Quotes about patton, page 21
You can buy reffer
You can buy reffer
In Civil Center Park
Across the street
From the state capital
In Denver.
The capital in the 80s
Was a cruising spot.
This is how bold
Gays can be
When they put
Their backs into it.
In matters of the wedding ring
Only the selfish
Will bring themselves to deny
What by love
Should be tied
An affirmation
Of the love
We hold
Need be bounded
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poem by David E. Patton
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You Sho Do Treat Me Good, Baby
You sho do treat me good baby
Treat me good mow that I’m gone
I say you sho do treat me good baby
So good now that I’m gone
I remember when I was around baby
You ran me right into the ground
Now I passed away four days ago baby
And now looking from my heavenly home
I see you crying at my formal baby
Crying like life done done you wrong
O girl, you’re just to demn good to me baby
Too, too good now that I’m gone
If’n I was back down there with you baby
You would be kicking- kicking me all over town.
All my friends I see there baby
Partying hardy at my wake
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poem by David E. Patton
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Tenacious baby boys
Tenacious baby boys
Clenching and unclenching their fists
A rehearsal for the fight of warriors to be
The radiance of baby boys drooling warm milk
The bedazzlement of baby boys bold in their skin
Baby boys of the tom-tom
Baby boys of the silent drums
Baby boys taking the giant steps of first walk
First word of their throats holy full of hallelujah
Boys benevolent and young playing with their snares
In Africa and on the reservation
Baby boys who shall become executioners of the young
When watching someone die is routine in black neighborhoods
Baby boys of the wounded heart without fathers
Baby boys marvelous in their redness and blackness
Fraternal sons of empire builders
Baby boys sabotage by their lost fathers
Locked in the lower-class jails of their despair.
Baby boys of the slums that raise them
And shall come to betray them by a warm gun.
poem by David E. Patton
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Who Is This God Fellow And What's The Reason Why
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet
When he thought to cry
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Dose he never leave the gated community
Of his heaven in the sky.
Who is this God fellow
And what is his gig
It seems to me that he and his priest
Got the whole damn thing rigged
Is he a prince or a pauper a pusher or a pimp
That dose his jealous thing reveal
To me while I smoke a bit of hemp.
Who is this God fellow
Is he married to human by the power of a prayer
And why is it that he should even care
Who is this God fellow and what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet when he thought to cry
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poem by David E. Patton
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A Private Matter.
This may be a Prıvate matter:
But no Generals died today.
Many of their aides,
Guaranteed them medals
When they suggested.
As long as they
Did their war-planning;
İn the office,
That “car-bombs, ” would be the least
Of their military worries, in Iraq
İf, the action part of the plan
Was delegated, to 'gung-ho' enlisted men
Drafted to do it.
News from Washington says:
Too many Prıvates,
Seeking 'medals of honor, ' in 2011
Are too willing to die.
For their country
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poem by Ronald Stroman
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Man sent a machine
Man sent a machine
Made by his own hands
Hubble out into the universe
The tool maker
Physical manipulation
Dense nerves
Appendaegble digits
Opposable thumbs
Of primates that makes man an animal
Interphalaged articulation
Man move all but the mountain
Which are the dictates of nature’s
That will not reveal to man’s eyes
The dimensions that makes up life
The strings that binds complex and delicate
In the animal organs.
Man’s muscle belly of his forearm intrinsic.
Medico-legal practice determines sex by hands.
Hubble spectrograph man’s metal eyes.
Man microsecond mechanism quantum.
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poem by David E. Patton
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Bastogne
The longest darkness of the year
comes as Christmas is drawing near.
We dug and cursed the frozen ground
The snow was deep, more coming down.
We are surrounded and outgunned.
We’re short of food and winter gear.
Medicines are running out
and we have scores of wounded here.
I do believe my feet are frozen
I can no longer feel my toes.
But still I will not leave the line
What I ‘d give for a cuppa joe.
The sounds of Panzers in the wind-
Shouts heard in a guttural tongue-
We brace for yet one more attack
and vow we won’t be overrun.
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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From Life's Cold Tenderness
From life’s cold tenderness
I shall be refreshed
From the shut-out hence of a heart at rest
That live to contentment
Love is mine
Close, close in arms
A song to any stranger that may come.
In me the battle for love is won
The unfading eye of April’s face
Is stranded by an uncertain grace
The spirit that dies for want of love
Is bold in the love that rise above
Safe on the lofty design of heaven
As it drunk on wine it whisper never
The drunkenness of once done as wind with its motion never stayed
to blow too much never afraid.
Out the breath of a joy of lust
It stays its rough wild among
The playing of celestial fires that trust
Like keys of some great belonging wired if it would
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poem by David E. Patton
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Snowing In St. Louis
Today I ate some snow
And I don’t mean
That I did blow.
I restrict myself to weed and rum & coke
Chased with a colt 45.
What is it to get high?
It takes a certain constitution to endure it.
Not all survive it
Some are forever chasing the high
Never enough to be satisfied
You can see it in their eyes.
Heron I have never tried
But once I did tried crack
But found the high
Not worth the cost
The snow has change to sleet
Making pin point sounds in the streets
Covered with the preverbal blanket
That covers everything.
There are foot prints to tell where strangers went
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poem by David E. Patton
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
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poem by David E. Patton
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