by Roger W Hancock
was born and weaned during the beat movement of the fifties.
I was raised during the love free hippy movement of the sixties.
Then became involved in the Jesus Freak Movement
of the late sixties, early seventies.
Then I saw many fads with no driving purpose.
Disco became the seventy’s rage but had no social purpose.
The eighty’s began a look back to past as the ninety’s sang past
Now the youth without direction grab onto social rejection.
Some pulled one direction others to misdirection.
Socialism, Fascism, Communism?
The paths today of our society are unclear as many grab from
of those once our enemies.
Hating the rich is succumbing to lies
of social class envy, denying truths of economics 101.
Desiring to be their own persons, rejecting past truth, proven.
Well meaning are the youth desiring to build
a better future upon failed lies of past.
Rebelling for rebellion’s sake, is misdirection’s best.
Let your actions not be in vain, look to proven premise.
It may be tough to admit to self, but establishment with all its faults
was built upon premise proven.
Those of my rebellion youth either learned the wisdom of the past
or have remained within the failed lies.
They are the ones we see today warring with ideas, thoughts.
They who did not learn remain to tear against traditional thought,
to cling to anti-social thought, our enemies proved so wrong.
Those who learned the wisdom learned to work within the system,
to turn the wrongs to right from foundation’s proven premise.
Failed lies and proven wisdom are today’s battleground of freedom.
Copyright March 20, 2004 Roger W Hancock
o w l
N o w
by Roger W
apologies to Allen Ginsberg. This is not a Parody)
The best minds of each generation; who decides the naked truth?
Over aged hippies now on government dole of little use to society
by the machinery of liberal day.
Young seeking, embracing music contemplating, jazz, rock, rap of
robbery, incest, rape, murder; no respect for mother, sister.
Tattered poverty enabled, encouraged, no treatment for man’s torn
placed to head bearing brains to hell with hopelessness of too much
freedom, no morals to hedge day’s demons.
The best minds of imagination, Ginsberg now dead, have perpetuated
hopelessness upon the youth of university of open perverted mindlessness
where only the truly great minds learn beyond the liberal rhetoric.
Experimentation without self-discipline a milk toast of gray matter
hallucinating of better life lacking the means to enlighten oneself over
underachievement of blaming others.
War scholars blamed for whatever, among campus self proclaimed
gurus enjoying the right of speech without restraint enabled by same
Envisions of ‘one with land’ spiritualism promoted, unknowing
of the slavery between tribes.
Glorifying the ‘oneness with the land’ ignoring use and waste
by men, Indians.
All men created equal without thought are as dogs ravaging through
waste can contents spilt.
Insanity howls through time.
Crazy obscene odes becoming now shadowed by painted sculled
windows, bombs to promote antiwar sentiments.
The insane control the asylums.
Asylums now filled with the drug burned out past dissidents of
yesterday’s social nay-Sayers.
Young girls, boys, in selfishness having believed the deceit of
grass greener selling selves for but a morsel to live until the next green
billed trick; themselves, meat for hungry perverted souls.
Unknowing, truth lies just beyond blocking the cries of the crazy
man yelling in hateful tone of Jesus’ love.
Poets oblivious to the effect on society that their ramblings over
time have exposed themselves, without inhibitions they say, rather lacking
the moral discipline of established social decency calling it a higher
Movements of youth create rebellion of social etiquette with filth
of tongue to quench literary acceptance by all but degenerate minds, their
creative genius lost in the quagmire of colloquial verbiage.
Free love, not so free take, take, a selfish ride through heart’s
deception for self gratification.
Sharing of one held dear only by commitment one to another no one
Truth is known by all within one’s heart, run but nowhere to hide
so lie and try to hide the truth.
Twisting fate of time for those who survived the drugs, traps of
sex, violence of peace demonstrations, now work from within the once
Some still within the perversions of their youth, others having
grown learning expanding beyond themselves to self realization that in
nonconformance they had conformed and now listen to their hearts to become
their own, building upon sound principles proved through time.
poets not so great as great poets of past, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Elliot,
names that crisply fall from the lips of men of every intellectual level.
lost forgotten, now known only within poet community.
Remembered not, their wake moves on in today’s twisted concept of
Where now do their howling souls lie?
Roger W Hancock ©
Roger W Hancock
A Tuesday, day before hump day, just off
work, a call to the wife to say I’ll be late.
A poem’s been brewing, stewing, time for a visit, take some notes
and catch whatever inspiration vibes awaits my creativity.
evening half way home, across from the Mandarin Lounge, the Rail Tavern
with Ballet on one side, vacant store on the other on downtown stretch of
Auburn’s Main Street is a small café. Open seven days ‘till eight,
six o’clock on Sunday except of course for Thursday night.
Sitting on black upholstered cushioned chair at not a round but a
small square table. Along
both sides of the entryway, where once would have been the store displays,
boosted bar with prior tavern stools align the storefront windows.
Looking around for the spark, observing
seeking, poem’s inspiration way. At
the ‘till the cashier - slash - waiter, a young man in long red tie
tending change serving patron’s appetites.
the old store door strolls a lady slowing wandering, upon her face wearing
expression of pleased wonderment, selecting a small round table sits down
to study cafe’s menu board. Display
of plaques, seemingly of Roman style arranged to the left on one wall,
beside and around the shop hang paintings of various styles by local
artist to give the place a visual beat.
capped youth at Rhodes keyboard, obviously not a usual gig, on the keys
limbered fingers adlibbing soothing flowing tune one might call a mellow
jazz. Against the western wall rarely played an old upright piano, I think
it’s made of cherry wood, remembering last week it played a honky-tonk
Long hair, short cuts, clientele of ages all,
long dark coats or dressed up ties, all invited to buy a latté, enjoy.
Salads, bagels, sandwiches just some selections on the menu board.
Above the counter where the menu hangs a museum of owner’s
interests, snow board, surf boards, unicycles four, models of airplanes,
Godzilla, broken balsa wood, and oh my, a straight jacket… I dare not
ask, in conversation he says he always wanted one.
A visual creativity, atmosphere of times gone
by, a look and feel old as nearby hardware store, Cavanaugh’s.
A bicyclist peddles up dressed in… of course he’s the man in
blue, no donuts here perhaps still with a hole, a bagel?
The ‘Man’ orders a B.L.T. to go.
On a Thursday night at open mike reminiscent
of past time’s coffee houses, is where I first made an appearance to
this quaint café.
Audience of few varied ages mostly young from
nearby Auburn High or G.R.C.C, the college on the hill, chatting waiting
for the next performing piece. Some
to play their instruments others sing theirs or other’s songs the better
ones apologizing for piece composed having critiqued, themselves.
Me, the old man with poems written hoping the
young to hear the message within to show a way, cured with youth now aged.
Young and old to each a purpose, to each within creative talent,
searches for their creative way here in this quaint café.
Remember that young man I said with the long
red tie, the cashier, because of him on Thursday night this open mike,
he’s the proprietor, the man behind the sign, Gradie’s Café.
Roger W Hancock
by Roger W
Oh, to be young again to have
the knowledge I now posses. Oh, again to have the energy and agility
that now by fading youth eludes my body. The body age with aches and pains but the mind although
memory occasionally slipping still remains full of youthful creative
mischief. I find
experiences and life lessons have culminated with youthful vigor of mind
to see what could have been if only then…when I was young… I knew
what I now know.
If within my youth a wise old man to have been a friend, to pick
his brain of his life’s wisdom, not to wait for mine to age.
Youth energy, youth enthusiasm, combined with wisdom aged, an
unbeatable combination. Too
bad the two fail to understand the other, the youth rebellion, the aged
not listening treating youth as a useless waste of life’s energies.
If I had listened then to old, my insecurities may not have
controlled my inaction to speak my mind.
A leader I could have been to lead my generation into a more
thoughtful path. Oh… if I
age seeing life more complicated, everyone with a dream, but future
dream to live life now considering tomorrow’s path.
Living life for what I can get, selfishness prevails when I fail
to introspect and consider other’s needs.
Society changes when without thought to stamp on others thinking
of self. My generation
failed to define a cause beyond the selfishness we now see perpetuated
by government entitlements the poor remaining poor begetting poor
becoming an industry. If
only then, what I now know.
I have learned the sword of pen to be a mighty weapon in our
diverse society. Letters to
the editor to voice opinion, as good as any others.
I write to elicit thought, to agree or not is not the answer
sought, but for purpose, consider fact, consider truth. It has taken
this old man with regretting thought nearly half a century to take
responsibility for even a meager role in society.
What effects could I have constructed if when young I had done
the same. If only then the
maturity I am now beginning to grasp to have been within my hands back
then… when I was young.
Roger W Hancock © 11-2-2002 www.PoetPatriot.com
by Roger W
to the past,
leading to the future.
youth of this and morrow day,
they hear the lessons past?
surely be, future see,
direction merely lack..
to be a new beat,
new rebellion fad,
leaders quietly hear,
past to future lead,
Youth, Your Youth
by Roger W
misunderstood, misunderstanding themselves, seeking independence,
having grown from childhood too soon.
every way which including loose, attempting to find one’s self in
the various paths offered by society lacking any fortitude to
of age fact, maturity evades while the youthful mind in creative
genius grabs the direction of least resistance without restraint of
parents who only want the best.
Parent, student, teacher; teachers, students, parents,
dependence upon each yet even among adults maturity evades.
I in body beginning to feel the age of
years yet in still the youthfulness of creativity with but a morsel
of maturity, which I only now am beginning to grasp.
back what could have been if only selfishness had not reigned within
my desire to be my own. Today’s
youth much wiser be, if… learning from failed premise of past fad
movements be their guide.
will be the next generational movements, more of the same, more
repeated rebellion. Copying the extremes of past extremes yet to go
beyond, for what, attempting to provoke the prior generation… as
if that generation had not done the same?
wishing to make the world a better place, following the waves of
others past, thoughtless mindless echoes set to new tunes of Rock
stars who for the sake of big money sing anything without a cause,
the youth of a new generation finds waste.
provided by technologies, by society’s web of interaction, and the
failures of past rebellioned youth, if seen, by the social patriots
of next rebellion’s front, can bring society to a better place in
message will be contained in the message of tomorrow’s ballads?
Who will take the reins and will they listen to the past in
leading to the future? History
repeating need not be, but the energies of youth must include some
maturity of old, if failures of both . . . to not prevail.
to this old man who still in mind is fighting youth rebellion...
wondering... where are the leaders, who will be the leaders of the
next generational movement? What
will guide youth's energy’s path if anything, or nothing at all.
Roger W Hancock © 10-25-2002
Roger W Hancock
Young people I implore, for your rebellion
rebel intelligently, thinking ahead to eventuality of the ends brought
about by thoughtless means, instead to a thoughtful end.
your face not be spited by thoughtless cutting of the nose or plucking the
eyes. What use to rebel when
the outcome… becomes your own demise.
Your fathers and mothers
rebelled in youth, to what end? Only to see the same rebellion of offspring, wondering why
the futile efforts… of their own youth.
Learn from the mistakes of
prior mistaken movements of misguided youth rebellions.
Be your own, withstanding the great pressures of the uncaring
pressures of your piers. To
improve future of a new generation be stealth, be smart, listen to your
parents before rejecting their instruction.
Do not shut your ears to schooling, listen and examine to determine
the good and bad then decide rejection.
You are the spies for a new generation.
Learn from my failures, the failures of a past generation of youth.
Rebel within your
intelligence, learning building for the intelligence of a new generation.
Grab not to the failed
premise of Marx, and Stalin, letting not your feelings to rule your mind
to the closing of your thoughts to the proven truth.
Communism and socialism both in theory have a better way but in
practice becomes an oppressive way.
Man is competitive and cannot cohabitate in a system where all are
to be equal in everyway, in housing, income, governance.
We have seen the proof of human experience in such actual live
models of the theory played out to oppressive and inhumane ways.
Fascism where gun control, where no private individual owns a gun
enabled the control of a nation to the expansion of ridged nationalism
creating attempted genocide on others.
Stalin’s communism to remain in power repressed exercised speech
in killing dissidents of their rebellion, that his war crime rivaled...
America is not perfect but
her premise has enabled this cushy free society that you enjoy.
Take her best and build upon the proven elements of this twisted
free society to build a sounder better way for a new generation.
Vast as the blue sky above opportunities, yours to possess. You also
possess the opportunity to fail, learn from the failures of others past to
your success. Here’s to the
success of a new generation.
Roger W Hancock
Life in God a poetry, soundless words in lifting meaning of
evading thoughts of life.
Strength of oak be found in such a tiny seed in itself a miracle explained
away in natural way by those with no ears to hear.
Wonders of the birth of man or animal the complexities that form
from such tiny egg and sperm to the fullness of a being.
I wonder why others wonder “How can there be a God?”
Within my being the wonder is “How can NOT there be a God?”
In the beating of my heart I feel the surging power of God; blood
life pumping through my veins. From
my heart brotherly love can pour to family, friends, and strangers poor
yet more a conduit of greater love than any man can love, the love of
sacrifice of son for us, to show the greater love.
The heart, a bioelectrical machine yet capable of so
much more; man can build a pump but cannot build a heart.
Blaming God for destitute in
spite of all that’s offered us, a vain and wasted thought.
God is God, for point one, this is his story not ours he defines
the perimeters of this mortal life. God
is Love yet God is just to all there be a point, though not for us to know
but to listen to his call. Calling,
tugging, pulling he calls for everyone, even you who swears his name but
in your heart be hardened tissue diseased within your aching heart failure
to see that sin is sin, small or large, in me or you.
When we refuse to see yet within we know, we try to blame others
even God for our own diseased decaying condition that lies within our
hearts. In spite of all our wretchedness, all our selfishness, it is
within the sacrifice that can cleanse the worthlessness.
This life we live within
ourselves in loneliness though not alone we wallow in self pity, blaming
others, blaming God, blaming anything, rather than the self reflection of
who we really are. Discourage
not the greater life of living life today, may not be a grandeur life,
with money, cars, and more, but to live within love greater than any one
mortal can possibly love. Father,
stern and just with a firm forged rod of ancient iron, justice a harsh
fair tougher love. His son
Jesus advocating for my sins, your discretions, final closing arguments of
bloodied nails impaled through hands and feet.
Comforted by the Holy Spirit of a reprieving purpose for this
earthly walk. Upon the
shameful cross, innocence of the hope for mankind’s hopelessness
reconciling the righteousness long lost… by one apple’s bite.
Roger W Hancock © 10-29-2002 www.PoetPatriot.com
Enjoyed the Poems?
Or other content
a T I P
not the same
as cow tipping.