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.

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
Why?

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
shouting
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
...madly...!

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.

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.

As a Function of Gravity

myth and truth
combine into facts
as exacting connections
building philosophy
or maybe just perhaps
a bauble for a child
or tennis ball
(or poem)
As ideas connect
through the prowess
of our opinions
on what's economical,
efficient, and pragmatic.

the facts themselves
show little attraction
twixt one or another
as we sort and ponder this and that
which will advance the chemistry
of ideas scaffolded for growth.
Sometimes great lumps
of myth and truth form seeds
to spin a flurry of activity surrounding
like in controversy or good news
as a grey squirrel will orbit the acorn
or animals and watering holes
or Even our planets and the Sol.

And as we're herded through the corrals
of human history
we need only to look
at present circumstance
albeit with some fractacality
to unlock the latent connections in our pasts
so we may dream of a future and hope for a day
And love one another as shared ways
that connect the Heavens themselves
like simple neutrons and protons
manifesting the visible universe
by proponderance of face-melting stars
which they themselves are as commonplace
as the air we read
and light by which we breath

Atoms of Facts

Fiction and Truth form a nucleus
of any fact for discussion
and our ideas and debate
our opinions and feelings
forming clouds around
repelling but also connecting
to other clouds around
other nuclii of fiction and truth, forsooth
till building, we build a body
a philosophy, or societal opinion
The spirit of a nation!!
That can cut like the subtle knife
it is made from,
or may eat with chemistry,
Or perhaps to hold
as something cherished
by someone sweating
over a project of work.
For our souls are no less real
than the ephemeral bodies
they give intuition to.
No less real than the stardust
we coordinate...
built upon first principles
which themselves are combinations
of myth and truth,
which when examined are mostly empty
space within our heads
that repels assimilation.
And so pushing against...
we learn of Facts' existence
Like the definition of a word,
we learn of its meaning

from the outside

and somewhere, somewhen, someone
spun the fact with fiction and truth
till this day, they spin yarns yet
for us to tell tales of sunny days,
and keep warm by, on rainier ones.
And in that yarn shop
sheep are sheared for wool
and in a corner the wool is gathered, combed, and dyed
to give it charm, and is spun to make a thread.
And it is given to a weaver
and the weaver makes cloth
and tailors take that to bring
to the world- shelter and protection
from destruction of harsh elements,
perhaps to even look good
when cleaning out a horse stall
with sweat and muscle
or courting your girl
with humorous tales
that happened
"just the other day, I saw the wildest thing."
-VV

Mindseye Spying

A bird peeks from space
to gleam a pace of peace
and in its eye bespeaks
of galaxies in its wing
What yonder sight have ye visited
oh turbulent bird of heaven's grace
What scavengers of pride and joy
have you witnessed pandimensionally
in manifold travelling and sojourney

My soul speaks another joy,
one of the center.
My eyes spy another pride,
everything is nothing.

Will this ever feed anyone
oh great bird of distant shore
beyond myself?
Will I ever soar
beyond the center of nothing?

This great age of deluge
threatens with flood by endless raindrops
now falling since September.
There looks to be no end to the bits dropping
from heavens beginning onto whole worlds end
seemingly to push one way at first and then another.
There is little guidance to it, it would seem.

After Common Era, what ark will mate in harbors port?
One of quality to survive those stormy seas most likely.
And what glorious value will disembark:
when Gold doesn't buy passage,
when Guns can't secure seats,
when God won't supply fare.
A riddle is it not?!
And yet Noah erects it yet, even Now!

Sitting Momentarily Outside My Complex

I have a cool apartment I'm thankful for.
The running water, the refrigerator
the stove, the dry bed.  It all seems mundane,
But in the simplicity of it
I can work and play at living
though sometimes I fail at both,
and sometimes quite horribly.
But through it all, the sun sometimes rises
to shine on peace, Making it all worth it to me,
a little peace I can sit with and think
"Man, is that just beautiful or what.
Thank God I'm alive and there are people to share it with."

In a Problem Free Life

A horse, my kingdom for a horse
Pretty small thing, considering
they sometimes make dogfood
and many poor men may have one.
And yet, in such organized times
and highly controlled environs
as we have in modern lives
such a small thing, as...(anything)
CAN MESS YOU UP
like your baby pooping in a diaper,
And inside a little part of you dies.
A little part of life is unrealized.
But that is life!  The mess, the slop.
The uneducated edges of mindless drops.
So like a boarder, we must carve
what we'd like. from nothing.
In time we might end with something right.
And what with these silicon machines
dictating our lactating stations
as well as every other function of lives,
the memo was lost in the trees leaves
and the other half of society
stares bug-eyed at our problem
wondering how-in-the-world horseshit
caused all this.
When, these blasted computers were supposed
to solve it.