Sunday, May 8, 2016

Tomorrowland's Inspiring

One day in Spring, Einstein's head echoed aloud....
"Yes, it is" , "No... it isn't" , "where would the idea go...."
He could've argued all afternoon, but he was smart this day,
And his argument with himself ended before it started
Saying to his associates, "I got an idea!"

He often lost said arguments, producing little work,
But his inventions changed the world.
His ideas revolutionized America!!

And today we have Feynman and Fat Boy
We have gravity and you know how...

Should he have ignored himself and thus the world
That comes knocking on edges of reason?
If he shan't to have answered the doors
On borders of what we know...

We'd all be speaking Drumpfery.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

What Really Is Success?

Questions... of sufficiency
Wonders of job and insurance
with and without privilege
I would still try, I would still try to rise

I hope I would still try to create place for me
For doctor's visit or barroom brawl
I hope I would still try to create space for me
In a headspace of doubts or despair
I hope I would still try to create time and grace
To express Me.

Because I am Not alone
I am me and so they are human questions of independence
Human and humane to ask what can I do against the odds
Human and humane to care

But mustn't we also ask, what really is success?
Because sometimes in definitions of noRmal...
We too are the gatekeepers and landsurveyors
The purveyors of independence

So I would ask you to redefine success
I would ask you to seek what you mean by wealth
Often what we buy is neither what we get or make
What with the slick adverts these days

I would ask you to redefine success
Because I myself am not wealthy, but I have weal
Because I myself am not healthy, but I can heal
And all these things I lack, I yet possess

How can those opposites be possible without my making
Time and Space for me to grace the places without and within
Because it is I, too, the defines what is normal
I, too, create abundance in worlds of vitality
And so I, too, have an important voice as do you
In what is success, or even what is healthy

And your specific questions of independence?
Is a human and humane question
And probably the question of every American

Here's what I come up with:
jobs that heal one as they work at it
employer supported employment
low-stress volunteer work

There's Success to me who's seen idle time crush him
The silence stuff his ear until I was deaf
Seen the love snuffed out by greed
Seen the soul split open by war

But I would also see questions aired
through CBT and family counseling and peer support.
perhaps DBT philosophically with lots of love and hope
You might only have one job, but There you probably have lots of tools
And so it is with me and my life

I have a toolbox, Please take it not away.
And take not my memory..
For in it I keep my pets..
In it I have my peer support..
There's a therapist somewhere kind of beaten..
A family of screws, a couple of frames for pictures..
A typewriter for expression, an internet for connection..
A couple of stopgaps, a couple of shims made from beercans...
Some finished puzzles, a library of poetry from world to street to Hugo...
There's a couple of letters from my school, a diary, a journal...
The books I've made, and the books I want to make,
The art paints and brushes,
Quite a bit of confidence,
Some doubters-grease,
There's flowers I buy for myself,
There's some DVD's I'd recommend,
A lot of turning points, some silver linings,
A final fantasy with spirits within,
Some time I keep to spend with family and friends,
Some time I keep just for you.

I mean it's a real toolbox!!
And I could seperate them into the physical
The emotional, the mental, the social, and spiritual tools
And some people probably do, but who .really does?

Monday, April 25, 2016

A Long Time Ago..

Seemingly a party quests in the Greens
For adventure and riches, but justice and peace, too
And when whom might happen through
Mercs who ride for home and health
Melieuing about with horses around
While above town in High castle there's dancing
A masquerade ball with masks and all prancing get-down
And a music sweet mechanical thing full of harpsichord

At the inn the adventurers sweep and wash for nights fare
The mercs kick back and converse having ridden in.
And innkeeper at bar listens quietly as hearth keeps warm,
Pulling draughts from warm pig barrels on wall with flat beer
Keeping the mud and hard roads of worlds outside the wall,
While townsfolk around town close shutters as sunset draws down

Wherefore do the soldiers' hearts wander?
What are adventurer's eager for?
Who does innkeeper acclaim?
Glory? Justice? Peace? All these things...
Having committed soul to distressing tasks...
Having nibbled horror...

Wherefore do children play?
What are families eager for?
Who does mayor acclaim?
Faith? Hope? Charity? All these things...
Having committed souls to Lords...
Having nibbled ambrosia...

Wherefore do musicians sit?
What are dances eager for?
Whom does the king acclaim?
Respect? Power? Money? All these things...
Having committed soul to water and land...
Having nibbled innocence...

The greenswathed graveyard grows hoary with moss
A skeleton seeking lost life grips fresh earth crawling out
The Raven watches around, the Rat seeks another shiny thing
As silver light casts around from moon past Cathedral
A solemn thing with pooled time, while streets passing...
Channel this into shoots and eddying pools of flowing crowds
On busier days and nights through trees and shops to sides
With lantern lit by-ways and alleys of timber-framed and cob-filled spaces.
This is space, but is also time, interchangeably.
Sources feed and are filled, shoots still... Pools stream...
Like the creek that washes clean with each rainfall.
This is time, this is space, both fast and slow... And sometimes paused...
And sometimes lost to history.
Flowing to free, and freeing to flow:
This thing called life in Time and Space and Eternity.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Mr. Seedmore

There was a mouse
And on top of hat it crawled
A biIIGG Top Hat with ribbon wrapped

Down in the cellar
Where a tallow candle burned
so sloOOWLY 48 Hour or longer

Mr Mouse crawled around
Where no owl spied him found
but spyYYING Wife cried to him

Saying, "Seedmore, bring some cheese"
"bring the baAACON! bring the peas!"
while scuRRYING in pantries deep

"Bring some nuts, bring some seeds"
and stuuFFING his cheeks
He'd please her much and wanton needs

A curious breath would follow
Whenever they finished filling shopping list
An unseen mouth, with curious tongue, seemed to complain

With 6 meals a day it was quite confirmed
There was someone else of conscious down here
Something or SomeONE ELSE that gained

Once a week it would come unbolted
And his soul this would seek
Darkly in the pantry deep

He'd run high and crawl low, He'd dodge things it threw,
And it would chant his sins, this earthy ghoul
And t'would protest all day long

So him and the missus packed up and moved
Back to the woald and the sunshine and the crew
But he was touched and it had followed, TOO!

The ghoul of earthly deeps was in his fur and tail
And once a week still he remembers some of hell seen
But some of air and earth helps dispel that chanting and recanting

Some of rain and sun helps to heal his churning tail and heady keep

Wednesday, April 20, 2016


The chimes cling
Once again a raven gets a white feather
Again cling rings the chime
A gray hair appears on a lover
More chimes sing
Silver thread is filigreed

The chimes cling
The gold plated turns silver
Again cling rings the chime
A tree becomes sylvan
More chimes sing
Lumber becomes weathered

The chimes ring
The rain becomes river
Again sing the chimes
Sunshine glints in eye
More chimes cling and clatter
Dreams float in from never
To supercede all of reality

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Inna Cup of Tea

The world is too busy
For me
As I sit quietly still
Listening to my breath
Feeling the earth
Drag me in to itself

Maybe it's my Life
That is too busy for me
But something speeds up
And leaves me behind
As I slow my heartbeat

Perhaps it is the walls
That appear to go nowhere

Perhaps it's Father Time
Singing the season's soliloquy

Or perhaps it is my mind, I
That catches up to me...
And me making time
For myself
Wherein all healing
Comes from
To bless souls' sunrise
And extend days' end

All that and more is possible
Dreamed here
And extended
To farthest shore
And ground swelling back
A melody's ancient tale
Of harmony and perseverance

Imaginary Math

The music tunes my head
And I imagine
sub-ether programming
From packaged and portable
Tune and avatar wrapped in
Sub-conscious to sub-conscious
Communiqae relations
Like beta-waves
Relating proper
OCD criteria
For comfort
Of subliminal
Rightness with God.
Ain't that a Crock!?
But I do imagine
Many things
Feelings, sounds, sights
Taste and smells
My heart reacts
Yours would too I bet
Considering how already
It does to the invisible
Don't think of pineapples
Don't think of pineapples
Don't think of pineapples
And their prickly skin
Nor their sweet and sour yellow flesh

Our hearts react
And now my brain
Is trying to predict
Whether I can find a treat
In the hidden
Of my home.
I'd ask my cat
But I suspect she
Guesses sometimes
The accurate answer.
But she's right 100%
Of the time
With her companionship.
Can she read
My Mind?