Don’t you think that rooster crowing
Is really the sun in disguise?
Don’t you believe new mornings
Are just dotted-lines
and picket-fences in patronage
lodged in lonely suburban neighborhoods?

Don’t you think this rainbow trout swimming in the pond
Feels lonesome inside like a house dog on the run
Searching beyond his shock-collar fence for a high-flying freedom?
One more weekend, says the flabbergasted fish,
All my oversized brothers are dead since the pond froze over.
Reasons why the Private Citizen should not be the one to treat the water
the space where the rainbow trout wanders.

Signs on the window.
Signs in the yards.
Signs says they don’t believe in dreamers,
Signs in my mind telling me to deny
Republican – isms – and schisms –
the New Liberalism of Democratic-Socialism.
Signs saying I got too much love for the universe it might shatter my bones.
Signs says this is America, you gotta make it on your own.

Signs on the docks said keep away, Mr. Town Manager keep away from the lake because you don’t own any property of this here wonder of mother nature this here landmark of beauty
Where the bullfrogs and snapping turtles reside,
all the while the next-door neighbors are putting up signs.
Can’t blame the fathers but you can blame the sons
Signs saying ban the bums signs of the times say don’t trust mothers & daughters or SUNS, but the patterns of lost history would be obsolete if we just followed the sweet matriarchal guidance of the supposed damsels in distress.

There’s always a fish in the pale-blue water who finds her niche in what she longs after
Who finds her niche in what she isn’t supposed to ponder
Let’s call her a dreamer fish, a rainbow trout, who smiles when she hears boats’ engines roar and flutter over the tops of the Lake. Her spirit resides in the subdued writer and ponderer of un-imaginable things. Look at me, who am I supposed to be?
She hears frogs pitter-patter on the lily-pads floating above her pretty, blue head.
She digs the orange rays that shine heavenly like a golden-thread.
I’m sitting at my typewriter and looking out the window, letting my mind flow with the glow of the SUN, dancing little rays of freedom and exploding, bright bulbs of eternity fill my consciousness, and I’m wanting to know more like the pigeons.

The pigeons in the trees feel like ev’ry ounce of my being,
Say I’ll give you some birdfeed if you keep me company with all your whistling
But do we ever consider this pigeon’s place of nesting
where he raise his young and lay his head for his goodnight dreams?

If not for you
Pigeon in the maple tree,
I wouldn’t have anything to whistle,
Or pick me up when I’m feeling blue,
I wouldn’t have a clue of what I needed to do,
To stay true to New Mornings,
If not for you.

Don’t you think the pigeon needs a lawyer to fight for his cause of imprisonment? No, says the world sarcastic in tones, go hug a tree or Jesus Christ put on some deodorant all in good fun, but once the trees fall down in the Amazon we are all left staring at a world which doesn’t breathe, but society’s signs say in a silent way
“tune out, relax & float downstream,” cast your worrisome boats at bay, but how can I when B.P. can’t even manage its oil cut it open with a jackknife and spilled all over the livestock underneath the Gulf waters?
Toiling & tolling overseas in the sands of time like crusading, medieval knights or more like cavemen who just found the first flames of fire.
With A.K. 47s they go ahead and ignite that fire
And keep the flames burning wild enough for the next
generation of civilians to make them grow higher.
to taste the rotten fruits of so-called freedom
offered by the power-hungry rats called U.S. Government.

If dogs run free, why not me?
To each his own
It’s all unknown
If dogs, if gods run free.

But running free makes me lonely
It makes me want to doze off under the sky and moon,
And lay in the grass, and dream of a new morning.
You and me together on your parents’ trampoline,
Or in the camper or on the hammock between two trees.

To New Mornings and the Sun rising from the East,
To cast your worried spells at ease
Time passes slowly when you’re searching for love,
Time passes slowly then fades away.
On this new morning awake at the dawn
the SUN SHINES, I think we passed the test,
let’s call it a day and get some sweet shut-eye
For a somber day’s solemn rest.
Goodnight & good luck.