valley of democracy no. 14

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by rawclyde

!

My faith is so thin, my reality so gnarled

with visions unoriginal, with only those borrowed

from books that I’ve read, when at the horizon I peer

what do I see?  A frosty can of cold beer

~

Across the vast land I roll in a truck

water is everywhere and with it good luck

I never have to bed down in a dark cave

and when things get too hairy I simply shave

~

The Indians of old had a hard time without rain

now they have wells & pour it all down the drain

they used to be thin like stalks of dry corn

now they’re fat like the White Man whom some still try to scorn

~

White, red, black or purple, it’s a human being trait

to be kind of stupid whether you’re hip or you’re straight

since I sell books I know this for a fact

most folks would rather buy gas and a cold six-pack

~

My faith is so thin, my reality so gnarled

with visions unoriginal, with only those borrowed

from books that I’ve read, when at infinity I peer

what do I see?  A cold can of frothy beer

…

(copyright clyde collins 1999)

~

valley of democracy no. 13

~

smiling camel & friends arrive!

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~

VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY NO. 12

rawclyde

!

Strolling around on the creosote plains of forever

crunching dry turf, snapping dry twigs in my endeavor

to be swallowed up by the desolation and pure blue sky

of this stark land that, like a homerun, hits me in thee eye

~

I’m no cowboy chasing cattle nor an Indian planting corn

I’m just the strolling aftermath seeking to be reborn

dead ashes of a camper’s campfire melting into the grit

the wink of a motionless lizard just before she up n’ split

~

The wind plays a tune upon the piano of my fear

that thee American Dream has left me alone standing here

wondering why it doesn’t seem worth pursuing anymore 

such a pretty thing & such an expensive whore

~

Well, be it as it may, a swift tiny jet way up, way up there

has a big rumble that the pilot is oh so willing to share

with the lone drifter drifting in the creosote bush way way down below

i crink my neck and spot the jet and wave, “hello hello hello!”

…

from a love song to the american lizard

(copyright clyde collins 1999)

valley of democracy no. 11

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by rawclyde

!

It’s a hard hot wind up from Mexico way

blowin’ clouds of dust all over the place today

a buzzard shoots by like a bullet in the sky

an ant tumbles over the ground, oh my oh my

~

The shrine doors are open n’ with rope tied down

the caretaker is waitin’ for anyone to come around

but all that drops by is a fly or two or three

maybe he’ll try giving all Her books away for free

~

Everyone is spending their welfare checks some other place

a tear rolls down the caretaker’s wind weary face

there’s three dollars left in his pocket and nothing else to do

but write this sad rhyme that is only half true

~

It’s a mean lonely wind up from Mexico way

blowin’ tears of woe all over the place today

maybe I’ll close up Her shrine and just disappear

oh what the hell, think I’ll go buy me a cold cold beer

…

(copyright clyde collins 1999)

valley of democracy no. 10

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by rawclyde

!

Vladimir Lenin has somehow transfigured into a buzzard in this desert land

and so has Elmer Gantry, the professional (by Sinclair Lewis) good man

together they glide in lazy circles above the tiny town of Why

where I’ve parked Holy Mary’s shrine beneath this “wasteland”s sky

~

They’re peaceful creatures tipping now and then as they glide in the air

feeding on the dead, I suppose, when I don’t see them around up there

once one starved a lot of peasants, the other fooled a lot of folks

down below, I roll cigarettes, light ’em and enjoy my coffin-nail tokes

~

Holy Mary, I believe, wouldn’t mind appearing in a peasant’s vision

but in the United States, ha! we only believe in subtraction and addition

the subtraction of God & thee addition of money in the bank

plus dope and television and nobody upstairs to humbly thank

~

Except the buzzards, Vladimir & Elmer, oh and here comes Harry

Harry?  Where’d he come from?  Oh no!  Also here comes Gary

there’s all kinds of buzzards around here but I see no road kill

and out of the pure blue appears a real beauty whose name is Jill

~

Well, it’s good to know there’ll be no funeral expenses when I go

it’s good to know I’ll nourish some o’ God’s creatures at my final show

they’re so peaceful, they don’t bother anybody, don’t make a sound

I’ll just have one more cup of coffee as they peacefully glide around

…

(copyright clyde collins 1999)