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