New Moon to Full Moon

Awake again at two AM. My mind is buzzing.
Like a honeybee attracted to a new queen’s hive.
The sounds of the night were so still 
that I heard the whisper of the wind sigh.
 
Which led me to reminisce about those days
passed when the balladeers stood on stages
above grassy fields.
Belting out songs of truth.
The fields were blanketed not with flowers,
with America’s youth reposed.
 
The legions of legends following the news
reported about the life and strife of the everyday commoner
filled my thoughts with song after song. 
Good times, bad times, just in-between times.
 
My room, lit by the moon, is cast in shadows
as my mind fogs over as I hear from memory,
Leonard Cohen re-awakening me.
Giving me a snapshot in time of the world,
opening my eyes to a universe of possibilities.
 
His words gave a voice to my voiceless self.  
At times, Cohen quotes Yeats while bringing alive
my youthful understanding through the lyrics of the Paradise,
the Belson heap and Savior’s breath that made me feel
as though I was a trusted sojourner of his clan.
 
The second act, as the full moon
could be known to be, brings to mind a contemporary –
a rebel, a devil, a fearless fellow – who told it like it was,
the times are a-changin’ -  
Bob Dylan, a young man from the
land of ten thousand lakes brought music
calling the politicians out like never before.

It was telling it like it was -  ‘twas a dark day in Dallas -November ’63!
and the Beatles were coming a was going'a hold your hand,
while proclaiming Wolfman Jack was back.
 
Like a Rolling stone, headed to Key Largo
my mind continues to wander as I wonder
where are those songwriters and poets
who know it is time to – tell it like it is?
 
Instead, we have talking heads that have a master’s degree
in communication but never have stepped into the ghetto,
rode the subway, been homeless without soles on shoes.
Neither have they worn rags with holes nor foraged a meal
from a dumpster! 
 
What do they know about the vile, deceitful,
the cruel, and the mean? 
Certainly not these Mr. Green Jeans.
 
Give me a balladeer, he or she – that simply doesn’t matter –
but please give me a balladeer
who will sing out their well-chosen words
and give us a new voice that will carry us from
the new moon to full moon, once again.

by JLR 4/5/2022