Saturday, May 16, 2015

The Corner in a Leaf

I quit smoking for four days
Wasn't really hard or stressful
Just have nothing else to do
I can't say, or do, or be anybody where I am
And without cigarettes I had to think about that
I felt a hell of a lot better
Think tomorrow I'll get patches.
But still, I wonder...
What is it I'm doing with my life
If I can't dance
And I can't jump
Or mix it up
Or find a love
Or watch the dove

Just some birds chirruping
Crickets in the song
And a plant or two silent, still
Quietly bearing witness everything is accomplished
By doing absolutely nothing

The rain continues to threaten
I want less, And expect nothing
But somehow promise finds me
And tells me I'm the one.
Lifts me up, makes me have fun
And I smile with surprises smooching me.
Thanks be
            to God.
And Thanks to you!

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Mother's Day

Mom wants to laugh with your laughing
And Cry with your tears
Her heart sings with one's singing
And Dies with your fears
She wants to Love in children's loving
And feel anger at your anger towards others
For after all mothers are part of you
Both in Nature and Nurtured whomever.

And whenever I think of her
Or find her in my heart
I give her a great big hug
Even though she's departed

For I can still remember her face, her smile
And I can still be thankful for being her child
And friend, and companion, AND...
Asset according to Dad.  He told me that.
But I would laugh, and sing, and dance
With my mom's memory still loving
And still warm in my hug.

Saturday, May 9, 2015

The Article You Want

I live a boring and lonely life
It is quite and quiet living with this companionship
For apparently I am too holy to be friends with
And too much a sinner, too.

Who cares
The Elk shot by hunter
Passes on the grace to more
While brute merely digests
The material energy of gore.

Who cares
The squirrel killed by cat
Passes on his legacy
Which is never found by crude claws
Meant to shit and piss
For he isn't a word that's been known to be erased
And even now forests grow

Who cares
The bird eats the bug
And when birds die they get eaten by bugs
It's not my place to fear them
For they are dead to Lord and do not hear him speak
They see with eyes borrowed or lent
And kill but flesh in hopes to feed their belly
Perpetuating the very things they fear.
The death, the sin, the anger of innocents

And harried world will continue
As they know not the way of Peace or Love or Humanity
as Elk or cat or squirrel or bug
For they do not speak to the wind
And forgot their names
Living as children without teachers
Except a dusty old book trimmed to fit their materialism.
May they forsake their idols they've created from money, power, and respect.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

You Know, You Don't Stopping It

Can I be a King?
Can I see the horizon of Green?
When I dive, dip, or swim...
What eddies stir up riches?
What ocean floats my desire?
What folk rejoice I'm Liar?

For I'd have to hide the truth,
Or make them laugh when telling them.
Because anyone rich, and I don't mean middle class
Got back forty and big garage.
I mean like police sucking, sulking, protection.
I mean... I mean... where pushing buttons is done for you
A place that instead of feeding off you, Only ever is sculpture
Something formed to cradle soaring spirits.

Because anyone rich Would have to lie to get that,
Oh that they don't care...
That someone is cold,
A kid is hungry,
That life is sold.
They do care for they are human and have addresses.

It's just that shit happens.
And the people in their life are petty...
Making hearts made cold by coin, harder.
Making minds found folded by loins, shorter.

And I? I weep,
because Worlds don't need more successful people...
Yet that is exactly What I want! from sheer boredom and loneliness.

And the internet cries with a cardboard letter?
"Please, anything will help!"
And so you turn to yourself, and in turn lie to you...
Saying instead of what is indemic and institutionalized poverty
Criminality, blame the victim, stigmatic opinion of sin and illness
All the While quoting bible passages with its you not me pointard.

But that Lie... something is better than nothing:(
When what is wasted does not, is not accounted, IN

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

A Marriage of Counsel

Men and Women are really Men and Women
Who you are is not granted
Lest you build your house upon the sands
Of other people Judgements, Opinions, Or Thoughts

who I am...
    is not your label
in Judgement, or Opinion, or Thought
meaning, what you see or hear or touch or taste or think is hardly me
For I am all that, but to you there is no synergy

Often I am judged by my behavior and who isn't
Sometimes people have opinions on what I witnessed
Occasionally everyone thinks about my thoughts
For I am not like them, and I am not unlike you

    ...but I am...

I am an amalgamation with mentithesis in synergy
I am a syncopated polyrhythm
I am a manifold meeting between the opposites

And, in a way you are, too
But you see me with fractured mind as I dance or weave
Or box or fright my way into maturity, depending
On who you view in both first impression or what day I'm having.
Even sometimes in deep reflect you get lost, why wouldn't you.
And, in a way I view you thusly, too

It's true! You are the marriage between less than and more
Where as I am the mate of my own destiny's lore
Both matee and mate with best in store
But not as two, or fractured poor

I am me, and haven't been other
My own teacher or friend or brother
I am me, on any given day
An American, A graduate, a hayseed at play

And when I grow up, my brain?
Will be both mazed and direct
When I take all in the game!!!

Words From Worlds Beyond you

Time is the reference
Or geology is, perhaps this is just an excuse
Where geography is the frame, or maybe not
It’s Climate that’s the independent variable, but it’s human caused
So really we have nature and nurture for our Ecology
But wait, isn’t that my cat meditating?

In all of this, isn’t we
a misnomer
For we are brains naming our selves
We are starstuff in awe of past lives and present reality
In point of fact, I am a social collective of a billion cells, And 5 billion germs!
That Can’t Be Forced To Share!  and/or… That Can’t Be Forced To Love!

I in fact love this poem
Because it, too, is a frame of reference
As you are in it.  I can see you downriver somewhere
Thinking, he wrote this how?
But I know, that one day this will find you, too
And this will be no frame of reference, because it’s poetry to you.
From somebody forgotten to you.
And so it is about you.
Sad, you are your frame of reference.

Reach OUT!  Get HELP!!

Thursday, April 30, 2015

If Savagery Meant an Illicit Passion

where are their lives?
The ones that mattered
The ones like you, or I?
Where are the people that dried their own clothes
The ones that doubted if God existed
Where are the ones whose legs ached after work
The ones that felt they wasted their off hours watching television
Where is everyone that felt they needed a because
For doing anything and everything, because they wondered
And felt a sinner for doing anything and everything they liked
When those very things were completely acceptable to begin with
And those self-same things were done with our own time and places.
I wonder if there is something extraordinary about the ordinary
Or maybe that's ordinarily normal
The kiss of dreams and passion possessing
The very bribe of existence for youth lost
An exchange of savagery for life itself
Trading in being supper for a nice warm coat
And so, we become animal, we become cat or squirrel or chickadeedeedee
Showing how it's done By cleaning or packing or surviving winter ourselves
But if I had a billion dollars?
I'd show them how to float like algae all pelagic and like.

But, instead I'm stuck in my Jesus christ pose.