Saturday, April 5, 2014

Judgement of Golgatha

Jesus was crucified
on a stick with 3 nails
To his left or right
was a sinner
and a repentent sinner,
himself, a dissident.

Jews daily ignore the law
they do not stone anyone anymore
they daily kill the palestinians
They forgo animal sacrifices
Wouldn't this make them the sinner, then.

Christians daily eat meat.
From their testament,
the reason for exile from Eden...
for consuming carnal knowledge
from the tree of knowledge.
And every month they repent
and ask forgiveness for being sinners.

Islam protests western influence
The world calls it fundamentalism
but also terrorism, because people die
and also we call it dissonance
or at least dissent
from a new world order's vision.

History repeats itself, so they say
What will be the cost?
For Jesus was not a Christian
Muhammad was not a Muslim
Their religion was Love,
And they turned that corner
to the benefit of all
hearts within Hearts.

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Mountain Valley on Pine Street

My life like a brew pub
It seems I come and go
get drunk sometimes
and throw some people out.
I dislike it when people
sleep on me,
and I never quite feel at home
that I can't relax
because I don't intend to stay long
or am too drunk to know
from the intoxicated pails
being served in mugs.

The intoxicating pales
that are sometimes stuck
in their fermentation of bold ideas.
I get on a task, and then it just lapses,
it sits around being unworked,
unthought, unsought, and ultimately unwanted.
Perhaps I've celebrated one too many unbirthdays,
doesn't it sound?
Perhaps I'm the one stuck, you might ask.
Suppose I am and that I'm not.
Likened I suppose to having both pain and potential.
I'm both, and so much more.
Stuck in my habits, but struggle to have habits
and so the stucknicity get banished with a little air,
some food, and time to recognize I need to get a move on
chores and things that have been waiting
like the sugar that awaits the yeast
for me to decant futures
into new bottles of possibility
For tomorrow awaits with friends,
and possibly Love
and hopefully you.

And so in that brew pub
lives get explored,
moments get forgotten,
and the floor gets mopped occasionally...
but through it all
time is shared by people
whom need to know they aren't alone.

Monday, January 6, 2014


In the midst of winter
cold wind freezes the raindrops of yesteryear
so that when I cry, chimes
ring out loud and long
as dropping glass
upon the street I live on

Where did yesterday go to
when will tomorrow ever come
But I remember thinking these same thoughts
in yesterday
in tomorrow

So I raise my glass to you, and say
"make this your tomorrow,
make your day.. today."
For it is yesterday that will never come,
and lives are too short to chase after eternities.

Today is my birthday, a month from now
tomorrow I count my age, 38.
The hours count down till my death,
meanwhile I'll write another page.

And so the story continues
lives of another life
I may see you
between space and time

For we do not die as much as cry anew
we are not erased as much as forgotten
And in the places of time without space
We all may patiently wait and meditate upon grace given
without adieu

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Upon What Tomorrow

My cat swaggers when he walks
and talks sometimes
and is aloof a lot
He'll roam off for a drink
and come back and think
Leap onto a lap
and knead my kneecap
then jump off
and beg to go outside
to chase birds and flutter byes
and occasionally chew the grass
The greatest thing is he has a twin
and another sister, once again

So those three
keep company
with sky and earth
and all our humble belongings
the woods and our pond
the snow and the long dreaming
as cars drag by like someone sweeping

the snow crushes the silence
packing it into your ear
so spring seems like a dream
and summer is a plane ticket out of reach
So one burrows deeper into that silence
'til imagination finally takes a can opener
and prys wide your head,
and spilt beer conflates all
into one spoiled wish or dread.
Then the wished for, appears
as Christmas heralds christ's calling!
life back into worlds embrace.
for Sun climbs back into face.
And that sunny winter day

brings not joy, but its caress
of remembered truth and beauty
now slumbering
in pitch of winter
under blankets upon both eye and ear
upon both sky and earth

can you taste life?
you have it
can you touch life?
you live it
can you hear life?
it is near
can you see life?
it's within reach
can you smell life?
It is within you.

Sunday, December 22, 2013

How Goes The War

99 wages of war
more ways to die
99 times more than before
with a legacy of hate
with history written in blood
We have more words for war
than Inuits have for snow

But apparently I need to get a life
get a wife, get some strife in my sights,
and... slowly pull the trigger

Because I might criticize
a national past-time
which also lime-lights
what else, but violence

and in my re-education
I should hop up and down
I want to kill! I want to kill!
till the psychologist I'm talking with
starts to holler
I want to kiill! I want to kiill!
with me.

For our land was bought with blood
Our liberty is paid in blood
And our material happiness
is the pain of those
we close the door on to ignore.
And all the poetry of developing nations
echoes dying in our very own throats
while our hands bleed from making
a Halloween costume
for some anonymous thirteen-year-old
in America

And they're not priviledged...
We're just unfortunate, my ass.
When hope leads you to a better job
only to find out that dignity is a swear-word
and fair wages fled with trade wars
Only then do you realize
the scope of the hole you've been thrown in
left to live your days in misery
as long as you do as your told.

And how goes the war?
How goes Any war

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Heaven's Gate

Football as a cigarette
poisons one lickety-split
as it feeds your mind's high
and depresses your low's low
So that as one slowly
becomes couch potato
Poor diet and exercise
quietly kills your life's health
Just like the cigarette
in equivalent numbers in the U.S.

Slowly your life's ocean ebbs
sucked into television's synthetics
'till life is unrecognizable
as we praise prowess and athletics
while we ourselves grow beer guts and barbecue pits.
(that will one day roast us!
by the mindless hoards of televisions
that overpower newscorps and prepaid programming)

And as we light up that injection sight
we pay millions to corporations
that daily... instill dependence and addiction:
to feel, to hope, to dream... of winning,
of beating all odds as preoccupation
of weapons of mass distraction
as excuse to forgo all solvent solutions
to real problems facing our Nation...
our lives and our wives and our children.

And as we absolve cigarettes of death
by new doohickeys of untested dependence,
We watch commercials that spiral debt
on credit cards and farm mortgages,
But that's not enough... football begs,
pleads! And Demands attention
On and off through day's tide
and under moonshine.

On the field we absolve football of violence
by teams getting paid and living through days,
While glamor and sexy cheerleaders parade,
mixing subtexts of sex and violent roleplay
But... that's not enough, cigarettes light up,
fog, and scotch pours to intoxicate
On and off through quarters of games
and during tailgate parties...

When's enough, enough, in the case of football?
When you've lost your shirt betting?
When you're gut starts to stick out?
I'd guess it's like smoking,
when it starts to destroy your life
and makes you a moody dog
from a lack of exercise and poor diet.
Real Men write poetry.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Life Worth Living

Corporations advertise their glorious salvation in programming
as unrealized or penny-wise investment in wants and needs.
A frugal mind realizes, one isn't really saving
if one is putting penny-wise in someone elses pocket.
And as advertised, you get your lies, at a savings of cooperation
for psychologists hide their smiles when marketing a product
and unrealized in minds embrace, are tactics spewn as vomit
As marketers appeal to domains in brains, to get you to open wallets.
"You have a choice," my shrink decrees, "one decides how far to take it."
But on the street and market shelf they're guiding you to purchase
and if you don't they slam your ass with void and empty dreams
Till they can build you up, and kiss your lips with another, "I am worth it."

They don't call it television programming for nothing.

And as we learn to ignore to yearn, we forget about the content
and then it's on to Superbowl fun, and another programmed profit
Our self-worth is programmed dirt we sift through for gold and gems
but when our identity is what we buy, people die with market fluxes.
The truth is we need to live, the beauty of it is.. we are
So when your sad, when you're blue, because your team is always losing
maybe get a life and turn off that advertised, fixative television
Read a book, write a poem, hell get drunk and mess around
for there's lots of dirt in worlds a turning that one can seek and find
before we pay to kill or slay our more precious mental vision
Pursue your dream, believe your hopes, and discover worlds' untold faith.
For life is to live, love, and to learn... in our patience, we make....
Life worth living.