Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause he almost lived forever;
and Jersey Boys—Allen and Amiri—
lyricized Coltrane’s “Welcome” and
are singing it for him with rhythmic
cadences of Kaddish at the big convocation…
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause I bought his lil hardcover black bible with the
Red front from a Boston bookstore going out of business
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause I took him home to Harlem and he told
me to haunt the two bookstores in walking distance
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause I took his bible to Mama Harriet’s home up
in Auburn and she blessed it with bulletproof prayers
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause I never left home without him—
right back pocket—right cheek round; busted
binding; ruined with red writing in its margins
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause he protected me from punims on
platforms and poles of A, B, C and D trains
Lurking 5 minutes away from my door
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause I obeyed his cool commandments
reading and rereading them over and over on
train trips long and short
Ferlinghetti might have been
God ‘cause he celebrated this darker brother in
from the kitchen speaking up, acting out, writing
between the lines—And kissing no rings and things…
© 2021. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
Spiritual junk mail
“Any man’s death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind…”
—John Donne
Two great gatherers
Passed. Legendary
Pianist last week; iconic
Poet this week. And ear-
splitting silences cause me to
Pause: …cause me to celebrate
Contagious compositions; and
Insurgent books and poems…
On the other hand, news of The Grim
Reaper’s besting a bully—god son of
Goebbels and Father Coughlin—mouth-
piece of predators and war profiteers;
Graduate of MSU (Making Shit Up) is
a bothersome commercial—spiritual
junk
mail—shoulder shrugging—whatever,
dude?
Say his name? Say his name? What’s
his name?
I’m in no Rush to judgement—
hoisting lofty middle finger
salutes behalf of Black Folks, “Feminazis,”
Immigrants and AIDS victims—
I’m in no Rush to judgement
overriding the rest longer than blue faced
TVs screaming that they have no more
Lies left to tell us—until later in the day…
I’m in no Rush to judgement
he’s meeting his mentors and hanging out
with Hitler and Hoover forever where con-
federate battle flags fly half staff year ‘round;
And half-truths and big lies are bacon and eggs
I’m in no Rush to judgement
though Bassackwards Tribe chief Thom-
ass Clarence lost his font of wisdom, he
Still hears no evil; sees no evil; speaks
no evil…of the white supreme court… And
Capitalist Hill is still a Lombard Street map drawn on
a dog’s hind leg; Coven where sleazy senators/corrupt
congress members mask—Yet refuse to wear their
Corporate coats of many logos; Where the Lone Star
State’s junior senator slithers to sun himself below
the border wall he helped build; while his constituents’
teeth chatter like electric maracas and their water pipes
burst and their tailpipes issue carbonic death sentences…
I’m in no Rush to judgement
while Boss Tweet’s the Teflon Don; and legalese
Allows foot-dragging on dis-
barring low Barr for high crimes with Grecian
Formula 9/11“Trial by Combat” Count Ghouliani;
And
I’m in no Rush to judgement
while employees of Pentagon pimps patrol the
stroll with revolving doors; And the cawing of
“War—Evermore” by Raytheon’s raven is quite
cool in some circles…
© 2021. Raymond Nat Turner, The Town Crier. All Rights Reserved.
BAR’s poet in residence Raymond Nat Turner is an accomplished performing artist. You can find much more of his work at https://www.youtube.com/user/zigilow
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