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Recovery
T
& Rehab
hrough the Seasons
Poems and Illustrations
by Moe Armstrong
i
itat
l
ion
CENTER for
PSYCHIATRIC
REHABILITATION
Sargent College
of Health and
Rehabilitation Sciences
Boston University
Foreword M oe is one of my favorite people on this planet. I have had the pleasure of working with Moe for more than six years, and in that time I have come to appreciate him at many levels. Moe is a tireless advocate, with the kind of focus and energy required for making changes in the mental health system. He is also a wonderful teacher and devotes many hours each week to helping staff, consumers, public officials, and community members to understand the nature of psychiatric disability and the nature of hope and recovery for people with mental illnesses. Moe is also a historian and willing to share his insights about transitions in American society from the 1960s to current. In another life, Moe had a rock and roll band that recorded for Warner Bros., promoted reggae and rock tours in Cuba, had a radio show, marketed records and musical acts, and was the state twist champion. More important than any of these roles and lives that Moe has had, he is a friend. Moe is always there with a smile and a kind word to help staff and consumers in the mental health system make it through the challenges that they face each day. He is the kind of goodwill ambassador who would strike up a conversation with a needy stranger on the street and then spend the rest of the day helping that stranger. He is the kind of person that you want to be with during the best of times and the worst of times. This collection of poetry is a remarkable body of work. It says more about who Moe is, what he's done, and what his take on the world is than anything I can say in this foreword. I know that you will see the spirit, humor, and heart contained in this work and come to appreciate Moe for his abilities as a teacher, advocate, and all-around helpful person. More than that, I hope that you come to understand through his words why Moe is such a special friend to those of us who know him, and why he is one of my favorite people on the planet. ANTHONY M. ZIPPLE, CHIEF OPERATING OFFICER VINFEN CORPORATION, CAMBRIDGE, MA Preface T hese are poems about me. These are writings about my mental illness. I do see things differently than other people. That was the first question that I used to get asked with these insanity tests. “Do you see things that other people don’t.” I do. I also think differently. I have learned to accept and celebrate my difference. There is still a lot of pain in my life. I am learning how to live with mental illness and teach other people what we have learned together about our mental illness. I do group, after group, after group. These educational support groups are my life’s work. These poems are my life. I call them, MoePoe’s. I hope you like them. This is glimpse of seven some months of my life. I dedicate this book to Tony Zipple and LeRoy Spaniol. They invited me to Boston. I am grateful that I am here. MOE ARMSTRONG BOSTON, MA
Living with an Insect
Insects in July,
flying around,
at night
I want to,
squash the,
flying pest
Then, remember,
we all have,
to live
Looking closely,
I see this insect,
feels
Light Sunshine
Never got, Could feel,
hot the pain,
before,
Stayed cool, squashed to
into July death
Lisa complained, I wouldn’t, 1
want to, Poems by
Not hot enough feel that, Moe Armstrong
pain
I reminded her
I don’t want,
We could be, to be squashed
in Florida
The bug has,
flown away
The mornings,
are fresh, Before I’m,
in Boston done thinking
Always cool
Even these,
days are,
too hot,
for me
I go through,
life
Looking for,
perpetual spring
Yet, the seasons,
do changeMoist Heat
Sitting,
by my,
window
First dawn,
light comes,
out
Summer Rain
Rays of,
sunshine
Summer,
brought July Pour,
through,
There was, window,
no way, fan
to continue
The hum,
Heat, of fan,
so keeps,
hot me,
calm
Then,
in this heat, Through,
2
the rain came the day
Through
the Seasons
With big, Through,
crash, the night
of thunder When I,
wake,
I rode my, up,
bike, turn on,
through the, computer
rain
Watch,
the sun,
Felt, get brighter
good,
drops, Days get,
of, hotter
moisture
This is really,
On my, summer
face
Riding,
to,
Vinfen
Wet face,
while I,
workSplendid Green
Never knew,
plants could,
be,
so green
Shooting in the Capitol The mixture,
of heavy rains,
Where is, and bright,
the outrage, sunshine
lack of,
mental health, Have brought,
care, about,
for red haired, a green like,
Weston I’ve never,
seen
Look,
how much care, Walk out back,
has gone into my, on porch
life,
to succeed BAM
I have had, Full in the face,
every chance, green everywhere 3
Poems by
to stabilize
Moe Armstrong
And my sanity,
has been,
difficult
I’m left to live,
with,
no weird,
movies,
no drugs,
no booze,
no guns
Take something,
which calms me
Learn about,
how to live,
again,
with what I got,
schizophrenia
Randy Weston,
had none of this,
did none of thisI Go On
Never had,
peace of mind
There were times,
since the war
That I went, Summer Porch
through life,
with sometimes, The roar,
bliss, of traffic,
day after day goes on,
down below,
Am I growing, the porch
older,
and my uncertainty There is air,
creeps in? freshness,
after hot and,
I should, humid days
have more,
confidence The end,
of July
Left wondering,
what to do, More than,
4 with my life half way,
Through
through,
the Seasons
the year
Some days,
have gone,
so slow
Then, a week,
goes by
Finding my way, Next thing,
back to sanity, I know
and stability
A month has,
Every day, passed
is a struggle
This year,
Finding peace 1998,
of mind, was a time,
happens in, of learning,
moments, to sit on,
some days back porch
Not all the time, Feel the breeze,
forever on my face,
cool down from,
the heat,
after workOnly a Year Ago
Last year,
at this time
I was huddled,
behind a wall
I had fallen apart
Was left to go,
out,
walk in the streets
Thinking Mental Health
Get my way back,
Morning prayer to sanity
Let me have, How did this,
the clarity to see, happen
what needs to,
be done with, How did I fall,
mental health apart,
I am still not sure
My mental health,
society’s mental, Built myself back,
health through: 5
Poems by
Can things, 1. Some light activity Moe Armstrong
that work for,
me, 2. Some time spent,
work for others in conversation
I have so much And I am not over,
self doubt, the emotional,
about my ability, disorientation
about my sanity
I go on
I keep working
Living with the new,
My job is, person
go out,
meet people,
in the mental,
health programs
Try to discover,
who we are
What are the,
needs of people,
in need
Praying for clarity,
to do this jobWith the Rain
It was a rainy day,
in July
Heat had come,
and gone
These were days, A Day Goes By
that were overcast,
and still hot Was alone in a room,
getting ready to go,
I got through, out into world
this summer
Get ready to meet,
Wasn’t like, more people
last summer
Go more places
Today,
by the time, From Marlboro,
the early morning, Massachusetts,
rain ended to South Station
I was kind of, All through
6 choked up inside Boston and,
Through
around the area
the Seasons Thinking about,
people I had known A day of discovery,
and ideas
Places I had been
First,
Memories, riding around,
on a rainy day on a bike,
looking into
corners of the city,
meeting people,
from our mental,
health programs,
on the streets,
in the city
Then,
driving car out,
on the Mass Turnpike,
for a meeting discussing,
how to get people off,
booze and drugs
The days are,
fast and short
Before I know it,
a week has gone byFlipped Out
How happy,
I was,
before my,
first break
Kind of a, Sometimes Too Much
fresh kid,
from the, I’ve been,
midwest too sick for,
this society
Dreaming,
kind of, I have,
guy rage
I still have moments, Lucky that,
when I can, I haven’t,
be, been,
in my room or, picked up,
in the country thrown in jail
Alone, at peace Most people,
haven’t been,
Reading, ready for me
quiet 7
I’m trying, Poems by
Then, I am, to live, Moe Armstrong
brought back in the community
I am Moe I’m terrified
I am mentally ill
I never know
I have no life, what I’m going,
but survival, to feel like,
from flipping, any given hour
out
Sometimes, any,
Day after day, given minute
I live with this
I can explode,
Could you? or fall apart,
in a second
I wish all this,
would stop
It hasn’t
What will happen
I don’t knowTanzanian Marriage
In Cambridge
The marriage,
procession,
with Tanzanian,
women singing,
following the,
bride
African bright, Poetry
cloth of colors,
wrapped around, Mind spun,
their heads out of control,
now back in synch
Moving in lines,
moving in song Off into,
straight away,
Bride dressed, day
in best white
Straight ahead
Cambridge style,
wedding My life,
is poetry,
Two different, short phrases
8 African cultures
Through
That tumble out,
the Seasons Africans from there of my head,
Africans from here and on to paper
I sat, Fought madness with poetry
drinking soda,
pop Never knew,
what I had,
watching the, never knew,
ceremony my mental illness
I just couldn’t do,
what other people did
Would fall apart
Thought this falling apart,
was special about me
Didn’t know,
this is mental,
illness
Yet,
I got myself,
back,
through poetry
Organizing words,
on paper
Organized words,
in my headThe Way Out
Conversation at,
substance abuse,
program,
on Long Island What We’re Like
and, the Way You See Us
You,
wanted to know
Out on porches,
reeling out,
About life on,
thoughts
the outside
You see ourselves,
You didn’t realize,
as unable to,
you were outside
leave
You could go where,
You think that,
you want
we stay in the,
house,
Here at Bay View Inn,
all day long
to stop drinking,
is freedom
Look out windows,
only to go back,
Freedom is “inside”
to the porch
First, 9
Smoking cigarettes,
get inside yourself, Poems by
to stop drinking and, Moe Armstrong
Yet, inside our head,
drugging
there is a light,
burning bright light
This is your chance,
to live
Light that is always,
lit
Find out,
who you are
Searching for the way,
to balance
What you can do
We talk
Live your life,
clean and sober
We talk about how,
to get to saneness
Being in your,
program,
The pain of confusion,
is an opportunity
that each of us,
experiences,
To be free
Is never seen or,
understood
We are seen as only,
smoking cigarettesGone and Going
To come so far,
I wept that morning
I had been fast,
asleep
To have my head,
full of dreams
What’s Out There
At least I’m dreaming,
these nights in my sleep Driving through,
the desert
I have picked myself out,
of the dust Light of the,
day
Brushed myself off
Can see the,
Started going in the, landscape,
direction, stretched out
of renewal
There are,
I wept that morning, fields of shrubs,
10
life is so hard, and bushes
Through
sometimes
the Seasons Going through,
Psychiatric breaks, where there doesn’t,
can last a long, seem to be any life
time
The place is crawling,
with the living
The desert means,
that I can take time,
to see,
because,
I have the space
To see each living thing,
ants and bugs,
lizards,
I have come through, some field mice,
a lot rabbits,
scraggly stray dogs,
Still got a way to go and some occasional,
coyotes
Then I,
just have to,
jump out of the car,
and walk around
See this life up closeNuts on My Car
Horse Chestnut,
Bounced Back spiny green balls,
called seeds
I was left standing,
alone Fall on my car
Some people said, Nature keeps trying,
that I couldn’t have, to cover me up
gone through,
this schizophrenia, Imagine, I’ll walk,
out someday
Must have been,
something else And a tree from,
the chestnut seeds,
Walking through, will be growing,
the daily haze right through my,
car roof
Hearing the rattling,
11
and rustling The constellation, Poems by
Hercules in the sky, Moe Armstrong
Seeing the mice, looks over me
and cockroaches,
which aren’t there, Sky and earth,
moving off to the side I walk through,
this world
Psychiatrists and,
psychologists, My mind looking for,
explaining to me natural meaning
What I have, Trying to find,
what I experience my place in nature
What a life this is, While nature,
what a life this has been falls on me
People explaining me,
to me
While, my head,
has a storm in it
There is no way,
to get away from the pain
Stood up to face the fury
I’m still standingOld Hickory Forests
Some day,
I”ll walk through,
Bog Walk these forests,
under the canopy,
Wish I was out, of hardwood branches
walking through,
broad leafed, Finding ferns, and
cattails leaves
Following streams, Looking for wild flowers,
bogs and woods, and screech owls
with bunchberry
Then, these old opossums,
Maybe looking hard, which get into Boston
12 seeing a brown winged,
Through teal, I will discover in,
the Seasons or northern pin tail, their native home
eating,
lesser duck weed I will try to come out,
on some abandoned,
The beauty of the, fields
Northeast isn’t,
the cities Looking for moist meadows,
filled with Little Bluestem
Many forests have, Grass
been left and surround,
these cities Find some Red Cedars
Waiting for the day, Look for songbirds
people leave
Maybe sing a song,
Ducks, bogs and streams, myself
also poised in wait
They know how to survive,
without civilizationGet to Sleep
Sleep came,
so peacefully,
last night
Didn’t lay awake,
didn’t have,
this restless fear
That keeps me,
awake in,
middle of night
Humid and Hot Came home,
so tired,
Last blast, couldn’t stay up
of summer
Went to bed,
Hottest day, eight thirty
of July
Slept through
Wasn’t so hot, the night till,
as humid four thirty,
in the morning
Sat in the, 13
room, Was with the quiet, Poems by
made phone calls, of the morning Moe Armstrong
all morning
Zen music,
Turned on, by John Singer
air conditioner
Some poems
Just to cool,
down Feel rested like,
I can go on,
Sweating through, with my day
the day
My sanity,
When I went out, has been a struggle
of the house
There was that,
Boston breeze
No breeze,
all humid,
in my room
Didn’t know,
there was a breeze
till I went outFungus Out Front
Alcohol inky,
mushrooms,
growing at,
door step
Building Back
You might,
walk right, Better than,
by them I have ever had
I have walked, Right now,
right by them my life is better
Didn’t notice, Broken down,
the living, and coming back,
plants, gained me,
at my feet consistency
Thought to myself, I gained,
“Oh, a fungus” my life back,
by being constant
Not thinking,
about how, Struggle to calm,
this little plant the inner me
14
Through Is trying to make, Struggle to have,
the Seasons a life for itself, peace and sleep
in the flower box
Struggle to keep,
going through,
Storm Moves Thru the day
Woke with, I take so many
such a, herbs to calm,
bang me
There was, I need something
thunder in,
the night I am mentally ill
There was, Step by step
lightening,
crashing Day by day
Woke me up I am building,
myself back
Then, came,
rain.
Light rustle,
of rain against,
the window
I was back to,
sleepShooting Holes
In the Air
Bombs in Kenya,
missiles in,
Afghanistan
Who will be safe
How long,
before retaliation
Leadbelly We go on,
with killing
Jumping,
Leadbelly, The United States
song, talks against
coming, terrorism,
at then, kills many
me in sanctioned
military action
First thing,
in the morning When is enough
enough
About a man,
going round, How much blood, 15
taking names to feel satisfied Poems by
Moe Armstrong
Just this one The missiles are,
guy, in the air
on a guitar
The bombs are,
What a difference, on the ground
he made
Made more,
music from,
that voice and
guitar
Than, the whole,
electronic,
orchestrated,
wall of sound,
that was to come,
later in musicA Person
All these people,
speaking,
for and about,
me
Is a little hard,
for me to take
Well, if me,
feels this good,
I can’t have,
schizophrenia City Daydream
No congratulations, Wish I was,
I have gotten, walking through,
through, the countryside
one more day
Looking for,
Learning to live, American,
with schizophrenia, Elderberry
has not been easy
Letting the juice,
No congratulations run through,
16 my mouth
Through So I go on,
the Seasons trying to get, Maybe catch,
through the nights some,
High Bush Blueberrys
So that I can be, Low Bush Blueberrys
stable during the days
On a hot day,
To turn on television, With my feet going,
radio and read books
I could be on,
Find there are, a trail
whole groups of people,
making a living out of, Looking for the berries
speaking about us
Then, I come on to,
People with schizophrenia, the bushes
can speak for ourselves
Berries in my hand,
I am a person with, then, in my mouth
schizophrenia
There is so much,
I can speak for myself said,
for learning how,
to forage
Getting back,
to the woods$120 a Month
This hunch,
of going,
through the day,
by getting,
Eats and Thoughts through the night
Milk and cookies
Get up,
with a,
Under a tree,
thought,
inside a cabin
to write down
Looking out,
There are times,
a window
when I can’t,
sleep
This is the kind,
of life
I can write
That I want to,
Sitting around, 17
lead
the morning, Poems by
of late August Moe Armstrong
Milk and cookies
I spend,
Writing some,
almost $120,
poems
on different herbs,
While listening,
To put me to sleep
to music
I need to get,
Walking through,
knocked out,
the forest
from the day
Looking for,
I probably always,
plants and animals
did
The good life,
The terror comes,
never escaped,
at night
me
The days can be good
Milk and cookies,
is how I kept,
Still, to be able,
my sanity
to wake up
fresh and not flipped,
out
I have to go to sleepMoths
Waiting for the,
Cabbage White Moth,
to come back
Signaling the fall
Rainy Moods
Autumn doesn’t,
come along, The rain from,
until this moth, Hurricane Bonnie,
is out and flying, came in drizzles
about
Supposed to be,
Cabbage White Moths, the big storm
filled the kitchen,
last year, Light rain in,
end of summer, the morning
ate up my hops tea
Thought about,
They didn’t seem, when I once had
drowsy,
as they circled through, An office in,
the kitchen and living, the Marine Corps,
room barracks
18
Through Before the leaves, Listened to folk,
the Seasons turn music,
and wrote poems,
Before there is frost, in 1964
in the air
There is so much,
Comes the little, in my life that,
Cabbage White Moth has come and gone,
and come back
I am writing right,
through,
this life I have
About the life I had
About the life I have
In a small room,
writing poems,
listening to folk music
Thirty five years laterMonk Later
Bop in,
the morning
No Relaxation
Thelonious Monk
My head filled,
I’m getting sentimental,
with so many,
over you
thoughts
“Gallop’s Gallop”
There I was
in the Dharma,
Live at the “It”
room,
Club,
at the Zen Center
1964 Los Angeles
Alone with,
When I was,
my mind
running around,
LA
I could’ve,
rested
Didn’t know what,
to look for
Didn’t doze,
while meditating
I could’ve,
been at,
Instead,
this concert 19
I went to,
flow Poems by
Years, later, Moe Armstrong
I got a CD,
I thought, again
in Cambridge
Why not,
In a space,
rest my mind
in my head,
on Sunday morning
Instead,
went to,
No matter what,
thought,
happens
after thought
We never miss out
Tried to stop,
the thinking
We can always,
catch up
Couldn’t go back to flow
Like, hear a concert,
So absorbed,
on this compact disk,
in my thinking
34 years later
That time just went past
With my head still,
full of thoughts
I was beginning,
the relaxingNesting
Last day in August
How the summer,
has gone
First there was,
May
Now there is,
August
Light rain sprinkles, Brought Together
and overcast
Learn by talking,
These birds that had, with each,
the same nests, person sitting,
all summer around the table
They seem restless So much said,
in this time
They might be,
moving on Had to hang,
on every word
20 One nest,
Through at a time, This was a,
the Seasons they build a, focus group,
nest, made up,
and move on of mental health,
consumers,
They seem, about our mental health,
to enjoy, the, programs
nest they have,
and the birds who, There were,
they are with conversations,
and ideas
My summer ends,
not by seasonal, That I never,
temperature, heard before
change
Sat here for,
But with birds, hours,
looking for a, listened to,
new nest the discussion
Got to know,
people from,
another point,
of viewSnail
Natural shapes,
have some curves,
that let the eye,
wander
Black in the South Around this
winding,
Mance Lipscomb, slopping,
bent over a guitar, shape,
playing out in front, of nature
of Texas feed store
Finding,
Down by the, that there aren’t,
railroad station sharp corners
Sharecropper, Houses that
singer humans built,
stand in contrast,
These stories, to curves of
and guitar runs, a snail shell
play on
House that,
Down in, nature built,
Brazos valley on the back of, 21
the snail Poems by
Noasota, Texas Moe Armstrong
Looking at,
Living with, the little,
his family to understand,
the big
After he,
worked in, Natural world,
fields helps me to,
understand,
He was able, authentic nature
to make music
With the money,
from music
Bought him
a mule and,
a better guitar
Mance Lipscomb,
had a story,
to tellAt Home
Learning to enjoy,
where I’m at
Bird in Cambridge
Go for a walk,
sit on a park,
This little Chimney Swift,
bench
swoops down
The people,
The shape of,
are gathered,
the wings
around Central,
Square
The way the,
wings,
Finding out,
slope back
who is there
All fits to the,
Spending time,
character of,
getting to,
this bird
know this scene
Fast flying arcs,
Then, take a walk,
brings,
down by the,
Chimney Swift
Charles River
back to rest,
at the nest
22 With a sketch,
Through pad,
Wouldn’t be caught
the Seasons in my hand
on a branch or
wire
I draw out,
people I have,
For this bird,
seen
it is only the nest,
or nothing
A goose waddling,
past
There, right off,
to my side
Try to capture,
the shape of,
This bird swoops,
a tree,
down
on my sketch pad
I am left to wonder
Life goes by,
for me
Could I someday,
fly like this
With wings that,
slope backThe Past
The night,
was quiet,
all night
There were,
no stars
When I awoke,
went for a walk
Clicking of the Keys
I thought
the lightening, In front of a computer,
was only from, I can no longer,
the heat, remember,
till the rain hit what typing was,
like
With a crash,
the sky opened, Scattered papers,
up all over the floor,
I still seem to have
Ducking my
head, Yet, many of those,
I ran for cover, written thoughts,
all the way, are now on, 23
home a computer disk Poems by
Moe Armstrong
Not enough, There were times
rain to, that I felt lonely
splash up,
my legs, Used to dread,
my pants the pain of waking
Enough to sprinkle, This is no longer,
my head the case
I ducked inside, I feel like I have,
my home, a job to do
did a little dance,
while I listened, Rebuild myself
to Emmy Lou Harris, Rebuild others
music
I’m just recording,
Thought about my past the changes,
that I’m going through
Then,
let some other rain, Sitting in front of,
fall inside my head a computer,
writing words,
about the life,
I’m living
Places I have beenWhat I Do
The nights,
turned crisp
Beyond cool
Changes
So there I was,
so comfortable The Lance,
Leaved Coreopsis,
In my sleep flowers,
are withering
Never thought,
that I would, This Tickweed,
have this experience, is changing
again
Summer has,
Sleeping almost, come to an,
through the night, end
every night
The flowers,
Cool air wrapped, are changing
around me
24 For those,
Through I finally feel, who take the,
the Seasons like I am getting, time to notice
better
Bright yellow,
I wake in the morning, petals,
say a pray of thanks are shrinking
meditate The stem,
is still strong
write this poem
People going,
to work,
might not notice,
Tickweed
Might not understand,
the time to,
harvest is now
Tickweed is changingLeaving Town
The call
for “Commuter Rail
for Bridgewater,”
Clears out the,
Train Station the South Station,
this Sunday night
Two ragged folks,
down and out, The headlines,
around the railroad, about the President,
station scream out
Nine PM, Passengers pass by
I’m here again,
at night On the train,
there will probably
These are, be,
the kind of people, discarded,
like I used to see, newspapers
all the time,
in those days of, Keeping everybody,
the sixties reminded,
about Monica,
Now, in Boston, Lewinsky 25
I catch a glimpse, Poems by
of new street people, I’m on my way, Moe Armstrong
different era to Washington
They were up, Heart of the storm
all night,
won’t go to, What will I see
the shelter What will I learn
Hang out around, Talking about,
the railroad station mental health
They were here, In the midst,
again, domestic,
trying to spend, and economic,
the night, uncertainty
South Station,
Boston, Massachusetts Next train out,
my Amtrak train,
They will, the coast run,
spend this evening, to Washington, DC
living through,
another night
While I head out,
of town,
on the trainGet Away Day
About the President
A home for the butterfly
To censure,
To impeach The butterflies,
didn’t come North,
I’ll go to the, this year
Smithsonian,
instead of read these, I get to see their home,
newspapers when they aren’t,
around
Catch a glimpse,
of history longer, A bird’s nest hidden,
than today’s headlines in a wood’s edge,
habitat
I am too early,
for museums Probably small sparrow;
found this place
Find a garden off,
to the side of traffic, There is whole village,
in the shade of, of insects and,
Natural History Museum birds,
living in this habitat
Look for butterflies
26
Carved out in,
Through Looking for, the middle of the city
the Seasons butterflies,
on damp ground Finding a way to survive
Here in the heart, Each plant has distinct,
of Washington, defined beauty
traffic going under,
Smithsonian Mall Tunnel Black jack,
bee lites down
So there is a butterfly
garden, The small pincers
with no butterflies, on the front of
and lots of flowers head,
wiggles around,
This is better than, flower top
than the newspaper
As I write,
Surrounded by small trees, the world’s smallest
flowers and shrubs ant,
crawls across,
The butterfly loves, my notebook
the clover,
the alfalfa I blow the ant,
back on the grasses,
There are sweet grasses with my breathe
The Big Blue Stem Grass, I’m lost in the,
sprouting out, flower garden
in clumpsCapitol Power
Thought I,
would walk,
to the Capitol
To see what,
all the hoopla,
is about
How to Raise a Butterfly?
Channel Nine,
Have late blooming, Eyewitness News,
plants parked out in,
front 27
Butterflies need food, Poems by
for long journeys I read the, Moe Armstrong
Washington Post,
If you want butterflies, get a feel for,
leave decaying plants political climate
Butterflies love to, Start up the,
eat the mulch, steps,
from those dead plants to doors,
balconies and windows
Don’t use chemicals
Steer to the right,
Butterflies love the natural walk in to sit,
House Chamber
A single flowering
plant like, See the House,
Summersweet Clethra, in action
can go a long way,
to keep butterflies, Experience,
around corridors of power
Make friends with butterflies
Live with plants
Go for walks,
through plants,
and butterfliesGeorge Wallace Died
In the shadow, Back into the Union
of US Grant,
statue at, The old rebel died,
Capitol steps I read about his,
death
The day George,
Wallace died. In the shadow of,
Grant’s statue
On his horse,
this General Under the gaze
of Grant staring out
Grant fought, across the trees
for the union and the mall
In a stone’s throw, Washington, DC
from the Capitol September 14, 1998
I’m reading a,
newspaper,
about the death, Fought for the Union
of George Wallace
The bronze soldiers,
I’m realizing, of the civil war,
28 George Wallace, pulling an artillery field,
Through died today wagon
the Seasons
He was part of, War monument,
the reverberations, Washington, DC
of the Civil War,
still rolling through, The memories of,
this country my own combat,
history
Grant wanted the,
war over Fighting the other,
side,
He killed every, till death
rebel soldier,
possible Carrying off,
those crying in pain,
One of the last, the wounded
of the rebels,
died today My great grandfather,
fought,
Yet, George Wallace changed for the Union
Embracing African, I always wondered
Americans,
for votes What was his story
And, Teachers Unions, While at this monument,
for better schools I say a prayer
Leading Alabama, For all soldiers
back into the,
nation And, for this old soldier,
moe armstrongDan Emmett
Diamond of the,
Rialto Theater river boats
Gone, Playing songs,
the cool dark, of,
of the movie house, Pelham and,
of my youth Gilbert
Without a care, Songs of people,
in the world, enjoying themselves
watching the flicks
The master,
Sitting back, is gone
while the screen,
story unfolds Songs of the carefree,
life,
I watch some, not of work
cowboys,
ride across, The well dressed,
the sage dandies and ladies,
sit in the front,
All lost up, rows,
in the moment by the stage
29
The great expanse, The humming, Poems by
of the desert, and strumming Moe Armstrong
moves across,
the screen Going on
I wasn’t in the west “Double shuffle”
I grew up in, “Hoe corn,
Illinois dig potatoes”
“Scratching gravel”
Back in 1959,
I was watching, Jump up and dance,
these cowboy pictures like we got all,
the time,
I’m thinking, to get our good times in
“someday I’ll live in the west.”
“Pigeon wing,”
around
While this banjoist,
plays
Pick up the feet,
while we do this,
dance
Pigeon wing
Riding on the river
Double shuffle,
all the wayWashington, DC
City that is always,
in the news,
in the movies,
on the TV
Different view,
from,
the street level
Northeast architecture,
Federal Style Too Much Hassle
That now I am familiar, This town,
with the buildings Washington, DC
I recognize the row houses, Runs on,
which have become offices self importance
Have same peaked roofs, Doesn’t think of,
and rounded, the outside world
30
window frames,
Through
as Federal style, The news from here,
the Seasons
in Boston from Washington,
keeps generating,
I’m moving through this, excitement,
city, for itself
of monuments,
and old buildings The rest of us,
are worried
When the power grab starts
Will we have a job
Will we have a home
Washington likes,
the power conflicts
The rest of the country
Doesn’t want this power tripObserving
The morning,
commute
I was able,
to watch,
the day,
unfold
People,
in Washington,
DC
It Was Luck
People on top of,
people Could I have,
discovered
They will be,
working all day, This path to,
in the office, wellness,
buildings sanity,
stability,
Returning home, sobriety
tired at night
31
If I had lived,
Poems by
All day long, another life?
Moe Armstrong
breathing canned,
air, If I had gone,
in those office buildings down another,
path?
Behind sealed,
plate glass windows Instead,
I was left to,
Imagine, flounder,
outdoors for them, and discover
these city dwellers,
is riding, At the same time!
the metro
These floundering,
With overcoats, mistakes,
suits, ties I made with my,
life
Women in heels
Were a help,
These are the riders, in bringing,
on inner city rails me to stability
Lucky I lived,
long enough,
to find out,
a pathHuman Safety Net
The end of,
this trip,
to Washington, DC
September 15, 1998 Boston Bypass
This group of twenty, Washington,
from across the country DC,
to Boston
We sat around,
the table, I get to town,
and talked about, the next,
long term care, morning
for people in need
The Boston,
Who would we, morning,
be working with commute
What will mental, Seen from,
health look like, Amtrak
five years from,
32 now I sit in,
Through the train
the Seasons This was only,
the beginning, Train tracks,
of understanding, the Metroliner
there will be a need,
for long term care Riding right,
through,
The trip had ended, Route 128,
that afternoon traffic
We asked each other Boston,
“How would we, backed up
like to be treated.”
Bumper to,
Should we break, bumper
down and
fall apart Imagine,
people,
“Guarantee long term, go to work,
compassionate, every day,
mental health care,” through this,
as the foundation, traffic
as a guarantee,
was the answer I glide by,
on the train
While, people,
grind to workReversed Realization
Back in Boston, We all,
on the all night, have to,
Metroliner get off,
our high,
New England, horse
countryside,
flashes by We are,
capable,
First light of, of,
dawn every mean,
spirited thing,
This train, possible
going by,
as part of, There is,
American, so little,
landscape time
Except, To live
I’m on inside,
looking out To be together
Trying to think, Be good,
how trains look, to each,
from the out side other 33
Poems by
I have stood, Go with, Moe Armstrong
in a railway crossing goodness
Watched trains, Be kind
go by,
seen the people,
inside Death
Now, I am the, Alfredo Russo,
person, died
on the inside
Built himself,
In my compartment, back from,
on the pullman train homelessness
From drug addiction
From gang warfare
From streets of,
Boston
Raised for decades,
on the,
streets
He got clean and,
sober,
to die from,
brain cancerTraveled Alone
The airport,
muzak,
played
Could’ve
While I waited
The plane,
Boarded, I’m on,
the plane keeps going,
to Los Angeles
The guy who,
was, I could stay,
to ride with, on the plane
me,
on this trip, No one would,
to Las Vegas, know,
Nevada I’m going on to LA
Guy who was on patrol, Then,
with me in Vietnam get off and walk,
down sunset strip,
He never came with a floppy,
34 overcoat
Through I was alone
the Seasons Pocket full of poems
On this trip,
to, Looking at bright,
Third Recon, lights
Reunion
Walking through,
Las Vegas, Hollywood,
Nevada looking for stars,
just like I used to do
Logan Airport,
Six AM Instead,
I will get off,
Remembering the, this plane,
war, in Ohio
the people,
who I served with, Go to Las Vegas,
in Vietnam instead of,
Los Angeles
Traveling alone,
this morning, Walk in the,
with thoughts and, bright lights,
memories, big city,
of the war of Las Vegas
Without the,
movie stars,
of Los AngelesUnder the Lights
In the Casinos
I’ll be looking,
for the new,
Sally Rand,
in Las Vegas
Fan dancer
James Whitcomb Riley Country
Like in,
The fields of, “Kings of Kings”
Indiana,
are brown She held those,
fans,
Being harvested parted them,
just a little
Reminded,
this is fall Men gasped
We fly low, Tonight, a new,
over the farms generation of men,
are gasping,
Grey barns around the casinos
35
White siding, Men in polyester, Poems by
on the houses checked pants, Moe Armstrong
are gasping
This Sunday, in Las Vegas
morning,
no one is, Seductive dancers,
working are peeking out,
shaking their
I see the, feathers
life below,
is only seen by, These dancers used,
the farm work, to get men going
done
Now they got Viagra
Not the people,
working Wonder if?
Quiet Sunday, Because of Viagra,
morning show attendance,
will go down
Midwest,
slice of life, Will men still need the fan dance
America
Fields, fences,
roads, farm,
houses and barns
Seen from the airplaneLots of Lights
The quiet of,
Las Vegas,
morning,
before dawn
The clink,
of change,
pouring out,
a slot machine
Bells ringing, Watching Vegas
Lights flashing
Too many,
The mechanical, new cars
sounds,
of the casinos Too much,
money
Slot machines
Roulette wheels Too much,
Keno high living
This early in, Here, you can get
the morning
36 Instant wealth
Through More fun to, In Las Vegas
the Seasons see casino in,
action 24 hours a day
I go out, Signs flash
on the floor
Bright shiny autos,
Catch the, roll by
morning,
gamblers Down Las Vegas,
Boulevard
Drink some,
tea at The Strip
Starbucks
Who has the
Walk around, most
see the lights,
and the people. All this glitter,
doesn’t buy,
Dig the scene peace of mind
I’m happy looking,
at the cross section,
of humanity who comes,
here
I don’t spend a pennyOn the Bench
Strike up,
conversation,
with a woman,
on the stone bench,
outside the Westward Ho,
Casino
She didn’t,
strike it rich
Broke and,
drunk in,
the morning
Nice clothes,
no money
A night of, At the Table
losses
She nervously,
She tells me, strokes her,
there’s a tent, hair
city,
where she can live As he plays, 37
Poker Poems by
She can, Moe Armstrong
wait through the, At the table,
night until she, the cards,
is sober flip over
I say good-bye, He seems,
walk into the, to be losing
casino lights,
and street lights She tugs and,
tussles,
on to the sidewalk her hair,
over and over
As if to say,
we must be,
going
They stay,
He continues,
to loseOn Vacation
She was,
thin
He was,
fat
Macumba
They came,
Black Leopard
from Kansas
left alone,
when his master,
They are here,
died
in
Las Vegas, Nevada
Had to be reached
They go,
Roy,
down the strip
a lone man,
got in the cage
They go,
into one casino,
Sat still with,
after another
the leopard
I wonder
Until they,
38 connected
Through
Does she keep,
the Seasons
herself thin
Thought about,
why can’t people,
So he can
go to where the,
other person is
Spend what he,
wants
Sit still,
until they connect
Eat what he wants
Then, spend every,
While she goes,
waking moment,
on by his side
with the each other
Living without
Spending time,
with the each other,
can be,
a sense of enjoyment
Alone, with the,
other person
There is a bond,
that comes over,
time,
of being together
Learned this from,
these animal loversSecret Garden
Stripped,
white tiger
Uses the,
stripes,
to hide,
in the bush
He can run,
after his game
Here at the,
Secret Garden,
Las Vegas, Nevada
Life on Streets
The animals have,
everything to eat Consumer who I met in Vegas
I am a like a small Here in Las Vegas,
child, I pick up cans
filled with wonder
I make two hundred
Each living space, dollars,
for the animals extra a month, on top,
39
of social security
Poems by
Filled with trees, Moe Armstrong
and grass I live around the edge,
of the strip
I can get up close,
look them in the eye My shopping cart,
filled,
What a wonderful, with cans in,
world plastic bags
What a way to spend, I head down,
the afternoon to get my money
Romping with tigers, Some social,
lions, elephants and security
dolphins at,
the Secret Garden Some cans
I have enough,
to call this life
LivingWaiting for a Bus
Three mental health,
consumers,
waiting for a bus
I go talk to them
They take me,
down town,
Las Vegas
Show me apartment,
building in stucco,
balcony out front
“Corner apartment
that’s where I live” Stayed Behind
“$150 per month” Dedicated to those who stayed behind
“I live down below, We came,
same rent” to town
“Lived here three years” Las Vegas
40
Through “Work for tips lifting, Looking to,
the Seasons baggage get rich
in the casinos”
We lost,
Spending free time, what we,
at the Salvation Army had
“Best substance abuse I ended,
program in town” up,
a drunk
I go back to the strip
She’s working,
Meet more people, in the casinos
and look around
There is,
a way,
for me
to get out,
of here
But, I never,
seem to find itUnder the Glitter
The late night,
gamblers
Still going,
on
In the middle,
of the night
Going to bed,
late
At the ATM
Waking up,
The look of, early
sadness,
in his eyes People come,
to this town,
He lost everything to get rich
Was at, Gamble away,
the ATM, all their money
going for more, 41
money And spend, extra Poems by
Moe Armstrong
He thought, Yet, I don’t have
that getting, enough,
more money, money,
would help, for restaurants
him out
I can’t understand
Help him,
out of debt What do
all these,
He was losing people,
do for work?
He lost some more
That they can afford,
Everybody is losing to live like this
If people won
There wouldn’t be,
Las VegasAnother Life
Two drunks,
on the street
One drunk,
patting the other,
on the back
Home Before Daylight
Bent over,
Las Vegas, a curb
before,
dawn Up all night,
on a bender
The last lights,
of the, Waiting to sleep,
Starlight Casino it off
Cool air, They have come,
desert morning to comfort each,
other
Guy and his,
girl, They know that
walking down, they can’t sleep,
the street, out like this,
42 in front of me out on the streets,
Through in the night,
the Seasons He is slumped, or they get busted
over
They just stay
Hard night sitting on a curb,
off in the shadows,
All night away from the lights,
of Las Vegas
They are,
winding, Looking out for each other
their way back
Until daylight,
To a hotel room, when they can sleep,
on the strip in a park
He walks ahead,
she walks behind
As the sun,
comes up,
the lights,
on the strip,
go down
Day light happens,
right in front of,
Starlight CasinoIn Between
In between,
trips to the strip
I hang out,
at the Third Recon,
Vietnam war reunion
Meet guys,
who I might,
have known Taxi
Look for faces, I could,
I might remember have been,
driving taxi,
We have all, in Las Vegas
grown older
Driving down,
So much older through the,
night
In our time,
we seemed so young Writing during,
the day
I thought that we,
would never age Making a living, 43
driving cab Poems by
Everytime we get, Moe Armstrong
back together Writing straight,
through
We look more tired
Maybe, mystery novels,
The war took a lot, about casinos.
out of us
I could have been
We saw too much
A taxi driver,
The years have taken, in Las Vegas
a lot out of us
Small apartment,
We are different from, off to the,
the other people who, side of the,
never went to Vietnam strip
Keyboard and,
typing
Finding characters,
for the novels
In my rides,
and my walking,
down the strip
In search of a sketchCarnival in Lawrence
Old fashioned,
ferris wheel
Small merry,
go round
Fills the park,
in Lawrence
Big fair,
“Fall Harvest,
Days,”
Back at Work in Boston for the residents
I’m coming in, Guys trying,
dead tired to knock over,
milk bottles
From the road
Get their,
From Lawrence girl friend,
a stuffed animal
44 In the distance,
Through just over, I ride by the park,
the Seasons the hill, as the school,
past Stoneham across the street,
gets out
I see the lights,
of Boston Parents picking,
up kids
I realize,
that I’m part of, Kids delay,
big city America ride home
Boston skyscrapers, Kids with eyes,
just like Manhattan lit up,
waiting to get,
I ride my bicycle, over to the carnival
through these,
buildings Not wanting,
to go home
Now, I’m in the,
far distance, Not wanting,
over six miles, to leave,
from Boston downtown Lawrence
Looking at,
the lights
Sighing,
“Wow, I live there”Morning Quiet
The stillness,
of the mind
There is not,
a sound
At five AM,
I wake up
Before,
Boston Breeze the traffic
The wind, There is,
blew, a quiet,
the flags that I have,
learned,
Straight out... to live,
with
The wind,
off the, I withdraw,
Longfellow, first thing,
Bridge in the morning
Was stiff Meditate and pray 45
Poems by
I was riding, So that I can, Moe Armstrong
my bicycle, go out,
against, during the day
this gust
I’ll try not to,
There was, lose myself
more,
than, I set aside,
a breeze in, mornings for,
my face rediscovery
This particular, The quiet,
day, lets me think,
I was out, and reorder,
with full gale, my mind
pushing against,
me
Across,
this bridge,
and across,
this townRailroad Days
Lining track, Thought why,
by the, there can’t,
railroad be
Men working, More silent,
in the, moments
morning
While my,
The light, head unwinds
of lanterns
So, I can,
Started the, draw pictures
day
Those days, Conference
seem,
gone There is this,
conference
As I ride,
the rails, We sit around,
to discuss,
Washington what Medicaid,
should look like
46 There is nobody,
Through left Accountability,
the Seasons in the system
by the side,
of the track Not enough,
money,
to go around
Alternative Services
Washington DC Was
I suggest Peer,
This time, Education
in coming here,
did nothing for, Teaching those of us,
me with mental illness
There was no, What we have
where to go
How to live,
Where I had not, with mental illness
been
Pull groups of,
I sat in the room, people with,
with crayons mental illness,
together
Finished my,
pictures Let us share our,
experiences,
I enjoyed the, and learn from,
time each otherWatching the Capitol
From car window,
I am reminded,
that we are in,
Washington
Through the,
Hotels mist of rain,
clouds
More gets done,
by conversations Across the,
river
In the hallways
The Capitol,
Than at the meetings can be seen
We spend time, We are in,
brainstorming the heart of,
American decisions
Trying to figure,
out what we can, In the distance,
do together the white rotunda,
sticks out,
Advocates and, as the dusk,
policy makers comes 47
Poems by
Implementer of, Moe Armstrong
policy I am able to see,
the light is on
Under one roof,
we have time, Congressional,
to get together session,
going on,
Maybe, we should, late tonight
do this more often
Get all the people,
who disagree
Rent a hotel for,
a couple of days
Just spend time,
with each other
Some problems,
might begin,
to iron outLooking
“Voted to inquire,
about impeachment”
Headlines,
while I was in,
Washington
My life is,
saving lives
Down Here
So far removed,
“There’s these from Congress
guys”
I’m the other side,
“Blacks” of punishment
“Bad element” All the mistakes,
I make everyday
“They live over
there, Things I said,
just on the outside never wish I had said
of Old Alexandria”
Things done,
48
“Wouldn’t want never wish I had done
Through
to leave your
the Seasons
car, Stabilizing my,
where they live” mental illness,
depends on,
“When they forgiveness
come over here,
we take them in I got to let myself,
the alley” be forgiven
“The police, Learned to be,
beat them up” forgiving
“We take care Learn to go on
of problems”
Taxi driver was,
telling me
Late night in Virginia
This conversation,
I called
“The Alexandria Solution”
Sad,
we still treat
each other
this wayAll Night Drizzle
If this was winter,
we would be,
in trouble
This rain,
doesn’t stop
This could,
be snow
The city would,
stall shut
This fall,
more moisture, Going Home
and cooler air
Bags of stuff
All signaling, packed as,
get ready for personal baggage,
winter on the way out of,
Logan Airport
We can plan
ahead, So much,
all we want manufactured,
49
clothes,
Poems by
If winter hits, toys,
Moe Armstrong
with the moisture trinkets,
of the fall electronics
And brutal cold, Packed,
of a special winter as luggage,
in the hand,
We are in trouble over the shoulder,
under the seat,
in the overhead
As duffel bags
As cardboard boxes
Anyway to get,
this stuff on the,
plane
Everything
they could,
buy,
was leaving,
the United States
Going into,
the CaribbeanTake Off
On the tarmac,
the Boston,
skyline,
stands out
State street,
buildings, Questions
seen from afar
What will,
The whole, Cuba,
skyline seen, be like
across the harbor
What faces,
Shining lights, will I remember
in pre dawn hours
Will I know,
We pull out how to get,
around
Take off
I’m supposed to,
I’m able to, meet Alexis,
look back down at the airport
50 See the skyline, I’m staying,
Through of Boston outside of town
the Seasons
One last time I’ll try to get into,
Habana
Before Miami
Find my way,
into town
What will be the,
transportation
Will the streets,
still be safe
Will I be able,
to dip into,
the corner store,
and buy something
Can I sit on,
the streets and,
have a conversation,
in HabanaTo an Ex Wife
Joannie,
I’m sorry
Sorry that,
Became in Boston you got me,
after the war
Thinking of,
Boston After Vietnam
How I have, Sorry that,
learned to, I was uptight,
love this city and angry,
when we were,
Ride my, together
bicycle,
through these, Years later,
downtown, I’m with someone,
buildings in Cambridge
I think that I, Naomi loves me,
can overcome, a great deal
anything
I love her
Just by riding, 51
my bicycle, She comes from, Poems by
through, our generation, Moe Armstrong
downtown our times
In Boston, I’m trying to,
I stay, make our life,
on the ground better,
here in Cambridge
I keep thinking
about what, I wanted you to know,
I want to be that I am doing OK
Who, I’m continuing on
I have actually,
become. I’m sorry for what,
I put you through
A mental health,
outreach worker, So many years ago
who writes
Someone who is,
mentally ill,
who works
Somebody who,
enjoys living,
and writingDucked Inside
Sun so,
hot
Day,
so still
Hard to believe,
tropical storms,
hit this,
Florida coast
These storms,
hit with a wallop
Things can,
cool down,
around here
Gershwin Special
On the Airplane I left Boston,
in the fall air
Big Broadway,
show Still feels like,
summer here
52 The splashing,
Through rhythms
the Seasons The sunlight,
George Gershwin, strong
wrote the music
Can’t find the,
Ira Gershwin, shade
wrote the words
People duck,
There never was, inside,
this kind of mix, the airport
of every kind of,
American music, Ducking from,
all together, sun and heat
until Gershwin
Just like,
Rhapsody in Blue, people duck,
plays on from the rain
100 years since,
the birth,
of George Gershwin
Listening to hours,
of Gershwin music
on the plane rideMusical Daydream
Brush strokes,
on the drums
Hop the bop
Was out on,
a wing
On an,
airplane
When I Bongo Time
got into,
sky groove Crazy,
man,
Puffs of, crazy
clouds
I’m the,
Underneath last of,
the beatniks
Piano music
Riding on,
Swings in, the horse,
my head of my choice 53
Poems by
I’m all inside, This big Moe Armstrong
myself silver,
airplane
My thoughts,
are passing, Love of life,
through
Digging,
This music, the scene
is letting,
my mind roll Swinging,
through the,
air
Now, don’t,
let this get,
to you
Just about,
the time,
you thought
The beatniks,
were gone
I pop up
Dig itThis Music
Arturo Sandoval,
comes on,
the airplane,
music channel
Blowing that horn
I heard him,
at the,
Late Show,
Hotel Riviera The Church Is Open
Habana, Cuba Late at night,
after Jose Marti,
Now, he lives, Airport
in the United,
States I’m walking,
in Habana
Blowing his horn
There is,
Has a Record a church,
called, close to hotel
“Hot House”
54 People praying
Through He is playing,
the Seasons what he could’ve, Filled with forty,
been playing, people
while in Cuba
Praying
Blow, man, blow Singing
You got your ticket, I thought,
out of Cuba how strange,
people come here
And, you know, and see,
how to blow, the scarcity
your horn
See the lack,
of material goods
Miss the people,
in the church
The action is,
in the churchOutside Habana
Rush hour,
traffic,
sweeps by
Not bumper,
to bumper
Alexis and I
One by one
We discuss,
-I’m out by, theater by,
the beach people who,
are deaf
Playa
I will meet,
Trying to work, the director,
my way, in old Habana
into Habana-
Understand,
More cars, what is,
bicycles, being done
motorcycles,
than ever before How deaf people,
see themselves,
There is a steady, through drama 55
hum of, Poems by
people going to, Take Alexis, Moe Armstrong
work with me
Traffic in the morning So he can write,
plays about,
I sit on a fence, people who are,
looking across, mentally ill
the street
We need our,
At the all night, own theater
burger joint,
“Abierto 24 Horas” People with,
psychiatric conditions
I cross the,
street We have a story,
that is not just,
Take an up, disaster
close look,
at the burger joint, We have hopes,
maybe, I’ll end up, We fall in love,
here tonight, We are people
eating French fries
Alexis and I,
meet people
Talking mental health theaterCuban Prayer
The church,
down the,
street,
is open
People come,
to the door
“Rejuvenate,
our souls”
The sign outside,
the church,
door reads
In Cuba
I’m on the streets,
Pizza Cubana passing by
Walked by, Thinking,
a person, I’m in the need,
eating pizza of prayer
Pizza in, Say a pray,
Habana for the well,
56
Through being of others
I thought,
the Seasons
that I might, Well being of Cuba
stop
Saying a pray,
Eat a pizza that people here,
will rejuvenate,
What is Cuba, their health,
without pizza and well being
Stop and get,
me a bit to eat And, I will rejuvenate,
mine
Have a conversation,
with people gathered,
around the pizza cart
Get to know the,
people of Habana,
While eating
PizzaWhat?
Watching,
Cuban,
movies
Drinking, As I Walk By
Cuban,
soft drinks Selling plants,
by the side,
Smoking, of the road
Cuban,
cigars Pushcart,
with iron,
Walking in, metal wheels
Cuban,
streets Cigarette cart,
off to the side
Everything here,
is Cuban One push,
cart passes,
Completely, another
Cuban
Now, there’s,
cold soda,
and beer 57
Poems by
Being sold, Moe Armstrong
everywhere
From,
push carts by
the side of,
the road
Capitalism
meets,
Socialism
By the side,
of the roadTwo Strong Women
They were,
two strong,
women
Cubanas y Cubanos
Catalina,
The world, stayed behind,
of Habana when the revolution,
swept over Cuba
Dark skinned,
light skinned, She was left,
mixed with a little,
apartment in,
People and, Buena Vista
more people
Scrambling for food
Moving into,
Habana Occupying,
rebel soldier
More people
than, Took over the,
ever before other apartment,
in the building
The musical,
58 group Van Van, Tried to boss,
Through sang, her daughter and,
the Seasons “Habana can’t Catalina around
take any more”
They took no,
Bicycles, gruff
automobiles,
motorcycles They lived in the,
same building,
Filled with, for thirty more years
people
They saw the,
On the move Cuban Revolution,
pass by
I’m here,
5:00 PM, They believed in,
rush hour the Revolution
The streets, They were,
are filled, two strong,
with traffic, women
and people
Isabel,
the daughter,
stayed with,
her mother
Catalina,
was a scientistDeveloped medicine,
with Che Guevara
She only got,
paid, No transportation,
her salary at all
Isabel,
Made no extra money gives most of,
her food to,
Gave her time freely daughter
Isabel, Isa, grew thinner
grew up,
went to, Today,
the University, her daughter,
graduated has six years
Did her volunteer, The years,
work in, of scarcity,
Pinar del Rio still aren’t,
gone
Came back,
to Habana Isabel, and,
her daughter
Lived with,
her mother Catalina, and 59
her daughter Poems by
Back in the, Moe Armstrong
small apartment, Two strong,
Habana, Cuba women
They were, Continue,
two strong women to live with,
the Cuban Revolution
One day,
Catalina,
was murdered
Isabel, left,
the apartment
Went to live,
in another house
Had a daughter
They live with,
nothing
Material life,
was dismantled,
by the loss,
of the Soviet Union
No food,
at allYour Tender Eyes
Your tender eyes
Your tender care To live better
You work in, Your tender eyes
Hospital,
Cira Garcia You see the world
Healing the, You are present.
psychiatrically, with the people
wounded
You are needed
You pass by,
you stop So, you help
You spend time,
in conversation A Delicious Yellow Fruit
Healing Mango juice,
every morning,
Your tender eyes, for all week
look into the,
humanity Mango juice,
every night,
60 See how you, for a week
Through touch,
the Seasons with your words I could be,
called
You ask your,
questions El Mangero
You discover their,
answers Sip some juice,
smoke a cigar
You are a real,
doctor Watch Fidel,
Castro on,
You are healing television
You see the suffering,
You intervene, Start and end,
You reach out my day
As a psychiatrist, Juice
you are ahead, Water
of your time Cigar
You care,
without pretension
As a healer,
you assist,
the woundedCuban World
Sat waiting,
for a bus
Old Car In Habana To take me,
into Habana
Two guys,
low slung, The night has,
sitting in, started,
a fifties Chevy to come in
Cruises this, There is a,
avenue, mist,
in Habana from afternoon,
rain
They are looking,
for pasajeros I sit down,
thinking
Passengers
Hotel life, 61
They make, leaves me Poems by
this route,
Moe Armstrong
several times, Looking for,
a day the stars,
and rides,
Belching black, to Habana
oil from,
their exhaust Out of this,
room,
They are trying, and into the,
to get, streets
extra pesos
Every face,
While they, and every,
cruise the, street corner
avenue
Different from,
Person on, the United States
the corner
Holds up a,
finger
They stop
Gave the person,
a ride,
for pesosYou can also read
