WELCOME TO THE LYRIC POETRY WEBSITE




A REFUGE FOR POETS WHO WRITE IN THE LYRIC TRADITION,

WITH RHYME AND METER, WITH OR WITHOUT MUSIC



ANTHEM FOR THE MOTHER

At the dawning of my memory,
At a most enchanted age,
A man with scars of politics
And wisdom of a sage
Spoke to me in stories,
And his words I understand:
He said that we must fight
To save our land.

Upon the verge of manhood
I bade farewell to school,
For to be a wandering minstrel
And be thought by some a fool;
But the more I played the coffee shops,
The more I understood
That I was doing what I ought to
If Iíd do the best I could.

I slept often on the forest floor
Where one may wander free;
But the more I blessed my mother earth,
The more she called to me.
To retain a place to run to
And to sustain my pride
I had to stop the mother rapers,
Or at least to know I tried.

So I tried to hold officials
Accountable for crimes,
A lonely, thankless effort,
And itís I whoís facing time.
America, America,
God shed his tears on thee.
If my fatherland should self-destruct,
It canít be blamed on me.
No, it canít be blamed on me.

Can I reach you with muckraking truth
Or with guitar and voice?
If no one wants to listen
Am I making any noise?
If the wilderness should not survive
Iíll still have my guitar,
For to sing of how things used to be,
And not of how things are.
No, not of how things are.

Potsdam, New York, 1978



See Table of Contents See Previous Go to next page