after Phil Ochs
ONE
The dark was turning,
rueful guitars riffed teardrops,
the foot posts of my brass bed
performed an out of sync ballet

I surveyed my surroundings

Streets were alive
with the screams of thousands
filling the night,
choking gas permeated the air

I ran between flashes of light

Wise men not to be found
among the living,
I sought them in my dreams,
came upon motherless children sobbing,
cursed the senseless slaughter

Blues guitars riffed tear drops,
the screams of thousands
pierced acrid atmosphere,
my mind swirled a mad Flamenco

Two
And under night’s drape
a white dove sailed acid skies,
needle shots like cannon fire rang
along margins of madness:
a frenzied stampede
of addled minds
came to a human wall,
ending as instantly as it had begun,
and a white dove sailed,
wings seared by empty promises

In Lincoln Park
the dark was turning,
turning

Three
And I stood at the precipice,
peered into the beginning
of the end of an era;
the revolution dying
in screaming guitar riffs

Mind numbing years ago,
we all grew older,
some passing into the portal
to the strains of mournful ballads

A white dove soared the heavens
and kissed the gathering clouds,
and I wrote this song,
holding a picture of my youth
like a life affirming prayer

Four
Morning sun rising early,
a white dove on a wire cooed
over the debris left behind,
illusions and hallucinations
scorched my mind;
screams curdling blood,
then fell silent

Battering night sticks
and night horrors
gone;
some distance away
brass blared bitter-sweet
jazz improvisations

In Lincoln Park
the sun was burning,
burning

Leonard Greco is the author of ten chapbooks. He served as a founding member of the Suffolk County Poet Laureate Search Committee. A former newspaper reporter and columnist, his poetry has appeared in numerous literary magazines, several newspapers and anthologies.