Poem of the Week By Ray Whitaker

Biography:

Ray Whitaker is an active participant with several zoom poetic events worldwide. Among them, he has been spotlighted on a US National Poetry broadcast from Quintessential Listening Poetry Online Radio In April, ’24; and also an International Poetry Recital hosted by The Fertile Minds out of India this past April.  In July, he was the reading featured poet in David Leo Sirois’ Spoken World Online; in August, upcoming was one of six poets featured at the CHAUTAUQUA Arts Festival in Palmer Lake, Colorado.  He is an Administrator for Michael Lee Johnson’s social media page “My Voice, Your Words—Poetry In Action”, and an Editor on Masticadores Canada Literary Online Journal.

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Backstory:

I was listening to a Jefferson Starship album, “Red Octopus” released in 1975. Listening to the first cut, “Fast Buck Freddie” actually, when this poem came to me. The poem was written in the morning of 10 February 2025. And yes, pretty much lost in the space of the assessment of the Constitutional Crisis(s) that we here in the USA find ourselves in the middle of, with the current administration. Feeling a confluence of emotions about being frustrated, angry, and disappointed with all the efforts towards destroying our American values and inherit beliefs that make us Americans. No. I didn’t vote for the current politicos. Even so, -and having voted in every presidential election since I was old enough to do so- in the past I have able to let the election results go by when my candidate perhaps didn’t get elected. Not this time.

The song, “Fast Buck Freddie” struck a chord in my thinking at that precise time. Grace Slick was at her prime with The Jefferson Starship fine work, and Papa John Creech’s fine fiddle playing is predominant as a descant to Grace’s vocals. Soooo 1975 anti-establishment, and as relative in the political climate today as ever. The lyrics are written as if in today’s corrupt efforts at governing. It’s a sweet piece, and if you haven’t heard it recently, you should tune it in.

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GRACE SLICK AND PAPA JOHN CREECH

Lifting a section
repeating the lyrics
again and again
until the magnitude of the lyrics
is actually heard
and understood,

on the escarpment wall, leading atop the mesa
is there ladder to a earnest cliff dwelling
a tender, affectionate place made of native red sandstone
under a protective overhang…
leading arroyos to the structure of enamor
of which pushes passion into existence.

In this, age groups stand alone
affluence, stands by itself too
judging, based on the solitary value of appearance
exclusively, left isolated from the passion felt.

Then walking quickly away, barefoot
into a cool, greyish-brown lonesomeness
smelling a rain
far off in the distance.

Yet we are right where we started
staring at bare feet
toes covered in the dust
from a mountain trail, tall peaks nearby
having carefully walked around the rocks there
and glad for the warmth of summer.

If only
if only
if only
we believed in what is,

no lack of depth in the blue pools
disregarding the dew of green grasses
wetness of creation not stopping
a placenta having opened to Life
to escape into the world of demands
and needed visions.

Lovng each place of occupation
loving each other…
if only we could
and knowing we should
swimming in that flood
oh, if we just would.

 

© 2025 Ray Whitaker