a piece i wrote today for a Teen Homeless Benefit I'm performing in
Hopping traincars and hitching rides in this glamorous panorama of American landscape
This assumed homelessness; the actor bum's path was almost enticing
Until...
It occurred to me how simple that could be with money in your pocket,
And a fair degree of academic and literary notoriety
Fifty years ago
It's not quite the same anymore
Paved pathways of American cities no longer open their arms
Expanding their breadth for effortless travel across them
The toll is heavy, and often too heavy to carry
So stranded are the nomad wanderers of our generation
Forced to seek sustenance on streets unwilling to welcome their own misbegotten children
cities who'd sooner turn a nose towards the sky then lend even an ear to your words
and a world that belies its own circular nature in being nothing more than a block in your path
the road is not a simple one
and I have no strength of my own to lend you
it's the same old story
truth marketing department allocates millions a year because teenage smoking is on the rise
and that's, like, really a big problem, ya know?
And, like, it kills a billion teenagers a year, ya know?
And, like, we're making a difference, ya know?
No, I don't know
We can thank simple societal ignorance and public relations ingenious for ensuring that millions of dollars a year that could have possibly built low to no income housing in reasonable areas so poor families can live in some semblance of comfort instead goes to clever commercials of kids playing dead in front of the same towering corporate offices of the cigarette companies that write the checks paying for the 30 spot
This is bullshit in it's most essential form
Let's take a look at the issues on the front page
Tampa tribune had this tragic article about how second home owners may have to sell their properties in florida because taxes are just killing them
wow
What a fucking drag
But this is nothing new to you
For as long as you've walked city streets seeking something resembling stability
Regardless of how temporary it may end up being
You've known you can't rely on a culture that can't find its own ass with both hands in broad daylight looking backwards into a mirror to help you
You are your own foundations to stand on
And I know it gets shaky the louder the wind whistles through abandoned buildings and under bridges
How the gust kicks up each time a car speeds by on the freeway overhead and it seems the entire concrete sky might come crashing down on top of you
But these are your trials
Whether you accepted them in the many handshakes your mistakes have extended to you
Or fallen down a slope unexpectedly and found no roots to cling to and stop
Or even to just slow the downward spiraling tumble
These trials are what make you more understanding of self
And of others
Of the world around you and the hope within you
Because being so young and falling so far means you've got all the time that you need to clamber back up
I only wish that I could reach out and pull you up
Or at least even guide you
But I don't know how
So I'll just sit here
Reading travel logs from generations ago
wondering what's happening to this generation
Poetry by David W Durney
Read 567 times
Written on 2007-08-18 at 20:41
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untitled
Keruac had this way of detailing his travels along train tracks and backroadsHopping traincars and hitching rides in this glamorous panorama of American landscape
This assumed homelessness; the actor bum's path was almost enticing
Until...
It occurred to me how simple that could be with money in your pocket,
And a fair degree of academic and literary notoriety
Fifty years ago
It's not quite the same anymore
Paved pathways of American cities no longer open their arms
Expanding their breadth for effortless travel across them
The toll is heavy, and often too heavy to carry
So stranded are the nomad wanderers of our generation
Forced to seek sustenance on streets unwilling to welcome their own misbegotten children
cities who'd sooner turn a nose towards the sky then lend even an ear to your words
and a world that belies its own circular nature in being nothing more than a block in your path
the road is not a simple one
and I have no strength of my own to lend you
it's the same old story
truth marketing department allocates millions a year because teenage smoking is on the rise
and that's, like, really a big problem, ya know?
And, like, it kills a billion teenagers a year, ya know?
And, like, we're making a difference, ya know?
No, I don't know
We can thank simple societal ignorance and public relations ingenious for ensuring that millions of dollars a year that could have possibly built low to no income housing in reasonable areas so poor families can live in some semblance of comfort instead goes to clever commercials of kids playing dead in front of the same towering corporate offices of the cigarette companies that write the checks paying for the 30 spot
This is bullshit in it's most essential form
Let's take a look at the issues on the front page
Tampa tribune had this tragic article about how second home owners may have to sell their properties in florida because taxes are just killing them
wow
What a fucking drag
But this is nothing new to you
For as long as you've walked city streets seeking something resembling stability
Regardless of how temporary it may end up being
You've known you can't rely on a culture that can't find its own ass with both hands in broad daylight looking backwards into a mirror to help you
You are your own foundations to stand on
And I know it gets shaky the louder the wind whistles through abandoned buildings and under bridges
How the gust kicks up each time a car speeds by on the freeway overhead and it seems the entire concrete sky might come crashing down on top of you
But these are your trials
Whether you accepted them in the many handshakes your mistakes have extended to you
Or fallen down a slope unexpectedly and found no roots to cling to and stop
Or even to just slow the downward spiraling tumble
These trials are what make you more understanding of self
And of others
Of the world around you and the hope within you
Because being so young and falling so far means you've got all the time that you need to clamber back up
I only wish that I could reach out and pull you up
Or at least even guide you
But I don't know how
So I'll just sit here
Reading travel logs from generations ago
wondering what's happening to this generation
Poetry by David W Durney
Read 567 times
Written on 2007-08-18 at 20:41
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Rob Graber |
