sand sculptures from gaza

touched by a hundred brown hands
beach figures gently formed
loving forms
of adolescence
like in santa monica or the jersey shore
the grit of a shared future
possible?
who knows
deferred
neath the crush of tanks and boots and shrapnel
kicked in and dispersed
piling up with the shattered doors of baghdad
& all the complicit baseless doublespeak
replacing the justice
of reasoning

--- e b bortz

earth note 116

this might not fit here
after all
the ground we claim as habitat
has no owners

under whose ‘authority’
is it claimed?
(who won the last war?)
(which village was massacred?)

this so-called poem
has about as much ‘right’
to ownership
as your friendly or unfriendly
corporate personhood instrument
wall street or main street
notwithstanding

dogma won’t convince
my dog
or doggerel
that he isn’t a rightful owner

--- e b bortz

hope

we haven’t forgotten
what it takes to make
real change

come out of the mist
look for the sun
trailing off as it does
without asking permission

a lesson from the high desert:
a motionless prairie dog
bold
but just coy enough
to stay alive
standing erect & noticed
on the interstate
vanishing
like a shifty dust twister

hope is not a stupor
but its antithesis
leave the dirt on your hands
bring it with you

--- e b bortz

post-election rising

we may live in the belly of one
but there really are no ‘beasts’
(the word applies only to humans)

each fear has been designed & built
on a previous one

sometimes a small candle
is enough to make
bottomless dark
light

call it non-negotiable
containers forever overflowing
can’t spill into mediocrity

broken streets
filled with feet
tears
hands of candleholders
will rise

--- e b bortz

earth note 115

grand canyon winter 1979

fog held steady on the north rim
wondering if my footing
down the south rim
would be any better
than jimmy carter’s freefall
dragging descent to the edge
revenge induced vietnam war criminals
gave hustlers their sleight of hand
faking populist economic culture claptrap
effectively covering a bare-assed fascism
in ronald reagan g e scripture

halfway down the bright angel trail
the mules came thumping up
worked me over to the canyon wall
passing
like night shift miners
just shy of the light

and the growth that jumped from the rocks
had an evergreen
poking up like a scarecrow
making it’s own horizon
giving the eagles
a good enough reason
to move on

--- e b bortz

pundits

& establishment pols
foisted on an angry population
eating it raw
throwing it up
packaging & sending rationalizations
to the unsuspecting
this is full-tilt boogie
breakdown
a weave of our blood dollars
into frazzled hair transplants
new hairdos & ass lifts
ego & machines stay oiled
.....the city burns

--- e b bortz

since this is pittsburgh

let’s just start with comic relief
& say
there’s a little w-a-r-sh
in the middle of every wash
& sunflowers never take on
a normal life span
& poetry in lieu of rent
won’t cut it
& all those billions dumped to the bankers
won’t stop those oil tankers from floating
toward the edge (nor bring those steel jobs back)
& yes
the abyss might be a state of mind
but real souls
have choices
only the forest knows
and the calling
comes when we least
expect it
& every lonesome ride
to the border
must be a beginning

--- e b bortz

photos by Sandra L Hazley

embellishing a weird dream

my passport was stolen
from the backseat of my van
a hidden place violated
and in its place
an expired passport of a guy
born in 1922
(let him remain anonymous)
though his thick brown moustache
could give him away

and there’s more:
right rear wheel was gone
van creaked left on a scissors-jack
spare tire walked
or never was

scene two:
a dozen of us marching
up centre avenue on the sidewalk
signs say stop police violence
a motorcycle cop
buzzes over with a cold tense look
ultimately
peels away without word

it was the centre avenue before
urban removal
people actually sitting on their stoops
watching us......not quite believing
we were pale gray
tho our banners
many colors

destination a bushy hilltop
known as sugar hill
we scatter what time is left
for dreams imagined
& real

--- e b bortz

earth note 114

ohio river trail across from bruno island

goose shit
green spread
surveillance new sodium pink lights
like eyeballs
semi-renovated hundred-year prison
hand-built twenty-eight foot stone walls
in-tact
for new tasks
gray homeland security suv
circling.....more eyeballs
occasionally a shout from inside
interrupts goose & duck squawk
the only protests of record
steel bridge swaying aching coal cars
twenty-first century arthritis
looking for another fix

--- e b bortz

earth note 113

breakneck ridge near portersville pennsylvania

a grassy plateau
rolls right up
to a synthetic fabric tent
all but forgetting the forest canopy
& cool musty cave
just below the outcrop
.....long after primeval animal skins
.....formed a lean-to

the lightning drove deep
into moistened loam belly
everything that was moving
.....stopped
.....diving low
.....still

it’s always been this way

--- e b bortz

red dust still stirred

in the winter of ‘76
though the north hibbing minnesota
rich iron ore pit was abandoned
just the cold remained
one eye closed
on north country blues
while the other one
joined the wanderers & work seekers
a beginning still hard to describe
as new
as new as taconite
landing scraggly beards
uprooted back-to-the-landers
in another go around
with the pitch black northern lights
deep tamarack
white pine
poplar sheltered hidden lake
frozen two thirds down

in that year
zimmerman’s bar mitzvah synagogue
still stood on the edge of hibbing
and the old caretaker told us
the story of carrying live chickens
on the streetcar to the rabbi on friday mornings
even in the depression 30s
all of this
from the edge
of the great north woods
three fourths the minnesota distance
to the canada border

nothing was out of place
as steam poured out
from a log shed sauna
the door was supposed
to slam open
with the snow squall
you were expected to take
the short dive into the snow bank

--- e b bortz

empty hands

are the source
of every emotional ritual
nothing to give up
no finger pointing
acceptance
of every element surrounding them
as if the sun and snow
converge
without compromise
cracked joints and missing fingernails
ignored in the greater scheme
no fist.....handshake
or caress
in the act
of opening

--- e b bortz

morning petitioning notes

three iron rangers from minnesota
.....i noticed their t-shirts
from towns just down the road
from our former hardscrabble homestead
nashwauk
a bend in the road not far from the continental divide
now here in pittsburgh
for a steelworkers meeting
bitter about nafta & cafta
worried about their children/grandchildren
country’s crash.....has arrived

yesterday’s papers gave out
a glimpse of fundamental corruption
misappropriation of public funds
to squash ballot access in pennsylvania
for greens & independents

yet the iron rangers we’re split
on how to reject outright
things as they are
yet still safely bury
one’s most inner beliefs
conforming matching pragmatic resignation
sacrifice to the void
of self-censorship

--- e b bortz

ego is considered rational

narrow/personal
(don’t believe it goes beyond that)
self-interest
might be the dirtiest
word
of any language

it’s got us where we’re at
whoopee

id is gone
long live the id

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, Fall 2008)

complaint dept note 1

heard a few say
their best poems
were processed
by cheap wine
then pissed or puked
into the toilet
forever lost

some
bitch about
all the reviews they never receive
as if poetry is a well-defined
career path
academia mapped
& packaged

then there’s the fucking writer blocks
meticulous constructs
red badge of....
don’t say courage
obviously
more blocks
more walls
still needed

maimstreetmedia
funding grants
corporate jingles
never seduced
lorca
.....died for his poems
yet we complain
about oppression
seemingly
locked in position
on our knees

--- e b bortz

quiet time surat thani thailand

just after morning tea
just before my 6am
walk thru the back streets
on out to the avenue
traffic buzz
i wait for my hour-long
ride to the power plant

srimorn pulls in a firm gentle embrace
i start for the door
wanting immediately to turn back
melt into the teeming brown
chongkasem neighborhood
of her brown hips
or our walk thru downtown markets
& motor scooters

this morning our lips taste
the last cool air
before the heat wave

--- e b bortz

previously flat-roofed porch

roof
is growing cisterns
on the edges
some looking
like long troughs
an inch of water
rests short
of the downspouts
telling us
we should
be collecting and
redistributing
to each according to needs
hoping for three foot sunflowers
before the frost
white pines pushing up
winter wind barriers

still
hard rain & good intentions
won’t get it done

--- e b bortz

asking a big favor

let me know
the minute
you think
i’ve lost
that spark

you’ll know it when you see it

each syllable will struggle
with every other one
broken into too many vowels
filling in where thought
anticipating eyes
emotion once thrived

when it happens
i’ll throw myself
at the altar
embracing thickest maples
walk greenest ridges
straddling alleghenies
soft-needled strapping pines
rounding apache white mountains
frozen lakes deep laurentides
or maybe the hot & humid rubber bounty
trees of khao sok

let me know the minute of transition
i’ll need to find my way there
and back

--- e b bortz

you don't need validation

by a politician
even one you believe in
perceptions of ‘strength’
‘the leader’ has got it
back ass words
your power is in your sweating
belching being
not your allegiance
vanguards authorities conventioneers
can be cut from the same cloth
and cheaply dyed to suit

don’t ask me
ask yourself

--- e b bortz

earth note 112

marshall trail, pittsburgh

via the road from kent ohio
     jawbone
a resurrecting of every voice
in a year
when wilderness brings
each soul
a stage
in spite of oneself

i defer to the spirits of may 4, 1970
from every field & forest
     seeds
    
and the trail canopy
grows rich in spite of
all the awkward intrusions
a broken-hearted doe
     stands quiet
& refuses to run

--- e b bortz

forsythia breaking away

for all us local quarry cutters

right at the exit ramp
dropping yellow bell-bottoms
every pothole can testify
if you’re close enough to listen
there’s a halo
that’s been snatched
from those would-be
patricians
us bitter ones
yes!
can see the race for what it is
but like acid to the alkaline
our hands will grow a garden

--- e b bortz

yonge street refugee toronto

isn’t a put-down
thousands grasp
my own small view
is that it’s a damn good thing
to have a place to run away
to
when iron heel limousines
block the peace bridge on-ramps
i’ll take my kayak north
below the radar
edicts
& new world order
shit-faced enforcers
who will be at a loss
to explain
any laws or rights
that supercede
those grown by generations
of dead patriots

--- e b bortz

head frazzled

loose ends
filling every angle
a line of sight
not to be confused
in revolutionary terms
with a kind of infantilism
can’t stop the sloganeering
popping its blindsided
emotionally sided
overdrawn tissue
cerebellum’s the missing piece
hardcore bank raiders
selling ‘em short
let’s take our margins against the wall
scratch the vault
alley cats
let us in
we’ll share the fire escape
& last refuge
paint the landscape void
a rust of isolation
a river out of here
limping

--- e b bortz

today i stand shiva

at the military recruiting center
for the million iraqis
four thousand americans
limbs & torsos stretched
needlessly upon the death spiral
finishing a fifth year
an appropriate cold rain
& dark silence fills in
where too few bodies
go on breathing

--- e b bortz

(published in khubz, Spring 2008)

is there a way out of this arrogance?

sand creek and wounded knee
my lai
new orleans
fallujah
when will the images
inside shifty bloody pools
become self-evident
crimes against humanity

we’ve become
the culture of silence
‘cept for the flutter
of our own wings

--- e b bortz

central park 1967 summer concert

stevie wonder once again

found harmonica heart

was made to love her

as we loved

marian & me

kendra & franklin

trying to make sense

& dialectics of the whole

two hundred thousand individual bodies

with their own path to enlightenment

without the map makers

& confusion of history

so stevie sang past the pain

to a place

just beyond our reach

yet we reached

to find chills & warmth

all at the same time

the stuff beneath

that makes you understand

how the rain can soothe

even a parched body

--- e b bortz

windless light snowfall

drops straight
clean
putting depth perspective
front & center
three small white pine
coated veil
covers a stoic ice frame

hundred crows pass through

--- e b bortz

poetry without walls 2008

poster by
Adam Brodsky

earth note 111

1991...somewhere near poriyya, israel

it was hard bicycling the drum beats
to bob marley
legs ache last ascent
an overlook sea of galilee
vista & hostel without travelers
opened a door
and let me in

an hour later the surrounding hills
were the darkest passage
no moon
but the clarity of the milky way

so i walked down the road
to smell a landscape of scruffy pine
& stooped down from time to time
to feel the warm asphalt surface
& road break
with rocky brush
a perimeter into the unknown
much like a skin covering the organs
a darkness with purpose

feet wander where they want
and when the familiar road
left me
it became an opportunity
to stop and listen
without definition or direction
not a car nor dog
nor light nor gleam from galilee
lost & peace at the same time

was there a link
between these footsteps
and those before me
or was i an intruder
how does the earth
keep such a record
of those living
& deceased

a cool wind
from the north
gave me bearings
& i turned toward it

--- e b bortz

Change Revisited

I was twelve years old in the summer of 1960, as my father
whispered to his closest friend at the kitchen table
in our hot cement-block farmhouse.

“Hymen, it looks like the people might vote for change
this year.”

“I’m not sure Lou. But I think Lenin said something
like ‘give me three workers and we’ll make a revolution’.”

“Yeah, but right now, the people are on the move...
they aren’t waiting for us,” Lou answered.

In our family, the 1950s was a time of economic desperation,
caused directly by the witch-hunts against us personally, and
against communists, labor and left-wing activists of all kinds,
all over the country.

But 1950s America was also the Korean War, economic stagnation
and poverty, segregation, lynching of African-Americans,
the suppression of women, the disenfranchisement of black people
and young people...a political system so corrupted by the thugs
of big money machines, racism, and fear, that anything close to
thoughtfulness was seen as almost radical.

This was the context in which JFK was elected 35th President
of the United States.

And of course that was only the opening of the decade and the
beginning of rising expectations...an uncharted course of turmoil
and transformation lie ahead...a cultural-generational-human rights
revolution bringing millions into the streets with marches, boycotts,
sit-ins, teach-ins, draft resistance in the face of a war that
extinguished the lives of millions...Vietnamese, Cambodians, Americans.

Are we a better, more conscious people because of all this?

You’ll have to answer that question yourself.

Maybe there are isolated windows in time when symbol is as important
as substance. When a society has proclaimed moral abandonment as
its mantra for decades, the not-so-simple act of awakening and
unleashing our imaginations can be a revolutionary message in itself.

--- e b bortz

(published in The New People, February 2008)
(published in khubz, Spring 2008)

when all else fails

phuket 1989

close your eyes and go forward
crawling out of darkness
or into a beginning sunset

a prison falls
on orange & red
indian ocean andaman sea
(before the tsunami)
broke the ruler’s rules
started a wave
and without so much as embarrassment
placed the farang
upon his alter ego
sifting thru the trinkets
of silver & rubies (smuggled from burma)
the mist off the sea
heated
did not cool
the broken expats
with their cocks in their hand
lumbering thru curry back alleys

and every brown eye
in the marketplace
sized & dismissed
those intentional motives
looking only at the magic
from the water

--- e b bortz

earth note 110

never looked at tea leaves
looking for answers
or the future
but those strawberry plants
we put
inside the acid rain belt
new york southern tier
seven miles
into northern appalachia
just above the susquehanna watershed
sprouted manna
or maybe just luck

but the hundred pine seedlings
in a june minnesota bog
dried out
waiting in the sauna
died of shock therapy
needed a more tender hand
or better timing

life can’t wait
for the learning curve

--- e b bortz

carson street shuffle, pittsburgh

circa 1969

looks like what was once
a walnut street pre-gentrified high
when i was on second shift
most every night we dropped in
for a pitcher & chess
sometimes a joint in the little alley
off ivy street
and then
the animated talk & hand gestures
as my opponent castled
i looked away
wondering how i could just
walk away
blow this grimy town
grow my hair down to my ass
find a new way to survive
a war-weary country
& hardhats that embarrassed
even the company stooges

and if it was friday night
the sidewalks overflowed
into the streets
and every few feet
an impending draftee
would bump into you
stoned or drunk
and you’d see
the fuck-it attitude
or fear on his face
that a ride to canada
could fix

there were the broken old men
then
too
who said the kids had
no work ethic
and that the country was
going to hell
anyway
they were right about the hell
but missed
the civics lessons that were never taught
about who owns what and why
and who stole whose land

i wouldn’t say all this
if it didn’t happen
or thought it wouldn’t
happen again

--- e b bortz

(published in opednews.com, Jan 26, 2011)

coal veins of jock yablonski

are still moving up the ohio
today
six heaping barges pushed upstream
maybe mined near bellaire ohio
making their way to the cheswick power station
on the allegheny

it was one of those sticky hot august days
in ‘69
as jock mounted a makeshift stage
in the middle of a beat-up football field
in bellaire
to speak to a couple hundred miners
and their families
about the most radical of all notions
in these parts
union democracy

the sweat poured down his face
across a hoarse open throat
and slumping tie
and every once in a while
a pointing finger came at us
making sure we heard the cry
of the thousands who came
and died before us

gk repeated it like a mantra
that this was only the beginning
the miners were just awakening
from the long terror of the thugs
and that jock
was the catalyst messenger
the brother from the early dark cio 30s
when solidarity wasn’t just a word
or a whisper
but a way of life

the union election was stolen
jock & his family were murdered new year’s eve in ‘69
a few thugs went to prison
miners for democracy wept
& carried on

after years
of continuous mining machines
mountain-top removal
black lung tens of thousands
a coal miners’ diaspora
spreading broken bodies
like polluted chewed-up forests & streams
climate havoc
foreign oil wars
betrayal

solidarity
lives and dies in the veins
of jock yablonski

--- e b bortz

twenty minutes and eight arms full

of dress shirts
surreptitiously walk past starbucks
i’ve never been here before
but know there’s gotta be
a wash & starch drop-off nearby
for the corporate courtrooms
boardrooms
land speculator trysts
movin & shakin down
every loose financial instrument
not bolted down

the front page of the daily
has three burly policemen
clubbing down & holding
head & arms
a housing demolition protestor
new orleans drips blood on the street

starched shirts missing

--- e b bortz

thinking below the noise level

is insular protection
our choices are limited
in survival mode
but not powerless
a kind of self-preservation
the soul
stays above the pit
as fire singes our faces
outmoded tools
to the open hearth

--- e b bortz

earth note 109

forgiveness is a lame snowfall

before the big melt
& cross-country skis
go washing down
a mad river maelstrom
thread
snow packed trails again
touch deepest quiet
breathe weeping ridges
find the last surviving hellbender
and river otter
seek higher ground
meditate whitetail
free

lives of solitude
before the dark

--- e b bortz

red-blue-red, part 2

no color this morning
gray waves blanket
red east rush
the d word
slips in the back door
there won’t be an i
this blue mix
has nowhere to go

let red maples
steal
what time is left

--- e b bortz

earth note 108

last planting
before an indecisive winter

a couple of young alberta spruce
small spiral dense green needles
having wandered home
to a wet ground sanctuary
& mission
to hold
body-block
a slipping hillside
interdependence
tho the paranoid rail
all is futile
we’re lost
‘cept for the waiting

i refuse to accept this

--- e b bortz

subliminal message

it seems
keeps poking itself
into morning
or is it night
as every voice speaks
in the past tense
though it may
be the present

a glassy gulf of thailand heat wave
gathers water
drops
find secluded orchid patches
to breathe
but i’m afraid of nodding off
& missing sunset

snow crust creaks at zero degrees f
ski tracks weave minnesota poplar
pine & peat bogs
perfect shadows
mostly cloudless blue
a small strong sun
chases storm clouds east

the voices only have faces
mouths that move
but no sound
i’m thinking these must be
perfect love songs
no one can hear
least not me
lips shaped full
wet
smooth dark
hot red
silence

--- e b bortz

even a fifteen day fast

against war
with another eleven days
to go
couldn’t shake the frat boys
into anything close to
what’s beyond their next beer

but some were reached
like a weepy eyed grandmother
some veterans
a whole lotta
deep hippies
deep green
deep believers
a new counterculture revolution
earth goddess gaia
to jesusmohammedmoses

we stand
with the fasters
not fasting ourselves
a military recruiter
gazes away quick
maybe thinking why
they’re still here
trucks & buses spit
unburned diesel
over crowded streets
emerging & broken dreams
the here & now
is the message
don’t wanna
even visualize
a resurrection

--- e b bortz

(published in The New People, Nov 2007)

Alternative September 11th

Of course, there are Republican and Democratic politicians who abuse
the memory of those who died on Sept 11th for their own agendas of
war, empire, and vengeance.

Of course, there are Republican and Democratic politicians
who use the climate of repression to further repress...breaking up
immigrant families with brutal detentions and deportations. It’s hard to
determine who screams the loudest for the watchtowers and walls
along the Mexican border.

Of course, there are Republican and Democratic politicians who whine
in panic about the shortfall of military recruitment...they lament
the ‘good old days’ of an endless reservoir of human beings...cannon fodder
for the death machines provided by military conscription.
No Draft...No Way!

Of course, there are the real power brokers of Republican and Democratic
administrations...the war machinery and weapons manufacturers,
the military base builders, the fossil and nuclear energy corporations,
the sicko health industry and pharmaceutical lobbyists that block
national single-payer healthcare, the forest plunderers and mall developers...
these are but a few of the corporate paymasters masquerading
as political contributors.

And then, there is us...who remember those who died on Sept 11th
by rededicating ourselves to a just, peaceful, and sustainable world
by demilitarizing and democratizing our own society. On this and on
all future Sept 11ths, war-makers will shrill at the wind...
but WE must build community.

--- e b bortz
Sept 11, 2007
Forbes Avenue, Pittsburgh

questions from a cold rain

have we created a darkness
of no return
convinced ourselves
that everything remaining
is the embodiment of light?

when my thumbs cover
my eardrums
does the pounding stop
or has it just moved over
two blocks?

what constitutes a beginning
if all deeds become
unaccountable apparitions
shadows replace what was once
sight

kiss the rain

--- e b bortz

(published in opednews.com, May 18, 2011)

recovering notes from the deep, part 2

when the iron ore strike began
in august 1977
i suddenly felt
a huge decompression
a liberation coming
i was out with thousands
from northern minnesota
& michigan upper peninsula
no more
swing shifts
4 a.m. getups
radio calls
for electrical troubleshooting

my kids began talking to me more
throwing the ball around
we grew

and as the picket duties
lapsed into the fall
i dusted off an old underwood typewriter
and began recalling
and observing
maybe for the first time
what was around me
or had been dormant
for years

i saw the hay fields
go to seed
and the ground freeze up
a movement of canada geese
with better formation
than our picket line

the quiet of the north woods
broke through
watching a snowshoe rabbit
run for cover
frost covering the tamarack
on frozen wet lands

still
i thought back
on the decade before
on the streets of chicago in ‘68
the un-democratic party convention
refusing induction into the u.s. army
the slippery cobblestones
from pittsburgh’s north side
and all the teenage heartbreak
jive five
still ringing from those back alleys

the alberta clippers came
my chainsaw worked overtime
to grow the wood pile
it was either that
or no heat

everything became retrospective
the new age hadn’t
emerged
and this strike was becoming
more defensive
than anything else
trying to keep up with the cost-of-living
we stayed out four months
and if nothing else
won respect

the words beaten out
on that underwood
somehow got misplaced & lost
there were some sleepless nights over that

but i guess i’ll just move on
& make up
what i don’t remember

--- e b bortz
(published in The New People, Nov 2007)

earth note 107

the climate change movement musicians
closed up their cases and went home
or back on the road
some of the reunited bands stayed together
others went separately

and then everyone listened
for the groundswell
that has yet
to come

of course that’s the problem
waiting
for what your neighbor might do
for what so-and-so politician
might do
the paid-for will only go
so far
the paid-for have agendas
to keep them
paid-for

but you already know this
from the many times
you
pledged allegiance
without reciprocation

selling comfort zone
crash insurance
has its limits

where is our sweat
in the receding flood waters?

--- e b bortz

aren't we all brothers & sisters?

lifetime
fleeting moment
what’s a legacy?
what will be passed on?
last tree on the plain
cared enough to even think about it
when will we wake up?
is there a tomorrow in today?
compromises make empty promises
in every death
there must be life

--- e b bortz

pain begins

when there’s recognition
those still anesthetized
sleep thru the alarms

for the conscious ones
a nation’s self-respect
must be reborn from love
by those willing to walk
lonely hollows
back street dumpsters
death bed confessions

let
the anointed ones scramble

--- e b bortz

earth note 106

april 1989

93 degrees 93 percent humidity
bannasan
suratthani province thailand
raises a mountain cliff
of clouds & rainbows
equator rock tear leaving
a few nerves upended
just after ditching my bicycle
at the base
to get a better view

a spontaneous jolt
to even go there
that sunday
hot-under-the-collar road
down from the stalls & markets
of suratthani city
rolling past sweet coconut
smell
of a sun steeped in orange blaze
a couple of tuk-tuks sped out around me
a field of farmers hold their scythes
in resignation

avoiding the straight-up rock face
cathedral without priests
i soak with the rainforest
of miniature buddhas

--- e b bortz

kayak dragon boat adam

plays the china card
allegheny rigor mortis of history
will ignite tomorrow’s blue haze
a story awaits a muse

let sumac & grass
sprout in rusted hulls
of old coal barges
as we cut the wake
on a distant point
see crumbling pilings
abandoned fuel tanks
speak haiku morning
visualize
yet another dawn

--- e b bortz

gross power disparity

take your pick
war
poverty
injustice
pollution
media
elections

corporate hegemony
or
grassroots democracy control
forget dem/repub focus groups
greenwashy middle ground

a thousand shoulders
move the boulders

--- e b bortz

dust covered layer

blinds the face of a transparent backpack
a nosy (nebby) officer
gives it the once over
there’s nothing for you here
don’t wipe it clean
just some personal stuff
best kept hidden
stowed but not forgotten
beneath desolation angels
a place on earth
who would of ever thought
anything close to exposure
would come
years after
the dust settled

--- e b bortz

sometimes silence can be the best poetry

like the space between the stanza
don't bite your fingernails
let the words grow under them
first
speak everything into an inner ear
floppy tongues can make
dull bedfellows

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, issue 20, Sept 2007)

neoliberal prescription

for war is not
no war
but conscription
coerce the misery
a whole generation adrift
they say
waits to be steeled
they say

(bullshit...inequality has/will always be a prerequisite)

those who speak for a draft
lack the conscience
to resist one

tanks will starve
hollowing out an ancient legion
of empty uniforms
empire hucksters
conformity
vengeance idolatry
just war flimflam
death tricksters

--- e b bortz

(published in opednews.com, April 4, 2013)

earth note 104

joseph city, arizona, 1979

from the water tower
it’s a short hike to a dried out
ancient little colorado
even the omnipresent
flyash tailings pond
hissing at the wind
bullying it off its natural course
can’t muffle the original pueblo spirits
protectors of the canyons
stringing north to the grand one
thru rock like windows
perception is all in the
keepers of the vision

--- e b bortz

iraq vigil/dirge

in front of a congressman’s office
the comfort of an empty cold rain
is at least honest
as the “ayes” have it
another paymaster 100 billion
for death rows iraq
& occupier embassy
walls
boots
choppers
build a monolith
of broken flesh

--- e b bortz

poetry without walls 2007

poster by

Adam Brodsky

any poet that says

there wasn’t one written
way back
that needs to be disowned
is probably in some kind of
protected witness program
like incognitos anonymous
redundancy
for shitty writing

i looked one over this morning
head was still clear
wondered how
a recall might be advertised
anonymously

--- e b bortz

your armchair activism

has lost its stuffing
nothing left to soften the real
yet we look everyday
self-reflection
words of sages
distorted but still cognitive
a broken mirror can be a message
in itself

--- e b bortz

a speech

the other night
by a president
carpet-bombed guernica
again

we mute the sound
let the children
sleep
bach bourree segovia

--- e b bortz

rage of the poetry critic

predictable
as shit-laden stallion hoof beats
pound white
like empire gentry

and the words coming
from the margins
kept marginalized
concrete this
cut-up that
who really knows
the origin of the beat
the sound
wasting away
a gutter’s rag
can be honorable
infidel labor

--- e b bortz

my eyelids

slamming shut
never stopped me
from writing a poem
fact is
maybe it could help
focus
someone said my driving
might improve also
haven’t tried it
yet
traffic is a lot noisier
when your eyes are closed
just heard a dog yelp out the back window
not my dog
his paws are scratching the floor
behind me
this might be good therapy
for politicians & generals
close your eyes
shut the fuck up
& listen

--- e b bortz

earth note 103

the snow was still white
on the fifteen year photo
from the laurentides
the brightest day
of that year
covered your face
with doubt
& wonder

--- e b bortz

(published in split w*sky, December 2006)
(published in Trumpet Call, Green Panda Press, 2012)

Green Roots & Harrisburg Blues

Titus North
(photo by Sandy Hazley)




Green Roots & Harrisburg Blues

(Published in The New People, Pittsburgh, PA, December 2006)

by e b bortz


You know when you’re in the middle of one of those indelible segments in your life...the kind that will twist around and transform the emotional and logical sides of your internal processes. Social change, politics in the broadest sense of the word, is often the tumultuous vehicle that delivers that impact.

This year, as has been the case since 1996, Green Party activists in the Pittsburgh area and across Pennsylvania hit the streets in early March petitioning to place Green candidates on the ballot for the November election. We had no illusions about the task at hand. To place our candidates Carl Romanelli for the U.S. Senate, Marakay Rogers for Governor, and Christina Valente for Lt. Governor on the November ballot, we would need more than 100,000 petition signatures, to satisfy the repressive Pennsylvania ballot access requirement this year of 67,070
registered voters’ signatures. Of course it wasn’t just signatures. The petition, technically known as a nomination paper, also required a printed name, address, and date of signing for each person willing to sign.

In the Pittsburgh area, we were energized by the desire to place Titus North on the ballot for Congress in the Fourteenth Congressional District. We all felt deeply that Titus needed to be on the ballot so that voters would have the chance to express a strong vote for peace and the immediate withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq, an unequivocal approach to national health care for all, equality, immigrant rights, and a defense of the Constitution and due process --- issues where other politicians have been “missing in action.” We probably talked directly to over 50,000 people on the streets, at peace and social justice events, at festivals and at farmers’ markets all over town. Greens in Allegheny County sensed a historic mission this year, and turned in over 7,400 petition signatures for the statewide candidates, which also included over 6,200 for Titus North’s ballot access.

After successfully defending against an unnecessary petition challenge from incumbent Congress member Mike Doyle (PA-14, Democrat), Titus and the Greens went on to roll up 17,720 votes or 9.9 percent in the Fourteenth District, a Green record in Allegheny County. This vote total of November 7, 2006 will maintain minor party status for the Green Party of Allegheny County.


But numbers don’t really do justice to this story. The dynamics, turmoil, and ultimate miscarriage of justice in Harrisburg from the challenge by the Pennsylvania Democratic Party to Carl Romanelli’s ballot access for U.S. Senate, needs a book written about it. This isn’t the space for that. But I would be remiss if I didn’t at least attempt to put down, in raw form, some personal notes I’ll call...

Harrisburg Blues

We knew that the challenge to our statewide candidates would be relentless, with the full weight of the Pennsylvania Democratic Party, the Bob Casey Campaign (with their millions in campaign money), and the Pittsburgh law firm of Thorp Reed & Armstrong --- all aligned against Carl Romanelli and a determined group of Green Party grassroots activists and allies, including several from Pittsburgh. Most of us had never faced a political challenge of this kind. From time to time, we huddled out in the hall of Room 304 of the Capitol’s North Office Building, everyone giving their best advise on how to stay focused with the task at hand, and to offer that personal encouragement and solidarity so necessary in order to remain positive.

The actual logistics of our defense involved nine pairs (one Green, one Democrat) reviewing every challenged petition signature, literally thousands, using nine state voter database terminals of the SURE system. We worked eight hours a day in Room 304 from August 14 to September 22. For Titus North and myself, a tent in Gifford Pinchot State Park near Harrisburg became home.

There was an atmosphere of tension and threats of “contempt of court” in Room 304 that had basically been created by the imposition of the court ordered “Protocol for Signature Review” of August 24, 2006. These rules became the mechanism to discard signatures; essentially disenfranchise the rights of thousands of legitimate voters who had freely signed the Green Party nomination papers.

Some of the protocol criteria that knocked legitimate voters off of our petitions:

1) The signer’s name and address were in the voter database, but for some reason, the voter’s signature was not on file in the SURE system. These were likely problems of the database or the local election office. Under the protocol, these valid voters were marked “invalid.” There were hundreds of these instances across the state.

2) The petition listed the signature first, followed by the printed name of the signer. We lost many valid signatures because the order was reversed. We always objected to this triviality, but mostly lost our arguments, sometimes over the screaming of Democratic Party lawyers in the room, enforced by a Court Officer.

3) The SURE system database was horribly inconsistent in it’s formatting of street name directional descriptions (e.g. “South 08th Street” in Philadelphia might be identified as “Eighth Street, S” in Allegheny County). Many signatures were not validated due to this confusion in the first week of the review. Even with the discovery of this problem, we were not permitted to revisit these signatures with additional search attempts at a later date. There was no consistency with rural route addresses in the SURE system either; hundreds of these signers were likely “invalidated” due to this inconsistency.

4) There were some very contentious exchanges between Greens and Democrats when the challenge was based on the criteria “Signature Varies from Registration Card” or “Illegible Signature.” No one in Room 304 was a handwriting expert, making it even more important to have a good faith/common sense approach to this issue. I specifically remember my counterpart on a particular day, a burly fellow from South Carolina who was helping the Casey Campaign, telling me “I don’t think all those letters in that signature look right to me.” It was my opinion that this signature, like many more during that unfortunate day, were lost to the “disputed” column rather than being credited as valid.

5) One of the mantras of the Democratic Party lawyers was that signatures must be struck if they were “facially invalid.” Mind you, these registered voters were real voters at their given addresses, but were nonetheless invalidated; possibly entering all of the necessary information, but maybe abbreviating “Reading” in Berks County with “Rdg,” or reversing some other information on the petition line.

6) And what about the voter that had moved out of the dorm and into a neighborhood nearby and now has a new address that was used on the petition but was never changed at the election office? Even with a confident and consensus arrived verification of signature, we lost thousands of these signers for “Address Varies from Registration Card.”

7) We argued and won a little bit of relief on the issue of nicknames, but not on the issue of initials (either added or missing) in the signature. It’s a simple fact of life that many people don’t remember how they signed their voter registration years ago, and for that, they were essentially disenfranchised. What’s next, literacy tests and poll taxes?


So it was a tremendous victory when Titus North made it to the November ballot by “rehabilitating” through extreme persistence, two-thirds of the bogus challenges, and having them restored to the “valid” category. In the interest of full disclosure, I give Mike Doyle some credit for using an independent consulting firm to perform his end of the challenge to Titus’ petitions. We made it clear that Titus would go to court and win ballot placement based on our review results; thus, Mike Doyle dropped his lawsuit against Titus. But of course, it was a tremendous waste of our resources to even go through this aspect of the torture.

For Carl Romanelli, we persevered to the end, but without success. Commonwealth Court acknowledged that the statewide Green Party petitions had 58,139 valid signatures, 8931 shy of our goal. The Court rejected any re-examination of the many thousands of “disputed” signatures based on a “lack of time,” turning down all appeals with the stroke of a pen. Rallies and press conferences for democracy were held in the capitol, but for the most part, we were systematically ignored by the media. The trivializing of this whole episode by the media was probably best expressed by Chris Potter on August 17 in the Pittsburgh City Paper:

“My personal favorite Romanelli backer, though, is one “Jack MeOff,” who apparently resides on “Cum Street,” city unlisted.”

Potter also mentions that Robert Redford and Jesus Christ signed the Green Party petitions. My questions to Chris Potter are, does that invalidate the nearly 100,000 other signatures on these petitions? How can you so easily buy into the corporate media (some would say propaganda) machine, without even the appearance of a fact-finding effort? And with only 2000 signatures required of Democrats and Republicans for these same statewide offices, when will we read your words about the biased nature of this whole outrageous ballot access regime? Got democracy? When does it start?

Today, Carl Romanelli faces hundreds of thousands of dollars from a lawsuit designed by the “winners” to recoup their legal fees. That’s right, when you run for office as a Green or Independent, get challenged by the political establishment and get kicked off the ballot, you may also face complete personal financial ruin. This kind of vindictiveness is nothing short of police state methodology. As peace and social justice activists of all political stripes, we need to be fully cognizant of the climate we operate in. The trashing of the Constitution and the bashing of immigrants has become a bi-partisan affair. To simply relinquish the platform in the electoral arena to the major parties, is an invitation to more repression and scapegoating.

A new “muscular” Democratic Party has taken Congress as the voters have emphatically rejected the Bush-Santorum record of endless war and social neglect. How will the muscle be used? These times demand a kind of vigilance and leadership on democracy issues that only grassroots peace and justice activists can provide. Who will stand with the dispossessed?

An injury to one is an injury to all.

******************************************

monongahela

green-brown waters
splashing past the new marina
the very spot the old coal barges
used to dock in another life

the blooming mill is rust now
split up and deported across the world
like a shattered family
lost in the new age

tin lunch boxes roam the streets
of south side
past the galleries and coffeehouses
searching questioning
rationalizing
some see only chaos
some see only promise

black soot from the past digs deep
into the granite along carson street
‘a gift to the people’
the river watches laughs weeps
as it ripples across our bare feet
awakening tomorrow

--- e b bortz

(published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)

strip mauls

on mcknight road
angry
maybe even drunk
monster hummer roars
from bankruptcy court
all the way to taco bell woodchip landscape
sitting still as lincoln
navigator flex fuel illusion
i smell predators
planning designing assaulting
every earth diagonal
turning lanes up the ass
but no sidewalks
my feet find
an anxious paranoid opening

i run

--- e b bortz

a glimpse of jfk in '62

every row house on columbia place
disappeared a generation ago
ripped level to the ground
leaving the october grass
in the frost
by itself

echoes of the marcels
breaking barriers
bricks & mortar still in small piles
in the corners of the alley
if you take the sacred time
to find it

the stoops held
every tear
not in a song
but an anthem
fearless
in the nick of time
my sadness
his eyes
a throng waves
his ivy league convertible
coming down to rub our shoulders
a broken proletarian haze
between us
no words
but rhythm

a thousand dreams

--- e b bortz

the power went out

and interrupted
early morning internet news
not germane
if that

sitting in darkness
i slip into that bungalow
on the beach
in koh samui in '89
moon lit black reflections on the water
broken by her
clumsy entry into my bed
humid breeze the water breathes
without convention we whisper
love
for the broken souls
who find refuge
from the machinations
of hustlers & money changers
horizon plunderers
the pavers of paradise
are given no space
between us

if there's a single truth left
let's consummate it
build orange-green-yellow-red
buddha visions
rice offerings
bodies in transition

--- e b bortz

it looked like a choice

between the self-righteous
and the sinners
but it was more than that
entire civilizations were at stake
there were the blasphemous ones
with no respect
for order & property
if they had lawns
they never cut them
kept planting new shrubs
to squeeze out the old
unleashed & unwashed
burn in hell you say?
o.k...maybe there's a deal
to be made
even
as the john kerrys still
report for duty

the press reported a study today
655,000 iraqis dead
our war
so far
not counting depleted uranium
graveyards to come
not too stiff a price you say
as long as congress approves

where is your vote
among the living or the dead?

--- e b bortz

a friend said i wouldn't write the same on the internet

it took a few years
to shed the pretense
tho the bones are empty
now
i wouldn’t blame you
if you walked that long mile
out the back door
forgot
the culture as a weapon
or a savior
when all else fails
crows always
fly the most direct route
geese always
know the way home
the broken bottles
hold colors of the rainbow
tho the tops
are a sharp cut
& my lips too weak
to hold the gin

--- e b bortz

no one imagined

that the night
would speak riddles
or that the rules of love
would become
the new order

--- e b bortz

sanctuary

common blood
warm
thawing hidden bodies
immigrants
and soldiers
desperate
for the anonymity
of darkness
their conscience
the light

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, issue 18, March 2007)

realitycheck

globalwarmingclimatechange
hedgefundstockoptionsenronism
wildfirescaliforniafloridaarizona
floodinglouisianapennsylvania
bigdigbostontunnelcollapse
46millionw/ohealthinsurance

deadfallujahdeadhadithadeadpalestine
deadlebanondeadhaifa
deaddarfurdeadmississippi
deadsagominedead@mexicoborder
deadbypolicechaseand/orshooting
deadbylethalinjection
deadspeciesdeadforests
politiciansinbedwithdeath

consumewalmartconsumetelevision
idolconsumptioncosmeticsurgery
fastfoodgorgeregurge

then the rest of the planet

--- e b bortz

my sons

have tasted the waters
the icy gales of lake superior
the barbed wire
and fallen trees
on the owego creek
racing rapids on the susquehanna
the murky smell of the jordan river
near the great salt lake
the challenge and rage
of the pacific
adventure is always bittersweet
our love is always sweet

--- e b bortz

(published in ptrint 3 x 5, August 2006)
(published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)

i should have stood in tel aviv

for rachel corrie
with the peace marchers
citizen vigilers
putting bodies against the tanks & rockets
last sunday
rejecting all the pretexts
for siege and invasion
wet dreams from self-inflated generals
made-in-america munitions manufacturers

she died as children all die
from beirut to gaza to haifa

your voice has reason
listen to it breathing

--- e b bortz

(published in opednews.com, March 18, 2013)

there's no security

in the old order
asphalt patched concrete
heaving up
from the mantle
pedestals by definition
are abused visions

broken tar
a melting planet
sunflowers
to be borne

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, issue 18, March 2007)

earth note 102

kayak cheating
drafting thru the lily pads
behind a dozen geese
snake-like
ripples kick up the carp
screwing in the shallows

by the time i returned for take-out
another goose rendezvous
readying for put-in
pecking shoreline heads
sift thru the grass
white bottoms in the air
wings drip
hot breeze

--- e b bortz

earth note 101

silt trail levee
delaware & susquehanna bowels
another coincidental
hundred-year flood
the piper gets paid
in unsecured
treasury notes

--- e b bortz

corporate personhood

ultimate oxymoron
contradiction epoch
bed of a theocrat
wedding rapture
flesh talkin armageddon

--- e b bortz

(published in split w*sky, December 2006)

earth note 100

marshall trail, pittsburgh

a good number of these stones
have been turned over
a thousand times

there's no record of this
beginnings often go unnoticed
but they look too smooth
to have gone untouched

a storm early this year
put a few hefty branches across the trail
my dog negotiates the path
of least resistance
obediently
i follow

the tent caterpillars have moved on
hemlock beech maple oak
have reclaimed the canopy
the monoculture forests up north
not so lucky
you know the lesson
of monocultures
but it doesn't hurt to repeat it

a few politicians wake up
to the new reality
but they're still debating
whether it will be
fire or ice
next time

our hands link back
to the stories & stones
that go unnoticed

--- e b bortz

(published in split w*sky, December 2006)

earth note 99

who can say which side
of the fine line
you're on
keeping low expectations
or being a cynic
reluctant tulips
sometimes cautiously open
on a dark day
is this a vote of confidence
or are they just covering their ass?

on flag day
can we wrap our wounds
with old glory
without fear
or should we be using
hoods & duct tape?

a guidance counselor
shuffles the deck
another dozen
head for boot camp

a few petals drop
the rest twist
a gray cloak hangs on the maples
across the road
in what should be
their deep green season

inhale
exhale
my cat makes it across the avenue again
tell yourself
you're not a cynic

--- e b bortz

earth note 98

first ninety degree day
breaks with a sweat
twenty year journey
cloudy imaginations
not unlike
that day landing back from thailand
in '89
so many promises broken
& yet
remaining so empty
'cept for a jingo july 4th
sun galloping toward dusty shadows
a dull beige of no distinction

(i remember tasting the mud of a river bottom
in better years)

now there's hesitancy
like a cautious fisher
surrounded in sharp black rock
immobile
only words
& crashing swells
tomorrow

--- e b bortz

advice to new graduates

learning how to kill
doesn't need to be
in your repertoire

i don't know much
about peacecorps
americorps
help america read
that college near you
or anything else
but it's got to be better
than camp lejeune
fort bragg
or life on a submarine
not a yellow one
but the cold gray steel ones
project oil war & empire maintenance

you don't need to accept this
but
your life means
live

--- e b bortz

(published in The New People, June 2006)

the revolutionary act of poetry

turns every mask inside out
so that we can see the imprint
from the scar tissue
the crooked teeth on broken smiles
the original lips
that kissed
a first lover
a tongue & nose
that still tastes
eyes & ears
without borders

there are no commodities exchanged
in the revolutionary act of poetry

--- e b bortz

migration is human nature

a right of passage
with a world of inequity
my litvak sisters
of the triangle shirt factory fire
my boot-maker undocumented grandfather
fleeing the czarist militarists
all shout at the border watchtower lights
nights of iron media fists
twist
in and out
of compromised human facades
abandoning their ancestral liberty
for the mantra of abandonment

we pick the cold sculptured stones
of immigrant stone masons
to weep with us
they did not listen then
we will not listen now

--- e b bortz

when the dollar really crashes

like kaput
like as recognized in
the "oil community"
such a sic dependency
guess it will be time
for me to start wearing
a wrist watch again
the wind-up kind
so i can see
the tics toward
the long winter
burning summer
our discontent not withstanding
nonetheless
our discontent a matter of record
for the journals
of the survivors

--- e b bortz

chant without walls

nu --- cle --- air
nu --- cle --- air
nu --- cu --- ler
no nuclear
if you have a desk
you can climb under it
or
you can join us in the streets

--- e b bortz

(published in The New People, May 2006)

recovering notes from the deep

north side pittsburgh circa 1965

cobblestones are hot in the summer
to the point of burning
with a touch
dropping fliers can be dangerous
scooping them up
as we did so many times
but not as dangerous as being ignored

jobs for youth wasn’t just a slogan
my friend ron L called me from cleveland
in the morning
to tell me that hough was jittery
youth without jobs ignored
he said

phyllis found herself that summer
on the north side for a project
with the words of the good doctor
w e b dubois in her rucksack
sixteen-year-old
rebel girls & boys
bureaucratic conformity
the dominating culture
street lights breaking shadows
on restless stoops
at midnight
rolling stones or maybe the marcels
booming from a radio
my hand touched her shoulder
but it wasn't noticed
that i was giving

the iron gates surrounding
downtown fathers
never opened
they told us to stop using jobs for youth
to incite unpatriotic restlessness
better watch who we associate with
didn't know at the time
we were the test bed
for fbi cointelpro
the old white men from grant street
just dispatched more red squad operatives

never said a word
as we turned in a thousand signatures
on the jobs for youth petition

hough exploded the next summer
manchester burned two summers later
phyllis went on to berkeley
the war spun death for many years
the conformists and apologists
ran out of excuses

i still touch the heat
of a cobblestone
when i get the chance

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, issue 20, Sept 2007)

earth note 97

spring
still falling down drunk
from last year's binge
swallowed up by
tsunamis
hurricanes
the buds are reluctant
to climb out of bed
sun hides most of the day
chills from a hollow winter
lacking commitment but
nonetheless refusing
to break the habit

--- e b bortz

earth note 96

israel september 1991

i asked a woman
at a crossroads cafe
frazzled in the morning crowd
how's the backroad to jerusalem
pointing to the map in my hand
my quebec campanions gazing through
a sunny front window
french whispers
our bicycles standing together
supporting each other in the courtyard
"many arabs in those villages"
she answered
how's the road i asked again
noticing the workers and customers
packed in at the little tables
rich brown hands and coffee
immersed in hebrew and arabic

only a few kilometers
from a monastery of winemakers
a shalom kibbutz of peacemakers
so how's the road
"i've never been on it"
she said

maps in israel
are purposely obscure
many roads without numbers
letting you wander forever
asking strangers
not that we minded

after a few kilometers of downhill
we turned on to a narrow asphalt road
a simple sign "395" and then a second one
something like 12 kilometers
with an uphill symbol
pine forests covering the hillsides
pushed us in and out of canopies
switchbacks
deep green vistas
rocky loose ends near the horizon

within a few thousand meters
we were all pushing our bikes
steep even for goats
an afternoon sun emptied our water
farmers with olive groves maybe
at the end of the climb?
one passing car in the past hour
we reached the village of zova
a barnyard full of chickens
a water hose offered in arabic
another voice tells us it's almost
rosh hashanah
i should of known that
we listened & drank for an hour
we had much to learn
a plateau in the nick of time

the last leg of the ride
brought us to the jasmine hostel
a crumbling beautiful stone house
in jerusalem
as the sun was setting
the common living room was quiet
a few german & dutch backpackers
in the kitchen
sharing their soup with us
we shared our stories

by midnight
she and i were still on the couch
sinking deeply into the over-stuffed pillows
her traveling mate snoring in the double bed
we needed to make for three
at some point
but right now
our bodies unraveled
merged with the smells
pine forests
chicken coops
cooperatives too extensive to explain here
a simple moment
no past no future

--- e b bortz

poetry without walls 2006

poster by
Adam Brodsky

where are the repentant nader bashers?

you know
the ones that were so quick
to escort the corporate lawyer
whores
forever staining
a voter’s right to choose
they need to drop all derivatives
of the word democracy
remove it from their oblique
identities

--- e b bortz


http://ballot-access.org/2006/03/02/nader-pennsylvania-hearing-2/

Wine & Wireless (plausible fiction)

Seven-day stubble on his face, a nasty northeast wind across West Park, a bottle of red wine in a bag…none of that seemed to take away his concentration from the wireless laptop perched on a park bench…his gaunt
body squatting cross-legged on the ground.

“Believable yet unbelievable, what they’re saying about 9-11,” his face squirming. “The Bushies were hoping for a disaster…anything to give them a pretext to go to war in the Middle East…the cradle of civilization.”

I listened as he nearly shouted out to anyone willing to listen.

“Where do they get this info…guess the information playing field really is leveling…they can only keep us in the dark so long…then it all comes apart…we‘ve been lied to so long we don‘t know what the truth looks like anymore…truth and reality will eventually drive all those bastards out of office.”

It wasn’t immediately apparent, but the guy was probably homeless. The plastic sack with clothes popping out of the top was something of a clue. And then he checked out the line forming for dinner at the Light of Life Mission
across the street…thirty deep already and still growing.

He shut down his computer and closed it up, handed me his red wine saying he couldn’t take that with him into the Mission, and then picked up his clothes bag and started walking.

Weather from the northeast is often like a backlash from conventional prevailing westerly winds. Maybe ideas work like that too.

--- e b bortz

earth note 95

northside pittsburgh

march winds in february
warmest in history
a gutted house with plywood
flaps
the backend of perrysville avenue
a man hides with shadows
desolation eyelids
sees a breakup of cumulus
moving east to the beat
broken drumbeat
promises deceit
the shakers of high politics
say we'll clear out
all the rubble
after the election

--- e b bortz

afternoon in e minor

montreal

winter grey on the riviere des prairies
soupy fog hanging low
bending over and blanketing
the snowy sheet of river ice
staggering downstream
to the emptiness
of the north atlantic

lover and i warm our minds
join our hearts
as the bach lutenist
brings in the late afternoon
sunset

--- e b bortz

(published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)

there were dreams in america

before corporations had
their faces plastered
on baseball stadiums
public school lunchrooms
prisons
an encoding of our dna for
private profit
public ‘input’ has become nothing more
than particulars
bought and sold on the world focus market
reported on the news hour

i used to dream most nights
(i dunno maybe it's me)
decades before fallujah was phosphorus bombed
by my american dreamkeepers
years before arnold pontius pilate schwarzenegger
put stanley tookie williams to death
where is the justice in death?

dreams in america
were built in communities
public forests
main streets where people actually
gathered spoke
acting out
social animals that we are
how did we let it slip away
into the grime of a strip mall
at a freeway exit?

reclaim the dream
(a mission if you choose to accept)
is a new group
in your town or hamlet
take it and don’t let it get bought
by phonies in deep pockets
sometimes the loudest scream
is that voice inside of you

--- e b bortz

(published in The New People, May 2006)

tapi river, surat thani thailand

thin golden hands
whip the clothes and rocks
together
pounding soil
back to the river bottom
she wheels around quick
to see the scraped knees
crawling crying sunbrown face
hungry
she's a rescuer
wet cool arms wrap
cradle rock
brown river water
splashing
soothing

an orange sun ducks
behind bright green rubber trees
fishing boats buzz away
fade out
downstream toward the gulf
rhythmic lapping laces
a silty riverbank
droopy and glassy-eyed
the crying stops

she slips the whimpering body
into her backpouch
and carries on

--- e b bortz

(published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)

departure

she drove away fast and direct
across the frozen river
as i squinted
into the winter sunrise
yearning half-expecting
the warmth to rescue me inside

it never did

--- e b bortz

(published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993)

chaos

red and green kites break free
above the yellow haze
watching the river han
labor toward kanghwado island
swirling gray seoul city sludge
convulsions heaving swallowing
spitting

the sun gasps and races to sanctuary behind a cloud

--- e b bortz

published in Voices of a Wanderer, 1993

earth note 14

continental divide northern minnesota

fifteen miles west of bear river
snow squall white-out
a beat up ski trail adds confusion
wind chill angst face
looking for direction
no rich orange signs on white birch
no guide through the valley of peat bog tamaracks
crusty frozen lakes
silent arms of a norway pine
jump out to touch our poles
with the message that we're lost
ducking beneath an outcrop boulder cluster
layered in green moss felt-like & frozen
looking for landmarks
there are none
snow-mask goddess gives up no clues

can't be still in the beauty of the moment
with zero degrees fahrenheit
sweat begins to chill
we replace body fluids with snow
deciding to backtrack
moving to stay warm
intense with every possible detail
a ribbon or paint spot
a piece of trail not yet covered
we stop at another downhill
staying along the ridge
breathe the vista
poplar magic
honor the goddess with silence
maybe coax the white-out into giving up

a peak late afternoon sunray
shoots arrows through storm clouds
our bearings
an unselfish eastward pointer
to the road

--- e b bortz

when the soil of kosovo and serbia is plowed

the new crop will be
herbs
bitter from refugees left behind
by the ottomans
the milosevics
a mother's anguish in korisa and belgrade
dying kosovar gunmen
cannon fodder serbian policemen
nato firebombers refueling
for the next millenium
the chemistry of imbalance that preys only
on the weak
power relationships that claim
the unique human quality
hatred
all to itself
no other specie
can claim hatred
it's ours

where is the living human shield
of conscience
in every desperate village shadow
where is the weapon of love?

assemble at the border!
[the pope, the dalai lama, grand ayatollas,
a wailing wall of talmud scholars, mystical healers,
rainbow and forest people
believers in the land we cohabitate
poets still lost in their own devices]

time to step
over the line

--- e b bortz
(1999)

earth note 94

ochlockonee river, florida

right near the outlet of the dead river
flowing into the ochlockonee
an audio burst of songbirds
jump out from a patch of cypress
mad songbirds not sure about tomorrow
kayaks rolling in the confluence
strong thanksgiving day winds
straightening your back in the cockpit
who would of thought a ‘dead’ river
would lead to this?

at the park restrooms
a transvestite sat alone
in her texas pickup truck
not sure where to go next
not sure her kids wanted
to see her on the holidays
shiny black heels
and an electrician’s tool belt
deep lines in her face
questions without answers

over at the next campsite
two women and a man sang hymns
every possible acclamation of jesus
plastered on their rv
clearly giving them the inside track
to salvation

the storms held off
for several more days
the songbirds went quiet
or maybe just moved on

--- e b bortz

what was left

after death
the doors were all opened
we could all see
tears drowning
in poison
vein of injustice
vinegar on the crucifix
pontius pilate closing doors

--- e b bortz

(published in The City Poetry, issue 18, March 2007)

earth note 63

for the timber wolf

arctic wind
the fury of opening pandora's box
snowflakes & distant dreams
land of outdoor saunas
frozen lakes
the woosh of cross country skis on sub-zero snow
poplar tamarack white birch
so dense
you lose all secondary thoughts
think only of the gift
a breathing canopy

snowshoe rabbit echoes a quarter-mile
body of trees touch
what's rich inside of you

lakes hard in december
blueness of the sky
a blue too blue to be ignored
partitioned
or grayed

a land chooses those chosen
to live
molding their grace
with the wild

--- e b bortz

media urination

this is not a test
judith miller decided to stand
and piss all over the seat
now we sit in it
as usual
it will be
poor people cleaning it up

--- e b bortz

earth note 30

cross country skiing
great north woods minnesota
a snowmobile shreds
a perfect white trail
white pine trembles in decibels

--- e b bortz

earth note 54

snow dust too light to pack
cavities of the street
exposed endings
bold deep asphalt rifts
anonymous black & white pieces hide
naked
wind swept
broom broad lines like brushes
gutter overflow
piling up like the white sands of new mexico
(i remember duststorms in alamogordo)
cold white darkness just before dawn

--- e b bortz

union station chicago

latina burdened in backpack
snug against her small body
a journey just begun
sad eyes
ambivalence
lips tight
cheekbones and chin
standing tall

--- e b bortz

earth note 93

pittsburgh to chicago on the capitol (capital?) limited

efficiency of the steel rail
when finished & true
and separated from the human hand
is most elegant
if left alone
add humans and trains
it becomes less elegant
less efficient
still better than concrete wastelands
but add in the transport
of tanks & oil tankers
it becomes...
delivers our nemesis
darkness

--- e b bortz