O Mavourneen Maureen

Some have told me, even one or two that have sworn they were whiskeyless as well as hempless at the time they saw it with their VERY own eyes, that when the goddess Brighid deigns to appear to a mere mortal she often manifests as a woman with one side of her face a maid & the other a crone.

Others have told me tales of the grand Granuaile, swearing that EVERY detail was as true, or at least truthy, as the very Internet itself. Of how when yet young, lovely, & lusty, she literally & figuratively picked up her shipwrecked boy-toy sailor from the beach. How like an Irish she-wolfhound, bloodthirstily tracked & killed the cur-wolves that later murdered him.

Then of how, years later, at Social Security age, fierce as a lioness protecting her cubs, she sailed her ship boldly across the seas & up the Thames to the palace at Greenwich to demand the release of her sons. Refusing to bow to Queen Bess, for Elizabeth was not HER queen, nor Ireland’s either. With cold steel tucked in her bodice or her garter, or perhaps both, in case more than a gentle persuasion was called for. What could a mere queen of England do, when faced with the determined fire & ire of an Irish mither, but release the lads?

When I recall these tales, whether of the shining goddess of unquenchable flame-spirit or of the Sea Queen of Connacht, Herself ’tis I picture, when flame tressed, eyes Eire green, she was Queen of the Technicolor Screen, yes, but also, when just last year, she flew boldly across the seas – or was it the plains – & took her overdue Oscar like a still feisty & fearless Granuaile from the hands of Hollywood’s – not hers – reigning royalty. Like the fiery red-gold goddess of the silver screen she STILL was.

Maureen O’Hara

August 17, 1920 – October 24, 2015

The most beautiful Irish woman (i.e. the most beautiful woman period) – correction, LADY – Errol Flynn ever got to kiss. Or Tyrone Power. Or Hank Fonda. Ditto the Duke. And what’s more, ye boyos and colleens, the only guy who could throw or take a punch better than any or all of them put together.

Still from Against All Flags, http://filmaddictconfessions.blogspot.com/

O’Malley the Pirate Queen of Connacht?

Or O’Hara the Queen of the Technicolor Screen?

You Decide.


My Twaiku Tribute

A Poem Of Unequinox

Young women. Old men should know better.
But at least one god made a fool of himself in this way too.
Or rather makes. Over & over.
Year after year. Again & again.

And this One’s summer is that One’s winter. Just ask One. From Down Under.

Demeter keens


Her tears fall and fall in Fall

the leaves of trees

Half a turn

’twill be the turn of


December 21st is the winter solstice, an unequinox. Every year at that time, according to many of the tellings, She begins her long, round trip journey. It is where this poem begins & ends, begins & ends, again, again.

Persephone By Thomas Hart Benton






Persephone sits wan on Hade’s throne

He is old and cold

Lifeless surrounded, smothered, she is alone

Yearns wold, Stay nold


Like a sunflower sun turning for like young burning

but buried alive inside she soundless screams

Azureless vault, Munch, and suttee

Guinevere, are these to be her adharma’s themes?

She shall be free!


Like a doe, like a peregrine, like a feline Kore queen

To, not from, to flee

Life, laughter, love, sun and shine, see, be seen

Fly tracklessly


Hades sits alone his throne. Joylessly, jealously, Persephone

Hoarded like Fáfnir’s gold

Lies buried alive in memory, his misery miserly

Whealed, old, corpse cold


Hades and Persephone by Ashramart http://ashramart.deviantart.com/

Pomegranate Seeds

For The Otaku Veela Her Own Elf Self

Photo of 6 pomegranate seeds by Prathyush Thomas Wikimedia Commons




Vive Le Troubadour!

Once upon a time a long time ago when kings would die

And the scepter passed to another’s hand,

The crown another’s head,

The herald would cry, “The king is dead!”


“Long live the king!”


Pete Seeger shall no longer sing.

The Troubadour is dead.

Who shall now take up his griot’s kora lute?

The Machine That “Surrounds Hate and Forces It to Surrender?”

That is the question.

As needful of an answer, in practical terms, as “building a boat to save the river.”

We have created a toxic environment of mass extinctions.

Is his rare breed another one to be added to the list?

Where have all the troubadours gone?

When will we ever learn?

The Troubadour is dead.

But, in a larger sense, he, unlike temporal kings,

Who wielded corporeal power,

Ceos today amassing, misusing, corporate power,

He whose spirit was so fused and interinfused with that of his music that they are one,

That troubadour cannot die,

Not as long as someone, sometime, somewhere, everywhere


His songs, our songs, of joy and sorrow,

Or hums them, even off-key, as they do the wash or clear the fields.

If he, pragmatically optimistic, is right about our chances as a species,

He will live,  speak, longer than Halliburton, Monsanto,

Or those other corporate (so-called by SCOTUS) persons.

Long after the BOA Pencil has crumbled to graphite

He “shall not perish from the earth.”

And when we, as all things must,

Finally fall and fail, our kind dust,

Who is not to say that some far star singer,

From Vega say,

May pluck from the aether his spirit, his troubadour’s song,

And (if heShe has a mouth and vocal chords)

Sing along?

The Troubadour is not dead.

Long Live the Troubadour!

        Pete Seeger May 3, 1919 – January 27, 2014

                                    Photo of Pete’s Machine is from Pete Seeger’s YouTube site

The Only True Honor

Some die in battle.
Some later, of their wounds. Some, years later.
Not all their wounds are of the body.
Nor their deaths. Nor all their battles in the field.


For Saavedra, Michael Anthony, once of the USN.


@ NCVRC, 4th Av, off Humboldt Bay, CA



2 Vets
1 Nam
1 Mid E
Both said pretty much the same

There was no honor in our battles
In them
Or awarded

Our Victories too few & hard fought won
False Purposed

Our losses too many, too much to bear


2 Addicts
1 Alkie
1 Junkie
@ 0500
Both rise & tarnish
Bright & surly
Strive, struggle, stumble, sometimes fall, too often fail
Each new same-o day


Their losses are crosses not carried
Save by self

There are no victories
Save of self
Too few & hard fought won

There is no honor in their battles
Save self awarded in the mirror

Each new ending day


Memorial Day 2013
Across the South Bay from Tuluwat


Celebrations ‘n’ Barbies ‘n’ Burgers R Part of It
Like Laughter @ a Wake
But Pause A Sec’ ‘n’

Remember To Remember


Highway 101 Sign Source: Wikimedia Commons, contributed by User SPUI
Navy Bugler Photo Source: American Press Association. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Hillbilly Hip Hop 9-11 Rap

In 2002 I was invited along with 9 other Tucson poets & one lone but lovely singer / songwriter to “caravan” on up to Prescott, AZ & perform at the now-defunct “Mad Linguist” poetry cafe. This was about a month after the first anniversary of 9/11 and my poem was a hillbilly hip hop doggerel rant about that event. This is a video of that performance. Not claiming it’s Shakespeare, or even Rod McKuen, but it was & still is pretty much is how I honestly feel about those who crossed the waters that dark day. And we who yet remain. Caveat: There is a cuss word or three in the poetry.


Here is another performance of it from 2004:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUkfvya_Hq4   (Part1)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syeU1GWH8_4 (Part2)

The text of the poem is below:

5-5-5-5 8-0-8-7 20001 15560 neinOneWon

(About the title:

5-5-5-5 8-0-8-7:


20001 is the Zip Code for DOD, Pentagon

15560 is the Zip Code for  Shanksville, PA)

Years from now
Our Children
Our Children’s Children

What’s gonna be their 411 on 911?

No one won?

See ‘nein’ in German  is ‘no’
So  911 means No One Won

Tiddly Boom

I know it’s a dumbass pun
But check it out

Lotta people think I’m some kinda Orange Sunshine
Purple Haze Electric Kool-Aid flashback fucked up
Moonbeam spaced out peace n free love
Long haired hippy dippy trippy nappy tie dyed in the wool
Stoned stuck in the 60s deadhead acid head
Flower power Fab Furry Freaaaak-

And part a me is


I’m also a shit kickin ass kickin
Trailer trash white trash white litenin
Swamp rat redneck rockabilly hillbilly
Hardheaded hotheaded copperheaded hellrasin troublemakin
Rebel Son-

Like once upon a time
I was  hangin with my pards
A walkin with Johnny and talkin with his buddy Weiser
Blowin buddha in the bong
And snortin junk
They was getting lively and loud

But me
I was getting Mean n Evil Drunk

There was this Scooby Doo see
I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me

Maybe cuz he was slow n ugly
And I’m fast and pretty

Maybe cuz he was fat n dumb n sloppy n mean
And I’m cunning keen, lean n clean
And just like Shaft a Sex Machine
(Can u dig it?)

Mebbe cuz we wuz two javelinas a flexin at the same trough
Who knows?
There’s just sump’n about you that pisses me off!
(That’s what God told Job when he asked why)
Regardless I decided right that night that motherfucker would die

I played that bama so slick so sly
First off I made sure he snorted, smoked and swallowed three to my one
Then I did some passive-aggressive gaming on his ass
Now that’s always fun

Like he’d brag about how fine she was
That squeeze o’ his
And I’d say
“Yeah, the whole hood knows how fine she is!”

Like a cook not supposed to be a watching the pot
I could see him simmer, then boil, then burn
And I just sat there gloating
Awaitin my turn

Then he jumped up
Called me a name crass n fescennine
Said sump’n about my Mama – downright obscene!
Then he threw his square, a chair, and his ashtray my way
That’s when I knew I had ‘im by his middle leg
So I lit the match to the powder keg –

I smiled at him

This here smug n snide sissified smartass circle jerk smirk
That drives ‘em all berserk

Friends n enemies – and women!
Teachers n principals n cheerleaders
And first sergeants n second lieutenants – and women !
And bosses and exes and po-licemen n –
Did I say women?

Like a  puppet on a string
I had him played
He pulls out this knife
With a seven, eight, nine inch serrated blade

Floppin around like a fish outta wata’
A tryin’ to do the wild thang
A wavin’ it around like it was his wang
Or the flag
Or the ol’ lady’s finger

That there’s when I reached on down and whipped it on out
My own little hummer dinger

My teeny tiny two inch

Ladies it’s little
But it’s got a bodacious zinger of a stinger
And it’s chrome plated!

Right about then
Like some a’ y’all
That Charley McCarthy began to see the light
You don’t bring a knife to a gun fight

Cuz the kinda poker that wuz bein’ played
Where the stakes done been raised to shade, then fade
A barrel trumps a blade
So I had it made
In the shade
A sippin lemonade
No – Kool-Aid – Electric Kool-Aid!

That big ol’ bad boy froze like a popsicle
Once he wuz lookin in on the tips a’ my nickel
His jaw dropped like a prisoner on the gallows
Set to swing on a string
The color left his face
Like dirty water down the drain
In the spring

His eyes went wide as they looked into mine
As I eased that hammer back
Savorin’ them seconds like sips a’ moonshine

I’d gamed that mark so smooth so fine
Gotten him to insult me
Insult my momma!
Assault me
And now he’d pulled a weepon on me
(“Why that there’s Deadly Force Your Honor!”)

And here I’d been sooo nice all evenin’ long
I had not even raised my voice to him!

And I gotta tell ya’
To do something PURE evil
With absolute moral, legal, and social justification
Why that there jubilatin’, exultating sense of exaltation
That’s a more seductive temptation
Than the gyratin’ n oscilatin’
Osculation fornicatin excitation of a stripper
In a push-up lacy bra n a g-string
When your jock’s packing a rocket
And the rent money’s in your back pocket!

And then –

The bulls busted in yellin “Fa-Reeze!”
Well we all of us ended up taking a little vacation in the CC Hotel
(That there’s the Cook County Jail)
And though that’s not the main gist of my drift
That there too’s a little lesson to be learned
From this tale that I’ve spun regarding that pun

See, things turned out different from both his and my plan
Someone dropped a dime to 911
And no one won!

But time out
Fa-reeze frame!

You don’t get to pick who you love
Who or what breaks your heart
N’ brings on the blues and the sad

And in the same way
You don’t get to pick what makes you feel
Guilty or bad

I knew in my head all along that pullin’ that piece
Was not all that right – or bright!
But in my heart
This is what keeps me from sleepin’ at night

Maybe cuz  I’m a shit kickin ass kickin
Trailer trash white trash white litenin
Swamp rat redneck rockabilly hillbilly
Hardheaded hotheaded copperheaded hellrasin troublemakin
Rebel Son-of-a-Bitch

Or maybe cuz I’m a hippy dippy trippy furry Freaaaak-O-vitch

I ain’t really sure which

Everybody in my life
Ev- ery- bod -y
Even my own little daughter
My nappy haired  baby girl
I’d let down n’ hurt
Or they had me
Mostly both
Ceptin’ mah Grammy Pearl

She looked the Gramm-eye too
China blue sky eyes
Snow angel white hair
The biggest, billowiest pillowiest’ Pillsbury doughiest bosom n’ thighs
Sittin in her rockin chair
Me n Baby Sis’d climb up on her lap
For a story just afore nap
Time hour
Grammy smellin’ a’ lilac n lavender
Bakin powder n’ flour

And o my! Grammy’s Jammy Tarts
Each of ‘em baked with a piece of Grammy’s heart
In shapes of shamrocks n’ stars n’ whatnot
Y’all may go for that there Cubism
But them tarts – That’s what I call art!

She’d put em out on the back porch to cool
And me n’  Baby Sis – we’d steal a couple each
(And a’ course one more for me)
Then grammy’d go “You chillun’ know who done stole summa’ my Jammy Tarts?”

I’d poke Baby Sis in the ribs n’ lie, just like Bart, “Noooo!”
Shakin my head
Like one a ‘them bouncy doggies or hula dancers  in a back car window

And Grammy
Well she was way too much of a lady and full of the social graces
To ever comment upon or let on that she had noticed
Those tell-tale traces of jammy all over our faces

They love everyone, yo, doncha’ know
Even a no good low down jammy tart bandito

Now’ y’all be a coat on a hook n’ hang on
I really am goin’ somewhere
And we’re almost there

See, I had promised my ol’ lady for like the thousandth time
That I’d stop my drinkin’ carousin’ n runnin’ around
Done real good too! Gone almost six whole days
When that telephone rang with an ominous sound

Seems some crack head junkie tried to take my Grammy’s purse
N she bein’ old was a little slow n he wuz jones’n what wuz worse
He had a knife
He took her life

It’s the only time I’ll admit to having cried
When they tol’ me my Grammy Pearl’d died
But even as the tears began to flow
I thought like a little bitch punk
“Now I gots an excuse to go get drunk”
Mean n Evil Drunk

That’s right.
In the end I betrayed even my Grammy Pearl
By acting the thug, the chump and the churl
By using her death as a pretext to go a’ wildin’
I denied what her loss signified
Just like Peter did thrice before the cock’s crow
You reap what you sow
America – we will reap what we sow

I coulda, shoulda, wish I woulda tried that night
To be just a little bit like Grammy Pearl and treat folks right
Instead I went out and instigated that fight
Tried to to make that peckerwood deadwood
He was innocent, though he was a peckerhead hood
It was all just for spite

Since that night my soul ain’t had no rest
Grammy Pearl, she wuz the part a’ me
That wuz the best

And them folks that died
September 11, two double aught one
Each of them wuz  someone’s grandmother or grandfather
Or granddaughter or grandson

So it kinda’ seems to me
That them folks that died
Up there in NYC
In the air & down in DC
That they are like unto us as a nation
What my Grammy Pearl wuz to me

I ain’t tellin’ nobody what to do
There’s a hunnert men and well over ten thousand wimmen
Tell ya’ you’d be a northbound horse’s southern end to do what I say anyway

But I pray maybe we may
By our words and our actions
Testify and signify
Their immolation dignify
Let us not use their deaths –
Let us not continue to use their deaths –
As a pretext to go a wildin’
For acts ignoble and mean to justify

Let us rather Moses go down instead
Into & unto that sacred heart chakra
That in us all resides
There where reside in spirit those that that dark day died
They have made it twin spired sanctified
There too should we reside
Abide there awhile
Until we can decide
The Tao true to do
Then purified
Purpose, vision clarified
Clear eyed
Gird and go forth anew

Lest years from now
Our children
Our children’s children
They look up at us with accusing eyes
As they turn from the rubble & the holes in the lines of the cities skies
Where once spanned the Golden Gate out there in Cali State
Where once stood the Sears Tower, the London Tower, the Eiffel Tower
Come some unfathomable future hour
Gone the way of One & Two Tower
Saint Peter’s Dome & the Dome of the Rock
The Sepulchre, the Ka’bah, the Taj Mahal
In the desert out here, the dove fair San Xavier
Where all of ’em stood the sorrow of the empty air
As las miha, los miho
They cry and cry out to us
How dare
On the brink of not just a new
But a new millennium, leave us this legacy
And all we can do is rattle and stammer and stutter and shrug
Ahhh-ah I’m sorry
I’m sorry my daughter my son
My granddaughter my grandson
But it was 911 and no one won

They Also Serve

“They also serve who only stand and wait.”
John Milton

1200 or so years ago in China a young woman, newly wed, wrote a letter. Some months before, her husband had left their small provincial village and went on his first voyage as an apprentice river merchant. The dangers were great: Pirates, bandits, rapids, storms, wild animals, equally rapacious, corrupt government officials. Many more months would pass before the young bride’s husband would return, if he did return at all.

He had been gone so long.

The River-Merchant’s Wife: a Letter
by Li Po, 8th Century A.D. China
Translated-Interpreted by Ezra Pound

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums
And we went on living in the village of Chokan :
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever, and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-Yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden,
They hurt me.
I grow older,
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you,
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Just before Katrina struck, in a small Louisiana town near the Gulf of Mexico, another young woman sent an e-mail.

The Convoy Driver’s Oughta Be Wife: An Email

From: sapphfire@anactoria.com
Subject: Star Dust Jelly Roll
To: jamie.t.noman@us.army.mil
Date: Saturday, August  27, 2005, 1:07 AM

G. I. Jamie

I remember
when we wuz just kids
me in pig tails n culottes
red flip flops
You had just moved down here to little ol’ Chauvin, Louisiana
With your parents from big ol’ New York, New York
All wise guy know it all full of attitude
wearing your hat backwards
skateboard  scabs on both a your knees
baggy shorts n Keds both with holes
Tom Boy tough guy at eight

You talked so fast
we’all could barely understand you
and oh my the mouth on you
But i knew you wuz coverin up afraid
Only I saw the little boy
all hurt inside and hurtin to get out
Seems we fought as much as we wuz friends
I swear sometimes I think its always gonna be that way between


My you wuz mean to me a lot

But I gave as good as I got

in my way

Remember when you broke the head offn my Barbie and  superglued your G. I. Joe head on it?
And then I melted all your army men to get back?
And got whupped for playin with lighter fluid and matches ?
Even then? Did we know? Know somewhere someplace deep down inside? Even then?
Even if it wuz just a little. Even though we didn’t understand?
I was the first to know. I think.
Or at least. Admit.
It’s always been easier for me to accept things.
You’re always the one that has to bloody your nose bumpin up agin em.
That’s why I love ya, darlin.
Darlin Jamie.
And You wuz afraid wuzzn’t ya?
When we wuz sixteen.
And I had to be the one to kiss



Though everybody says I’m the shy one.
And thinks you’re so bold.

I remember how before you left for Eye-raq.
Your eyes shining! All bound for glory!
This was gonna be just the begininnin!
Someday you wuz gonna be the first.
The first woman combat general!
And  I smiled  I tried real hard
to be brave for you
I think maybe I even fooled you
But all I thought about
All I ken think about –

I got caught in a traffic jam on the interstate t otha day
Semi jackknifed into a SUV
You know how hot and muggy it is here right now
and how my old beater its air con don’t hardly work
And everybody a started honking their horns and
it was like I wuz in a dream and the cars wuz all convoy trucks and  then I wuz you
and then they wuz usin the jaws a life n the dream twarn’t no dream it was a nightmare
the horns had turned to the sounds a bombs & bullets a whistlin down and I started screaming

and then this here state trooper he comes up
and  taps on the window and says
are you all right mizzy and I said it wuz
it wuz just I had a –
I had somebody in Eyeraq
and he said
I hope your boyfriend gets home safe, mizz …




JT I know I shouldn’t burden you
or be a turning your thoughts towards the bad things that could happen,
you’re the one that needs supportin’ it’s just

my soul

you’re my soul,


Remember that field out behind the high school where we would play hooky hang out n smoke n whatnot?
lie there at night just a countin the stars
holdin each other
Its bustin out beautiful krazy all over pretty as a picher right now

with flowers wild as you

butterflies n birds –
theys all of em
monarchs n robins n cardinals n hummingbirds n even them nasty crows n icky moths –
all paired up. Even
even the fireflies seem to each of em have their own special flame each of em to dance with

I can’t bear to go there much

I just sit here on the porch
like some old maid aunt that has about fifty cats

underneath sista heffa moon.

Hey, JT?
Ifn you could let me know
when you get rotated back to Fort Campbell
(Hope they don’t stop-loss you agin)

It ain’t right everybody else but you a havin they wives n sweethearts to welcome em home
the real wives their husbands




I’m pretty sure my old beater can make it in a night a hard drivin if’n I only stops for gas
and smokes and for to pee. I’ll take off work I don’t need that ol’ cashier job anyways
I promise I won’t embarrass you in front of your commander let on about us
or get you in trouble with him

or nothing

I can
pretend to be your sister or cousin or –

or –

Smells like cheap cologne n cigarettes to me!

I neva knew what Auntie Lenora used to mean by that

Till now.

Cheap cologne n cigarettes!!!!

Hey. One good silva lining. Your mama she don’t look through me pretendin like I don’t exist no more
Guess when two hearts both yearn to see the same set of green eyes safe at home them other things they don’t amount to a hill a beans
I run errands for her and stuff gets her her Maalox and Seee-grams
And a course her Pall Malls

She frets something terrrible worries and watches the CNN all the time and that there Fox for news about what might be a happening
in your neck of the woods – desert
Not me
I don’t have to
Like I done told ya darlin
I know you laughed at me but its true – truer now than ever
We was star dust mingled together at the beginning of time
And now we found each other agin across light years and galaxies
Not no war nor Eyeraq
Or what folks might say about us
or the end of the world or time or the end of the universe itself
Can ever seperate us again!

Not really

Yours truly forever n ever n ever n ever n ever
–  and even beyond that!!!!!!
A whole lotta XsnOs XsnOs XsnOs
Xs    n    Os,

Sharilee Anne

P.S. They say a canes a gonna be a blowin in off the coast by Monday or therabouts. Bet them there scorpions over there ain’t got nothing on the crop of skeeters we got here this year.
Heeey Baayaaaybee. When you get back
I’ll have some of your favori eyte
My super secret special recipe shakey puddin’
all warm and moist an ready for ya.
Jest the way you like it!

And you be sure to have some of that sweet sweet jellyroll for me,
Ya hear now?


The Wrong Kind Of Stonewall

Got a joke for y’all
How is a gay soldier like Jesus?
They’re both without honor in their own country
Didn’t say it was a funny joke…

From presidential heights of hypocrisy pointedly unasked!
In their own country
In this,  THE land of freedom of speech
That they have sworn to defend with their lives
Forbidden – FORBIDDEN – to tell
Of the simple fact of their own existence
They wait
Standing standing standing

At attention with the unrequited diginity of Buffalo Soldiers
They stand  & wait only for mere acknowledgment
Nothing more
From their SeeEyeSee

They also serve who only stand and wait
And wait
And wait …

How long?

Mr. President
You used them to become Commander In Chief
You have used them as Commander In Chief
You send them in harm’s way as Commander In Chief
How long until you give them your FULL recognition & blessing?

“So, in the Libyan fable it is told That once an eagle, stricken with a dart, Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft, ‘With our own feathers, not by others’ hand Are we now smitten’.”

Mabuhay Pete

Audio Recording:   MabuhayPete

Scrawled this doggerel after hearing about Pete Seeger hitting 90 last month:

Stuff all your Big Shots! Prezes & Ceos. Pezzonovantes actin’ like Kings & Queens. I already got lots & lots & lots a’ holes in my head, if ya knows what I means. Naaaa. Long live the one we really need! A Common Man but uncommon, friend to the Earth & the workin’poor. We’re all kin through the Wafer of Music. That’s been his creed.

That rights marchin’ Man stickin’ guitar pickin’ peace picketin’ banjo pluckin’ Troubadour nevafeared
of ahinsa fightin’ agin’ might for right. Neva once been licked – even when he got beat. 90 years now! His mustang heart’s been his music his music a light a

Beacon Go Bragh!                        

Nad to nad to Nada


Anahata ahata Brahma

Mabuhay, Pete.

And may your World Turner keep the sun a’ shinin’ for ya’ at least another 60 years


Pezzonovante – “An Italian word, meaning ‘Big Shot.’ The term is commonly misunderstood to mean any man in power; however, it is usually used pejoratively. In the Godfather, Michael uses the term to console his father who is upset because he had hoped that his son would achieve legitimate success like that of a Senator or President. Michael uses the term to assure his father that such people just think they are important men but in reality are no better than him. “

Source: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=pezzonovante

Ahinsa (also sp. ahimsa) is the principle of non-violence.

Go bragh is an anglicized version of a Gaelic phrase that translates roughly as “forever“. Some say it can also mean “beautiful.”

Mabuhay (pronunciation: mah-BOO-hahy) is a word from the Tagalog language of the Philippines. It is used to exclaim “long live” or the Filipino version of live long and prosper.”

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mabuhay_(expression)

“To us, music can be a spiritual discipline on the path to self-realisation, for we follow the traditional teaching that sound is God – Nada Brahma: By this process individual consciousness can be elevated to a realm of awareness where the revelation of the true meaning of the universe – its eternal and unchanging essence – can be joyfully experienced. Our ragas are the vehicles by which this essence can be perceived.

The ancient Vedic scriptures teach that there are two types of sound. One is a vibration of ether, the upper or purer air near the celestral realm. This sound is called Anahata Nad or unstruck sound. Sought after by great enlightened yogis, it can only be heard by them. The sound of the universe is the vibration thought by some to be like the music of the spheres that the Greek Pythagoras described in the 6th century B.C. The other sound Ahata Nad or struck sound, is the vibration of air in the lower atmosphere closer to the earth. It is any sound that we hear in nature or man-made sounds, musical and non-musical.”

On Appreciation of Indian Classical Music, by Ravi Shankar (Bolding added by me for emphasis)

Source: http://www.ravishankar.org/indian_music_frame.html

Anahata is also the name for the Heart Chakra.

A maestro like Mr. Seeger or Pandit Ravi Shankar (who’s 89 – watch out, he’s right behind ya’ Pete) is able to reach up & pluck that celestial sound down into music, so that we all can hear it; Take what is in his (or her) heart chakra – and ours – and put it into that music so we can all feel it all of us together and in that sometimes sacramental sharing sometimes transmute even, maybe especially, our sadness, suffering & sorrow into … well, I reckon some might call it Nada Brahma, some the universal song of the universe, and some, just a barn-burnin’, hallacious, boudacious bit a’ git-pickin.

If I upset anybody by mispronouncing misusin’ or otherwise abusin’ any a’ these here furrin’ words – or any English ones either, my apologies. Ah’m just a son of a good ol’ cracker boy from Florida. Don’t mean no offense. Jest jawin’ ’bout Pete.