national poetry month

national poetry month
Join in the Poetry of Life!

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Inna Cup of Java

Is a parallel, to think?
Because the orange is an orange
And my apple of an idea, but a door hinge
And so I walk in

to

The virus of big money, big government, and big data
Triumvirate viruses shift
And we address but cannot defend
It shifts into something new
Triple-looped shifting through to new
Knotted configuration of chimeric invention

 too

Programming god powers while
Getting on the gun to win golf
And the heavens hold themself
Letting us keep nothing,    all said and done
In this do or die competition against

Ourself

And perhaps after we pass Jesus asks
'how was heaven, did you try the homebrew and homemade
'Did you try the homespun and homegrown?'
"you should've, it's to live for"

Friday, November 11, 2016

Reason of Real

Back in the days of blacksmiths and witches
Strange things, unexplained phenomena
Explained away by superstition
A bad smell, a sudden illness
Even murder
     was sometimes the work of the devil

Their reason worked fine giving rise
To rational minds with limited information
Their feeling were true, too, knowing right from wrong
Loving peace, hating war like me and you

There were jokers and mages, wizards and fools
Kings and lions and griffons and tall tales
What they fought daily didn't mostly exist
But dealt with harvest, and beasts, and boredom

And so the tall tales grew thicker
As they sometimes do
With witches flying through the air
And four horsemen watching you

But in all that age, And in all that spacetime
Truth is a matter of facts
That whether you believe them or not
Can bite one in the ass.

And so science came to pass
Everybody learns to read
Everybody learns to think
That we can look up in encyclopedias
And drive in automobiles

We can think and read,
And be not afraid of the dark
Though witches may fly, again
And four horsemen, reappear

Friday, November 4, 2016

Looking for Stars in the Autumnal Skies

Somedays...
Somedays I plod along like a dirt clod carrying moss
The work takes longer
    The rain feels colder
        Spacetime feels slower
And I feel older

Now the dew is dripping in the dark
off the eve in single drips
Everywhere smells wet, my feet are damp in grass


The memory of crickets chirping is somewhere
A faint chirrup, chirrup, but it's 200 feet away
And lost in the dark that I'm searching for stars in


A gardenlight glows in our dark flower bed
And finally my eyes can see some of the stars
As a raven wHoosh, wHoosh, wHooshes not so silently in the night
With their mighty wings and keen noses


I like sitting in that, especially with a friend
unfathomably close while surprisingly distant
while they're everywhere for awhile and one is here,
then somewhere in now-here they speak, and there they are...
silently smiling at how many stars they can see, now
without a flashlight or streetlight, it takes awhile
fatigue or stress theives detection like a flood obscures the river


Maybe that's my Dad


Maybe that's everybody

who wonders where time goes but like rain
Down, and then lateral... to begin again in Ocean
But all we do is run until we're tired or re-tired
Or retooled like a machine with tires... changing the oil on vacation

I'm tired
Does God only give us two sets of four for treads?
Then, why can we walk lightfoot?  And who invented the halftrack?
I don't know these answers listening to the dew drop off the roof
As I stare past the dark feeling spacetime primordial to the stars
And up there, "there's someone up there... looking up to me, too"
As our star shines down on their star shining down on ours.


Maybe this is war


Maybe this is confliction
whom wanders through houses that falls down at the same time
so nothing ends up happening the instant everything collapses
because Everything is supporting everything else during Autumnal days
and the prospect of complete annihilation leaves everyone


wishing for peace

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Up Thinking Last Night Drunk on Victory's Homebrew

History is written
By the sands and the wind
By the rain and the stone
Washing, crushing, eroding away
        perhaps lies
But anything and everything it may

And we that reside in that history may find
The bones of worlds and the ashes of worms to play with
SpaceTime isn't kind, it's a thief
Stealing the letters from our lives
Taking the pictures from our dreams
Leaving us to barricade in our hearts
The love we have left after he's stolen away

And that is precisely how we inherit the world
Alone and at a loss
While history spreads all around as tree, brush, or forb
Or something to be hunted and/or spared
Or perhaps maze-like, the conceit of ancients,
While we are left without map or safety...

History spreads out SpaceTime
Like some maze or scorched place

And we run for salvation
And the answer is :
get up, Get going, Get on the gun
In reminiscing on my world war one work ethic
Or maybe:
Just do it! no fear, no tears...
In reminiscing on the world series the cubbies clutched
Or could answer as:
                  do what you need
then do what you can
and find yourself doing the impossible
In reminiscing upon the lovelands credo
Or could reply to me as:
fall down 7 times, get up 8
you are not your mistakes
seek, and you shall find
In reminiscing upon how simple people think I am

And in seven ways of remembering this
And seven ways of helping others to,
                  Do not despair!
                    You too write history with feathered pen...
                       Where there's a will there's a way

And that history surrounds us on every battlefield
And surrounds us at every dinner table
For we are survivors if nothing else
And Lords and Ladies in our own right
Whom can and will overcome travesty
And read the future as well as they.