Bob Dylan and the ghost of Leonard Cohen
Sitting shivah on short stools
Yarmulke pinned to gray curly hair
Mourning Yossef’s son,
Who got in trouble with the law
Questioning authority
Challenging the establishment
Threatening the status quo.
Low murmured Hebrew and Yiddish,
Swaying like reeds on the sea,
Thoughts linger of sandle-less Socrates,
Served a hemlock cocktail
By the powerful men of Athens,
Condemned to die
For the high crime
Of corrupting the youth
By teaching them
To think for themselves.
The times are changing,
Time is nothing but change:
A rolling river that’s never
The same.
Leonard sits shivah
In the lotus position
Meditating mind breaths
And beneficent Buddha nature,
Serene smile thinking of
The high born privileged prince
Slowly discovering the three fold
Reality of the common world,
Informing the high born
Priests, warriors, and kings
That their stratified social system
Is a mind made illusion
Just like everything else they see.
Socratic Stoic Jews breaking bread
With Benedict Spinoza
Recalling the ship of Citium
Wrecked on the Grecian shore
Near Athens.
Loitering in Hellenic bookstores
Discovering the wise words of Socrates
That hemlock couldn’t kill,
Following the dogs to the porch,
Writing philosophical prescriptions
To alleviate the suffering
Of ill flowing lives.
After seven days
Bob and Lenny
Return the cushions to the chairs,
And uncover the bathroom mirror
As sunlight bursts through
A beat-up Venetian blind.
4/10-4/12/18
My 12th poem for National Poetry Writing Month.
Love it! Thank you 🙂
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Great way to merge history and poetic elegance. I would love to see you over at my blog sometimes. Feel free to browse around and let me share your thoughts in the post comments.
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Thank you. I will definitely check your blog out.
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You’re welcome! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts.
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Brilliant piece, John.
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Thank you, -Eugenia!
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Love this John!
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Thank you, Christine! I wasn’t sure about it, but I rarely am 😉
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Oh, I know that feeling all too well John!
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I had a feeling you’d understand. It seems to be common among writers and artists. My wife is the same way. She’ll paint the most amazing picture, or create an incredible piece of pottery and always be like “Are you sure it’s good?”
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