Minor Opinion

If the fractal nature of existence
harbors life like a wildflower daisy
In due course realized, one becomes of mind
Everything Is Alive
as in the Frankenstein
creation of couches and fishtanks
lamps and tables and all mundane
But in the case of Life
And in the case of all existence
is that inclusive signs indicate

a fractal mutuality
is the sign of Life
In your life
our lives
everyone's life
from arms to fingers
from eyes to cones
legs and toes and toenails
with the grooves extending out
A feather from a bird
a Star and light
The Universe and Plight
A Human, a tree, and a skyscraper
We harvest the fluxing waves,
you can bet, with what's on top

an so can we can conclude
WE'RE the mad scientists,
and shuck this illusion of normalcy?
How can you be so damn certain a tree doesn't think
or a mountain lives
When they're both so different from anything
we've ever successfully conversed with.
They do....

Live



And when God proves it to you-
will you be Listening or in shock
that you did indeed only rock
what you wanted to hear?
Only invested stock
in one's own reflection
as exercise of vanity
with money that is your body
with power that is your will
with respect to you.
Wake up.

come on.
Wake up

The machine is stripping our garden.

99 Illusions

Hey WildChild
What you listening?
What you doing?
What you witnessing?
what
     you

Thinking!?

We must not know
that both teams lose
on TV's lasso
of your mind,
while both teams get paid
playing the same game
Six times a week
In substitution
for the suspense of real life.

Many watch for the grace
some for the serenity of pace
Perhaps they watch for danger
to their bragging rights, face.
The cross is in the ball field.
The importance of it is you,
and the sacrifice,
                   one's life
as a testament to Jesus.

What have you?
Where have you?
when, why, how
Did you bring spirit
to the communion,
Or sip on it in the dark
like vampire suckling
an electronic Jesus?

Bread and the Circus
Think about that
bread,
      and the
circus of the mind
circus of the soul
circus of the body
circus of the city
circus of the bazaar
circus of the drama
circus of the clowns

we could go on, it's a zoo-
Otropical phantasm
of existence
and people will feed on humble fare
while dining with noble wine
loaves and fishes to this day
We've perfected the means
but lost our aim
as ballgames,
              testify.

The television has united
the polarization.
Left stand lefter
And the Right, self-righteous.
as Saints and Vampires sort out
the Death Star
But we must not know
No real thinking allowed
No real witnessing
No real doing
What's real anyway
when facts are half myth
and what you bring to worlds
yearning for a glimpse of light
What is real?
99 illusions, and balling ain't one

MPR News

Money, Power, Respect
love it, or leave it

Tools of the richer than you
whom treat us as fools

The Market trend goes up
as carrying capacity expands

With our children's domestication
indenturing the houses of the holy

With our own entrainment of dependence
upon the company store

With our own entrainment
for wealth accumulation

As a river cuts least resistance
the theory is we can pipe it to Los Angelos

Or is it Seattle, New York, Minneapolis, Omaha
where the rats and cats eternally battle

Over channel flow
for crops, drinking, product, and sport

And it is a sport to think the NYSE will always go up
when we start trading airconditioners as currency

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.

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.

Euluogy

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

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.