Slumbering Campfire Songs

The Hills
Are sleeping giants
With veins in their matrixed Layers.
Up around heaven gods breath sweeps down
And layers clouds in the sky and ground

Underlow, annhilation keeps warm the mountains heart
And before that an arrowed river flows
Both ways with but one single past.

And my past
My past is my own future
Those sleeping giants
And mysterious lands
So quiet as I listen to their still
And beating hearts

I should take comfort in their company
I should hike and explore
Work harder, heal faster
Plant more

But it is winter
It is winter
Wherein most things sleep
Or conserve their energy
A little more towards what's necessary
And less towards delusion.

If Toy Guns Were A Victory

In an electric economy
We dream of the big play
A strike of a lightning chain
Come down and stored round
in some chamber underground

And with it, economy cycles
From product design to Landfill supply line
When we renew, reuse, and redesign
Both for simplicity, but safety
And maybe mobility and payworthy

How much simpler could hydrogen get?
It's split from water using electricity...
With propane synthesization.
Made from hydrogen and carbon dioxide.
For mobile fuel and direct action
Less intense than hydrogen handling.

But what do I know:
Transportable
Easy to handle
Already usable
Easily made? trade secret...

Well lets say we have solar power
Running day and night splitting water
And with a small supply of cO2
Out spits a propane tank for you to:

Run that weedwacker and trim the hedge,
Fill a bus for the neighborhood kids,
And Autogas to get some groceries,
Or Cooking gas for your stove when you get home.

And yes it comes from electricity, this propane
From a solar panel out back with a couple of batteries.
Splitting the water and compressing the air
On a cell-phone-like tower of power near-by
Instead of over the county line, and far away, bye.

Rob Poor to Give to Rich

War, I see warr up North, War down South
And Justice being beaten caused he resisted arrest
Dragged to ground, and I feel hancuffed and helpless to absorb some of the blows
I see razing and raining down
On my friend Justice.
     Those who serve and protect is us.
We, who would pay some one else to do it.
We, because they aren't doing it right.
     Whitey isn't serving and whitey isn't protecting everyone...
Because all I see is war.  And war never changes.  But I would know Peace, I like peace,
Peace is all that and a book of poetry  supporting computer tablets.
Why, Peace is a beer after a day of too much excitment.  3 cheers for beer!
And Peace, Freedom, Equality, Liberty, and Justice
Are all being raped in the name of Security.

Why? because he isn't serving and protecting.  And I know this can be hard to swallow, but after whitey is done with the folks in Ferguson, he's coming after me... and then he's coming after, You!

Another Free Poem

Christ's Victory over sin and death
Is not my couch, or fine machines
I tap on or carry conversation.
But freedom to find and/or create
Meaning and/or purpose in our lives.
Freedom from tyranny
Freedom from oppression
And probably freedom from debt.
Freedom from walled thought,
Freedom from railed opinions,
And probably freedom from slavery.

Through our boring 9-5 jobs
Mortgage payments.
Mowing the lawn
Cooking dinner,
PTA meetings,
Feeding the pets
Walking the dog.
Big shiny cars
Kids singing
Normal things being joys
And freedom from hate and war

Since when in my life
I must ask myself
Did freedom begin to mean, an escape?
Was it that day way back
I was roofing for my Dad?
Or was it the time I canceled cable
Because of all the ads.
Perhaps I felt trapped when I was in school
in the first go around from homework and debt
expectation and obligation and appointments.

Maybe that's not what you found; and
Perhaps isn't what anybody created for me.
There is the possibility better lives await,
Even me, more free, as rich or poor as you think me.
As stupid, as smart, as funny, or not
Ah Life: to survive, thrive, and not to starve!
If it is to be more than an escape,
But a freedom for us to live, laugh, learn, and love IN!

Aside

When time is worth something
You realize... you realize.
In this air of environmental protection
(or at least realized value)
We glue our eyes to squares of glass
And frame appealing nerve endings
To our institutions and past lives
Of unending curb and bank
Stashing away tomorrows sale today
And selling yesterday's dream
As something new, I hear say.

And in That library of Congress
What is gone today is silence
And the seeming eternity of a forest
Or praire that stretches on forever
Where people would swaddle babies
And Swat them if they were white.
Which originally was preferable, in those days,
To being exposed and left for prey of wolves
Or vultures, or even the common dog
With cats gnawing on the leftovers
All because Dad had little patience.

But we would work for things
Shinier than peace and love
So we might have everything in our world
Instead?  It would seem
When interest is the only thing free anymore
Where time is money
And speculation drives up the cost
of our everything peace.

Freedom Always

History beckons
us to answer questions
The echoing interplay
between light and shadow
balanced in opposite
with us in between
In the now, but someplace else
accessing the library

Reading about who won?

We did.  Because we remember
Our mistakes, and seek to correct
for better lives
and seek to preserve ways
that engender life.

Our lives, our love
Build a bigger house
For we would and can live
to learn from our mistakes

But the questions are often lost
The answers are often made
better, best, and better than
and questions remain, too
but in our memory
as some obscure need
or wire in the blood

Giants sleep with hearts
of Gold, stone, and silver
and where the worms sleep
Trees must grow,
and return their love
Of valley and city
which keeps off cold days
and colder hearts.

And if we should hate
out of jealosy or greed
May we both find better lives
in a bigger house
built of compassion or empathy
to shelter our soul's journey
through time and space
and find company in a good book or two, perhaps.

And learn from our mistakes
As others learn from history
for often our problems repeat
and more often than not... ourself the enemy
that causes any of them, and perpetuates
the discomfort we would relieve

We would seek needs and wants
for victory over sin and death
But if the point to life is to simply live
Jesus may have shown us a good way
in Answer to forgotten questions and oppressive solutions...
rescue then love in your heart and life and others
to find heaven in the next world
at the right hand of God, if you like
or beneath his feet, if you must.
For today is a good day to live.

In Our Radioactive Days

If it is progress we make
In an industrial wake,
Thorium is the new coal
And Fusion the goal.

For progress is your peace
In worlds of famine and disease
Wherein all cancers are treated
Better, with better radiation treatment.

It is progress that brings
Simplicity of phablet machines
and electricity to free us
in doing what we need
as we continue in search for fusion
with z-pinch drives and ocean profusion.

The promise of LFTer designs
processing waste of past nuclear mistakes
The actinides that will outlast the human race
And to our boon can produce useful pace

For life is about energy, progress more-so
Where can we get it And what to do with it if/when we do
And we're actually pretty peaceful in our resource wars.
With more gerrymandering happening than counting scores.
Until it is scarce, then peace is scared And scarred
to visit the troubled waters of one blue planet.

How common is coal?  How common is gold?
Uranium is as rare as platinum
While Thorium produces as much
And common enough in our waste products
Mining the self-same minerals for wind magnets.

Where then is closing the loop
If we do not process nuclear waste
If we do not responsibly mine plays
If we haven't the energy to get to work
If we do not...
There's not much doing, going on
Where fusion may be the Hope,
Fission is the Faith,
And Charity I leave up to you,
In our radioactive days.

My Bad

Stop the lies and realize
You are keeping yourself from life
Where the leaf turns
And echoes in your mind.
Season the hour more than any glint of light
From window or sky.
The shadows are gone,
Payment has been made
Through duplication and piling up the gold coins
That were stacked, bu now pile and pushed into coffer.
The doubt lingers, a fear, a dread
But I drown that
In sorrow saved from sleep and dream
Of the moment.
The very small moment saved and rectified
Through both sweat and savings.

But we are human, we are as weak or as strong as ants
And soar higher than eagles, too,
In both making amends,
And in that of making.

What it is, I wouldn't know.  It's been but a year.
A year of making poetry?
More than likely, I've painted so very little this year.
Yet 12 have passed.
And now one full year realized
A peace welcome
A ration sustaining
Of transient order?
Or of fashion from the mind of the cult of the comet
That Haunts me, this new October.

It isn't golden.
Nor transformative.
But a making isn't ever, lest your the King of Siam
And just totally treading on dreams like Yeats
Shredding it like Bukowski
Fagging it like Whitman or Ginsberg.
But what is gay for shiny happy people,
Ah, to be a yuppy, I know not.

That dream died in my lap when
I chose to walk twixt duality
And fall, as light falls,

Down and around amongst the 10,000 things
That is life.

After the Lacuna and the Lagoona

The Godhead
Trust it
For it is thee inspiration of Nature
That flows through Universes
Speaking volumes to the turtle and hare
Bound up in the annals of time
And perused by every generation
Since the big-bang.  At times creative,
And others restful
Nature in all its diversity: liquid, gas
Matter and spirit: trees, fjords, glaciers and temples
Palaces, castles, tents, and mobile homes...
Speak in tongues inaudible
But louder than the robust echo of stars or coffee

Where then is this that gives voice to Nature?
It is your competitiveness, that takes it for anything.
It is your humanity, that gives it anything.
And it is inspiration that would learn this,
To fly amongst glowing balls of gas scattered and rarefied.
If you don't believe me, just look to the One!