Belfast – Dan Fox, Hobo Poet

You’re a Hobo, Brother!

Did you ever sling a duffle
on your back and catch a freight?
Did you ever taste a hobo stew,
in a jungle, then sleep late?

Did you ever watch a sunrise,
going up the great divide?
Did you ever quit a steady job,
just because you had to ride?

If you have ever done these things,
if you’ve ever left a wife,
just because the freight-trains called you,
then you’ve known the hobo life.

You have known a real addiction,
you have found a mistress hard,
she will tear you down and break you,
she will wreck your human heart.

She will leave you somewhere stranded,
you will curse her lovely thrills,
yet you will follow when she calls you,
with the music of the rails.

You will give your youth to tramping,
you will lose your health for lust,
then she’ll turn on you and cheat you,
she will rend your soul to dust.

But yet when you have come to death,
and the devil claims his due,
you’ll not be there a-waiting,
but on a freight-train passing through.

You will ride through times eternal,
across the Plutonian shore,
then you’ll laugh and tell the devil,
that you’d like to ride some more.

You’re a wand’rer and a hobo
and your mistress is the trail
and your heaven is the music
of the wheel upon the rail.

© 2004 – Dan Fox

Lost Child

He appeared in the doorway
of a mission down on skid road,
wild-eyed, filthy and rough,
stinking of cheap whiskey
and stale, reeky cigars;
even the do-gooder ladies
from the Society to Save the Bums
shrank back.
Yet he was one with those men
we glorify in movies
and cheap teevee series,
those men who built America;
who trapped the beaver and hewed
the forests for your pleasure.
He was one of those
the French so aptly named,
enfants perdu,
children sacrificed in the battle
to subdue the earth
and advance society
with no regard
to the costs in enfants perdu.

© 2004 – Dan Fox

Frag-mented

Frag-mented.
Hum-anity.
Dark, light, black, white;
conservative, liberal,
reactionary, progressive.
Taking value and being
from others.
Faceless crowds,
existing at other’s demands,
(souls an open pit,
entrance to expectant graves,
they will not look inside)
told who they are
by others.
Study your souls,
know who you are.
Love that knowledge,
build who you are;
till all come together,
creating a world of joy,
love and freedom.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

This last is my newest poem, just written, it’s based on a quote from Charles Mingus.
– Dan Fox

The War Beast

Creating the war beast among us,
bringing our tin god to life,
feeding the blood of our people,
bringing the war beast to life,
giving the Earth to its hunger.

Serving the war beast’s hunger,
bowing to its every want,
inventing new needs to fill,
groveling in servile love
before this god of war.

Appeasing the red-faced moloch,
off’ring what ne’er was required,
all our children a sacrifice
for security that never can be;
a mocking of peace and love.

Mothers cry out in their anguish,
fathers in silence obey,
commands of this rapacious beast,
consuming the past and the future,
along with our hopes and dreams.

Feeding the war beast’s hunger,
feeding it day by day,
its appetite never appeased
but growing daily till all
is engulfed in the nuclear flames.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

Lord Misrule

The Lord of Misrule, mock king
of a topsy-turvy world
fiddling while America burns,

bringing a new sacred triune,
hypocracy, pretence and greed,
the power of Chaos’ realm.

Listen to the trump of dumb
bleating goodbye to reason,
lies true and ethics reversed.

The angel of chaos’ return
brings the republic to its knees,
supported by those who grab

power from Saturnalia,
those who profane the sacred
and believe the fool is luck.

Misrule rides the horse of state,
facing backwards and cannot
or will not see where he goes.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

A Ludic Trifle

Family gave him sinecure,
wealth is still his cynosure.
Trump lusted to be grandiose,
but only managed blandiose.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

A Thanksgiving Prayer

At Thanksgiving time we pause to reflect
on the blessings in our lives,
on the gifts that we’ve been given
and on the things we’ve not.
Thankful that we’ve not been given
fame and fortune beyond our needs,
thankful, too, that we’re not zealous
of acquiring just to have.
Thankful that in health we prosper,
though, of course, we could be better,
thankful for our aches and pains
that remind us others suffer.
Thankful for the time, though it be flying,
that we get to spend with loved ones
and the friends that we have found;
if we should live not quite so long
as other people might,
we’re thankful for life’s breadth.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

Fear or Freedom

Fear –
terrorists and totalitarians rule by it,
the weapon to use against them
is refusal to fear.
Chaos –
terrorists, kleptocrats and crisis capitalists
use it to thrive and steal
from the people.
Profit –
chaos is profitable for those dancing
the wilder shores of sanity
far from reality.
Freedom –
profiteers of disaster politics hate it
intellectual zombies
fail in belief.
Restraint –
impresses thinking women and men;
terrifies and horrifies
national grifters.

© 2017 – Dan Fox

The Time For Action
 
Moralistic puritans of reaction,
to enrobe all in asceticism,
drive us from our rightful home
to save us, destroying freedom.
Leaderless, we stagger awayward,
an instigator shows the path,
a twit twitting foolishness,
against the real and valid.
Politically constipated we pause
between the false dichotomies
of social austerity and frigidity,
not acting we only react.
Picking over the bones of freedom
fascists take the leavings of history,
as if they have captured the essence,
to form their empire of hate.
We must not allow the unreal
to destroy the real, erase the valid,
now has come the time to act,
lest freedom be lost forever.
-Daniel Fox
Stasis and Entropy
Life changes,
this is not the poem I’d write tomorrow
but it is the poem I’d write today.
Life changes,
I’m an ad hoc committee of adhering atoms
for a specific purpose, entropy wins.
Life changes,
the world is different every minute and
I am constantly remade, stasis averted.
Life changes,
this poem has no ending
Life is a journey and
you never arrive.
They’re Making a List
They’re making a list and checking it thrice,
of all the words correct and nice.
The Trumpians want us all to know
phrases like “evidence-based” must go.
The Renaissance dies through politicians
insisting on their nonsense visions.
Something never comes from nothing,
I’ve a hunch,
not even the rich can get a free lunch.
If they could they’d not keep trying
to ensure the rest do the lunch buying.

They Have Lied
Oh our president’s a fake
and the Repoes think it’s jake
to go along with all his bull,
’cause it gives them lots of pull.
They have lied, yes they have lied
and in their lying, freedom died,
they have lied, one and all,
summer, spring, winter, fall.
Will they wallow in their ruth,
when they’re forced to see the truth,
or will they just go on pretending,
with their lies so never-ending.
Two Boys Bragging
Button, button,
who’s got the biggest button?
Mine’s bigger than yours
and it’s red and shiny
and if you don’t shut up,
I’ll shove my missile up your heinie.
Two schoolboys on the tarmac,
playing the bully-boy game,
while cutting the other no slack.
All the fools in the whole damn nation,
say of their leader, he’s our man
and strut and say, what the tarnation
we’ll build some walls without any doors,
without any windows or ways to get in
’cause our whack job sure trumps yours
then in our geriatric ‘sylum we’ll sing,
you can’t get us if we can’t see you.
Creation’s Fount
I wake, I rise,
move about awhile
taking my portion of life,
I lay me down
to sleep, dreaming
the silent fecundity of dream,
a dream of life.
Silence is creation’s fount,
the extraneous noise of life,
a raucous pretense.
Winter’s Death
Winter’s death, forepromised
by lengthening hours of sunlight,
lingers on like a rich uncle
you dislike but hope to inherit from.
Time, the arbiter of winter’s warm fate,
brings us in surety to summer’s
glorious promise of solar salvation,
a cycle of destiny forever reborn.
Daniel G. Fox – 2017
By | 2018-01-17T22:53:11+00:00 September 19th, 2017|other stories|0 Comments

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