The Greatest

I heard that they’ve picked who’s the athlete, today;
The greatest of all in the Cent’ry they say,
He’s black, so they say we’ve come quite a long way,
    But, I knew it way back when.

The first time I quite lost all sight of his hand
I knew a redeemer had come to the land
And joined his supporters, the tiniest band,
    Of wond’ring, applauding men.

We floated like butterflys over the noise,
And stung like quick bees all the quarreling boys.
The world was but one of our glorious toys --
    A ring of power, then.

And, now, looking back at the land of the free
I’m proud of us all Constitutionally.
No fear in this trembling!  He trembles with glee!
He fought like a tiger for he and for thee,
As Cassius and then as Muhammed Ali.
And, now all the experts have picked him, Ooohwee!,
The greatest? The greatest athlete?  Don’t you see?
    Bullshit!  American Man!
    The Greatest of Content … the end!

                           --- copyright 1998, Larry Leonard
 

In Defense of Trout

Exported to a pale
Beyond which lies
A netherworld of anglers
Who find  hooks
In their food; where
He that liveth by
The baited barb
Shall die by
The baited barb.

                           --- copyright 1998, Larry Leonard
 

The times, they are not a-changing

Ah, the Persian, Darius, who sent
His armies to the plains of Marathon,
Plighting his eternal wrath to lovers
                        of freedom.

What’s new?

Now Saddam, a new neighbor of old Darius
Sends his children before him, to face flights
From the political descendants of
   the old Greeks.
A new coward to match the old coward,
And new Heros to match the old Heros!
        Marathon!
Fight on, children of freedom,
Or be enslaved.

                            --Copyright 1998, Larry Leonard

Explanatory note:  Darius was the King of  the Persian Empire, a few hundred years before the birth of Christ.  He sent his hordes against the upstart Greek democracy of Athens, and harvested shame in battle against the world’s first free men.  Marathon was one of the great battle locations.
 
 

To her

Love is the westwind with its burden of spring,
Whispers of futures alive in each thing
         And promises only a fool would believe.
Love is the southwind, a bower of  July;
Thick leaves and dark shade, and warm nights that crawl by,
         And promises only a fool would believe.
Love's the sad eastwind, soothsayer of fall,
The trav'ler in mooncloak, his trails dark halls
         And promises only a fool would believe.
Then love the old northwind comes glacial and shrill;
Full of memories distant and frozen and still;
         Memories only a fool would believe!
Yet foolish I am, and foolish will be
Believing that love awaits silly old  me.
        Even foolish and silly and lonely old me.

                            --- Copyright 1998, Larry Leonard