In Light of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine and the Video of Children being buried in Mass Graves .
A Ticket to the Fair
(For the rededication of the Statue of Liberty 1986)
I dream that my manuscript of poetry
will be my ticket to fair
so that I could
look into the eyes of
all of the who’s who of the they’s
that will be there.
So that I could yell,
“Set the Children Free”.
The name of Steamboat Springs is thought to have originated around the early 1800s when French trappers thought they heard the chugging sound of a steamboat’s steam engine. The sound turned out to be a natural mineral spring, to be named the Steamboat Spring.
In 1909, the railroad arrived, which sparked a boom for the commercial industry in Steamboat Springs. Ranching was the primary industry of the valley and the cattle ranchers turned the new railroad depot into one of the largest cattle shipping centers of the West. Consequently, the construction of the railroad silenced the Steamboat Spring’s chugging noise forever.
Written for the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics
Fresh Powder Down
A blinding blizzard beckons me into Steamboat Springs.
I arrive on the last greyhound from Vail.
My pockets full of snowflakes, a lonesome geyser’s whistle wails.
Always hiding, never tears to a cowboy’s eye.
Lord don’t let me be forsaken, the Baron’s have already taken
America by rail.
My darling I grow weary often lost without a home
but you know I’ll keep on searchin these mountain trails alone.
I wander through green valleys across the prairies, past the villages, farms and fields,
out beyond the concrete illusions where the Rocky Mountains pierce the aqua skies.
I find solace in the seclusion of another winter’s season, another place to ski,
as long as he will lay fresh powder down for me.
While you seek your fortune or search the world for fame,
be careful what you wish for, because when darkness falls upon you,
you’ll be wailing out his name.
Ski through barren aspens, see the forests through the pines,
sitting on my golden perch, am I crying out in vain?
Sometimes you awake to find, you get what you need,
other times you take what you can get,
it is from the children that, they take everything.
My gift is in my words, and for the children I’ll let them ring.
Go and tell everyone, silence is a snowflake falling,
until they hear me calling, to all the children I will sing.
Never take the last of anything.
These day’s I’m a city, pretty girl painted, street wizard in his poems.
My freedom most men will never know, never have been wary of wooden box labels,
fabled to contain rainbows.
Someday when their hair turns grey, their youth will have faded away,
with the colors that lost their shine.
The all American Gazebo Band plays behind, the new red white and corporate blue,
flag that flies against the changing hues.
Another rock opera story, of old glory and an American town without it’s name.
Somewhere in time, the poet’s rhyme, makes a cosmic connection,
Then the Seer Sayers arrive in stages, and history endures the ages.
A simple man with dreams beyond the Appletree Lane.
He sees a sunrise within her eyes.
And the hobo dude plays Howard Hughes, attempting to fill Dylan’s shoes,
to find out why they came.
But in disgrace, he falls from grace, to find success is not what they claim.
Listen Children to a thorn bird shrilly singing,
this truth you’ve heard, from a poet and his strings.
Of Mountains and Men (2010 For Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada: Winter Olympics)
Albert Bianchine
The Hanuman Chalisa Tutorial, Music By Krishna Das
English Translation And Story Animation
