Monday, March 2, 2015

If a Fish Were True

A man and his tool is a new evolution
Planned and planed worlds are functional expression
To wit the fish with fins and lateral meridian
Swim the topography of water in ease, perfectly
Balanced between genetics and environment till disease or famine
Or predation test and stress and/or end being.

It's body is an ecology of flora and fauna
His cells growing on him as much as is him
Forming organs that coordinate
Systems that concatenate
Habits that facilitate
And brains that think and feel what it is to be fish.

It's body is an ecology, Much as your house
And city sprawling around and surrounding
Or forest or prairie or desert oasis
Or planet or solar system or cluster or galaxy
Each with their unique paths in life.

Ecology with such definition, could mean environment of life
Which more often than not depends on other living beings
And tools and tools and tools and tools
Like fish and their fins and guts with bacteria
Themselves, too, are an ecology
Wherein life begins with little cognizance
And whole programming from nucleic acids.
For our environment is/of life, that is the world we swim
That is the world that visits me when I visit the grocery store.

Tools of enjoyment and escape
Tools of work and construction
Tools of protection and destruction
Tools of health and wealth and production
It is all the same, these are the wings we fly with,
As fish swims with fin and eye spying a playful gain.

And the planned and planed world?
You wouldn't like it.  It wouldn't fit in a box.
And if you somehow managed to box it up and put a label on it?
Most everyone would say, 'I knew it,' then ignore you
For food, and get to working and loving their world.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


We win
But we only really win with each other
All who survive get the prize
For this isn't a game that's sharply defined
This is the World, this is us, this Life
and no man/woman is an island

This is counter-intuitive, but real as real gets
We only win with and through each other
For we aren't playing to survive
We are fighting to survive and for others, too
People like us, people like you and me, to survive and thrive
So don't give in to the voices
It may be they're spirits and/or avatars of the Gods, even
Or the voices of friends or family or people we've shared with.
Our place is to Live, Laugh, Learn, and Love
I think voices are but intuition, depending...

Depending on our imagination to be real...
Which is our greatest strength as well
                                 as weakness
So don't give up fighting alongside,
All who survive get the prize, All who survive Win
And all who win thrive
                      My advice, don't starve.

You are a winner in your own way
This world is your world you were born into
There's place for you, too
As there's place for me
And I Will Learn Resiliency
Then they will GIVE US money, power, and Respect

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

A Companion of Time

Mystery hides in her eyelashes
She smiles and proclaims joy
Her laugh sweet, Her rebuke sobering
And her phone call an unsung miracle

Won't her love ever come croon
Won't her spirit ever soar with mine
If but coffee, or tea, or beer were shared
But she counts to 1 with nervousness
And two is a swear-word in polite company
Three adds up her sins every night before bathing
For the world is going to shit, so why join in.

Secretly in some closet off-world in galactic space
She can rejoice and revel in creation
Here, not so much
Here is: puppy dogs and craft stuff,
Convivial conversation and batted eyes.
With a camouflage streak as wide as the moon,
And a knife to take your ring finger.
Don't smile her way unless she's smiling, huhh.
That's always been women, though, no?
Keep you at arms length till they can crush you unnoticed.
Dip their toes for hours then strip and jump in.
I've seen them do it time and again.
I've seen them do it and like it.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Today Brings By Friends

The dark wanes like moon high,
Inviting as it is with mist and trees
And echoing through the gloom
Is a darker owl chewing on the night.

It is an early morning
I make the tea, I spill it some
And wipe it up with my sleeve
Perhaps as sun rises it will wipe away the night
And replace it with a deeper gloom
One we can see less by,
As I take a sip from cup
It is happening even now.

And when I'll refill my cup
I'll encounter the 62 ounce teapot
And it'll say to my, you can't see what I hold
Like everday, in my life
But I'll pour it out in response
And get something out of it with a bit of work
Or with a bit of Love
And with a bit layed down

I'll have something to savor in memory
As I drink from Life years from now.
And go through my junk,
I'll probably find a silver lamp,
A homey cup that I dipped once into the streams of time,
And a birthday card from someone loving telling me about myself.

Life is what you make it
And if I could live for ever, I would never finish
Writing and Painting
And after I got good at those
Couldn't one do anything?  Live anywhere?  Date anyone?
Scribe and Illustrate any future into the dreams of others?
I would be there helping imagine.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

How You Knew Control of Constant Change

Do you use the word, pure as an adjective, or a noun?
Is pure organic food a redundancy to you?
Does sacred merely mean simply uncomplicated?
And can our legal by-laws and directives be Holy?

For Moses, and maybe for you.
For the real world all words are sacred
And difficult to adulterate
But we do it anyway for the sake of efficiency, perhaps;
Or the slake of greed and profits in some self-less business method.

A thing is what the thing is most days anymore
And the spirit of the thing does not crush and chew
To be born anew, as orange, broccoli, or guacamole Tree.
I've become undigestible by the Gods that rule heaven
Either through protractor or by staff and rod.

The safe harbor you seek from the fate of others is control
But control of situation will likely as not still hold suprises
For context of body, mind, and soul is ill-defined beyond resiliency
You will take your blows.  And be changed from it.

Resiliency perfected is a Bruce Lee, is a Lao Tzu, or an Einstein.
Resiliency is a boy scout whom comes prepared.
And control?  But an illusion, for often your own mind
Is your greatest strength or worst enemy
When surviving or even writing poem.
And so that control is an adjective instead of noun.
And what you have control over is yourself.

Say you were Lost, do you control the weather?
Do you control the sacredness of water?
Do you make the sun rise and the sun set?
All these happen because nothing controls them.
And so you'd need to control nothing, to control them
Which isn't going to happen anytime soon.

Me?  I'm poor, I wear second-hand clothes,
I have no servants and a run-down truck.
My cats are my friends, and women think me twelve.
And it's a story I only hear echoed in but one other person.
The people I meet think my totem is a mouse.
The God I greet just wants me to live day-by-day.
And the games in my life are richer than I could ever play.

How could I play your games?
I would become the totem, I would be the day
And I would be twelve, down on my luck, and ill-prepared
To do everything myself to play your game.

Monday, February 9, 2015

I Dreamed of Beaches

This world isn't fast enough for me, Per se: I quit smoking
And then? nothing new...I get bored, I get lonely
In what time exist my long dead friends and acquaintances
That come waving in memory or pass by fleetingly glimpsed
In the face of another, or by my own behavior reflected
What world exists in penthouse suite of freedom towers
And what hell is bequeathed beneath the bridge of golden gates

Seemingly the world is connected to history, our history
And to every other history-like artifact from worlds past
The dead, they say can travel there and replay
The living dream the future here in present stay
And only our pets live in the now of small worlds
In a story of cloudy atlases and obfuscated prophecy

But what I meant to say if you'll forgive me,
We are all connected with Geography,
Or DNA, or Law, or Market, or Friends, or Era
Through our sadness and our joys
Through time spent together
Through tasting of a lemon sorbet
Or the smell of a red red rose
Or reflection of self-same metaphor
Even the very being of us, came from the same star.
Whom exploded years ago in Age past recollection.

And in that Geography of Time
Some wallow in self-pity
While others each night tell themselves
           "tomorrow will be a great day"
Me? I think this, "but tomorrow I'll be someplace else"
I'll have the memory, though, I'll wonder and wander
and escape both bad and good lives I could have lived.

For life isn't as continuous for me as it is for you
By trick of the eye, the fat slim or the store reopens
The devil is in us, all along... and friends play games.
I know now why I can't be content, read it in a book.
I also know why you have no time to read this,
Because you don't believe it's in your best interest.
Who cares, right?

Who cares if there's geography to time, a logic in rhyme,
A connection in metaphor, or discovery in allegory
Well, Because it's you, and it's only ever been you
That had the chance to make things right,
As I'm perfectly wrinkled and don't really play games, anymore.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Word of Jupiter

Word is
Is a game

The rising wanderer is a game
And unless that's how you're paid
The hype doesn't matter
The spin, the orbit
The light it shines is not it's own

The light you shine is yours
Your witness, your deeds, your thoughts
And that's what turns the world through love

But light is from heaven
All crowning glory And food of greener people

Because the reality is
Drama is hype, spin, magnetized life or electric hype
The life you want to live is your own
The people you want are your friends and family
And the God you want to worship isn't Chronus

For Nature accomplishes everything, while it does nothing.
Conundrum?  Maybe that's your attitude greeting.
Discard and be at peace; feel the edges of your breath

Your pounding pulse is the pulse of life
Connected to everything and their ways that too pulse with the breath of life.
But the icon, the totem, is a game and an exit towards hell.