Thrush In The Fairycastle

In the fairy castle in the back,
A pair of thrushes dwelt.
For wondrous songs I did not lack,
The most beauteous, heartfelt.

Peeking inside of their domain,
You'd see the passing of the years.
You'd see nests if your neck you'd crane,
There they could nestle without fear.

Ever higher the levels went,
As the fairy castle grew in age.
And it seemed as their fledgelings out they sent,
The fairy castle turned a page.

Then just last week I saw one morn,
A single solitary thrush.
Singing on the fairy castle lost and forlorn,
I felt his songs my heart would crush.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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The Fools in Washington D.C.

It's has been brought to my attention,
That all politicians are fools.
And worst than that,
They all are crooks.
It does not take a rocket scientist to figure this out.
Special interests, lobbyists, money talks.
Chicago style politics anyone, The ex Senator,
From Illinois is now president.
How many sexual predators are in the House,
And Senate?
These men live like Gods.
They have so many benefits, like gym memberships,
Retirement pensions, health care, dental,
And so many more things,
That you and me, will never see,
Yet they are our employees,
Subject to our wills,
And they get pay raises every year,
While you and I suck our thumbs.
These men live like Gods,

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Grandpa's Lake

He was sitting by himself all alone,
Down in a little corner.
Looking out of place, in the funeral home,
And away from all the mourners.

His dad walked up, and I heard him say,
Daddy can I go home?
I don't know why grandpa went away,
But he might be home alone.

I want to be there, when he gets back,
We were going fishing today.
He'll need his hooks and rods, and that burlap sack,
Where he puts the fish away.

His dad looked up, a tear in his eye,
And said 'grandpa's fishing now.'
But it's a great big lake, up in the sky,
And you can't go there right now.

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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America, So Beautiful.

Why is America the beautiful,
So beautiful?
It's because of German Polkas, and beer.
It's because of Irish corned beef, and potatoes.
It's because of French wines, and escargot.
It's because of soul food, from the hood,
The kind you find in Big Momma's,
In Cathedral City California.
It's because of Mexican food,
And the Mariachi's that accompany it.
It's because of the Hawaiian Poi,
And the Alaskan, fish ice cream.
It's because of the Italian Operas,
And spaghetti and meat balls.
It's because of the English language,
Brought to America,
By the subjects of the king.
America is blue eyes,
America is green eyes,
America is black eyes,

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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Ghostly Nurses and Piano Playing

I went to elementary school,
In some old buildings,
That were at that time called,
An independant school district.
The school only went up to eighth grade.
After you finished up there,
They would bus you,
To another independant school district,
That had a high school.
As I am sure other schools have,
Our fine school had a ghost.
The ghost was supposed to haunt,
Our lunchroom / music room.
The building was about eighty feet long,
And half of it had tables and benches,
So you could sit and eat,
Whatever you brought for lunch,
In your brown paper bag.
The ghost was supposedly a school nurse,
That was supposed to have died,

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poem by Juan Olivarez
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