There’s a way to move forward. It’s all in the flow With my fellow electrons throughout the highway. Every run through the circuitry is a complete Orchestration of happenings that will repeat Pretty much in the same way. I’ll call it a day. The path is made available for all to know.
But we can’t proceed backwards. That is not allowed Because in time, AC is not what we perceive. We think only in DC. Time has direction. We can play with time in the mind and have some fun. Our perceptions are stronger though. So, we believe Moving forward at full current makes us all proud.
Often I lose direction, but not every day. And whenever that happens, I’m called to assess Which parts of my own circuitry are still alive And which parts suffer burnout and tend to deprive Me volition of voltage to manage my mess. Living in simple series can be the right way.
There’s a tune in my tank. I have no one to thank But myself for believing that I know the way To achieve my true resonance naturally. It’s the best way for my mind and heart to agree. When I’ve found the right frequency, I’ve much to say. When I’m not tuned correctly, my mind draws a blank.
One divided by two pi times root of LC Is the pace I keep up with without knowing how. I need only know why. How means nothing to me. The pure source that delivers is all that I see. When the heart and the mind are both centered on now, Then they act like a flywheel for source energy.
I can’t give my tuned tank circuit’s tuning control To another. No one knows my tuner but me. I can tune it away from what feels to be right. But if I keep that up I will soon feel uptight. I can practice my tuning most confidently When I know that the tuner, indeed, is my soul.
One can speak kinds of nasty by number or face Or by what makes the innards convulse for a blast. One can sit side by side on the toilet with friends Who, of like mind, are never caught wearing ‘depends.’ Stoolers would be for seniors who tend to outlast Most their body parts, as if they’ve won a lost race.
I’d hang out at a Stoolers with those of my kind Just to get a good dump on, and speak of it some. There are those who would listen and tell me their tales Of their challenges where constipation prevails… Either that or of issues that make the mind numb. Social Shitting, at present, may be hard to find.
I’m a stay-at-home shitter by nature, I guess. Would I mind sharing details of intimacy Among people who are always glad that I came? I’d not mind crapping with them, but don’t know my name. I’m for Stoolers, and some old folks might well agree That a place for group crapping would mitigate stress.
“Nuke the HELL out of life, but God, save those stem cells!” If one thinks I’m a nut case, just look where I’m from. I would not call one nigger who’s blacker than me Unless done in endearment most positively. One would think common sense would out weapon the norm. That, it seems, is where I am – between parallels.
We’re a species of contrast all up in the face As the web of technology quickens its crawl. Worldwide media trigger most worldwide events. We’re confounded with coverage at our expense. Hair still stands on my neck when I hear someone’s drawl. I’m a nut case as well as the whole human race!
I can’t fault human nature. I’m one of its kind. What I can do is closely observe what takes place. I’m a student of human behavior. As such I delight in interpreting life very much. And I do that quite well. I can always embrace My well-cultured indifference and firm peace of mind.
Please allow him to introduce himself to you. He’s a man who we hear from so once in a while. He’s mild mannered most times and there seems nothing wrong. Though he’s human he feels like he doesn’t belong. As he nurtures that premise, his thoughts become vile. When frustrated and helpless, what is there to do?
One could contact the Bureau of What’s Wrong With Me If in fact they would have a solution for him That would keep him connected to all human kind. But that kind of solution is so hard to find. He will tell us our futures and his are quite dim. Could it be that no one gives him reason to be?
I will take life’s frustration and deep numbing rage To a limit below where I start to see red. I’m a butcher. We all are to some small degree. When we realize how horrible butchers can be We will cease disregarding. We’ll limit the spread Of the butcher’s performance upon bloody stage.
Well, I got up this morning… The hedge needs a trim. While I’m at it I might as well clean up that yard. Though the leaves have not fallen yet they’re on their way. In the meantime I’ll meditate, then start my day. I know well how it’s going and life isn’t hard. Things will work out as always. My future’s not dim.
I am God. So are You, as are all living things. We have taken on form to give contrast a play. As we do we define and express what we need. As we help one another we cancel out greed. We confront psychic crisis with public display Of our loving and caring and all that it brings.
I should get some more weed killer while I’m about. There’s a while before summer ends. I should be wise. I can keep my yard clean. That is all I can do Until I’m in the best place to offer what’s true. How it’s going for me is a clever disguise To embellish my own chaos rather than doubt.
I don’t have to explain a damned thing anymore! Not a soul needs to hear it, and neither do I. I’m resigned to a spacecraft en route to a star. I know not where I’m going. I know that it’s far. When I get there, my shortcomings will not apply. It will be what I’ve dreamed of and waited long for.
I don’t have to explain away ways that I’d been Nor my reasons for having been such an asshole. If I try to address a momentum that’s strong I will come out the loser before very long. I have no frigging business assuming the role Of the fatted black sheep led to slaughter again.
I am free of my focus on family life things And on ignorant bastards who fart in my face, I create a fine mess when I don’t even try. I have given up fussing and wondering why I deserve any measure of God’s loving grace. So, I will just accept it and see what life brings.
The Reunion is come in a short march of days. It’s not something I dread. I know what to expect. Or do I? There isn’t a thing to be done To undo the momentum already begun. I have conjured scenarios hard to reject All because I’ve been human and ill in my ways.
I was strung out on crack during much of the time I performed my bad deeds – quite oblivious to The reality present and outside my skin. Like a turtle in quicksand, my life took a spin. Though, that’s not the excuse that I’m prepared to spew. I have sinned against family. That wall I must climb.
Or, maybe I shouldn’t go near that great wall That I know has been built because I’d done the same. Only hurt people hurt people. This I have learned At the sole cost of others whose lives I have burned. I’ve forgiven myself, yet I’m tainted with shame. I’ll just play it by ear. That’s my safest call.
So, this thing about ISIS… Their orders come from A great force whom they know not nor that they are charged With the duty or ridding the earth of its trash. Their mission: To Make Mankind Smolder in Ash. It could have to do with the penis enlarged As the rape aspect feeds the desire to cum.
Many species have war. They wipe each other out. But they harbor no lame excuse like people do. They just tear at each other until there’s no more. We have much to learn about studying war From the beasts and the insects, to name but a few. Humankind is no master. There should be no doubt.
Nature has many allies, among them, mankind. And we’re stupid enough to ignore that it’s true. We exterminate much of our kind on our own. Yet with deadly diseases, we’re extinction prone. I’m not one of the many, nor one of the few. I’m one focused observer by nature’s design.
Why Black Men are in prison is no mystery. No sociological study is needed. No well-crafted survey can capture the pain Of the Bitches who put them there. Could I refrain From the use of brute force when my sense is not headed? This drama is played out throughout history.
Sour notes can be read. They don’t have to be sung. And to feign utter silence is way below par. You say you want everything from your black man? Any fool with a brain would have picked up and ran! Why depend on some man to define who you are? You treat him like a wasp then ask why he has stung.
Why not give up such talents as rolling your eyes And that trick sliding head thing you’ve practiced so well? It takes courage to deal with that knot in your face. This is not about color and not about race. It is easy to put any good man through hell. Does it make any sense to applaud his demise?
Happy Forth! There’s a path to the dawn’s early light From the twilight now smoke-filled in lands near and far. The white plague is my nemesis. So is my race. I attract rolling eyes from wherever I place My attention. And my door will not be ajar. I’ll be locked down and safe with my shutters closed tight.
Happy Forth! Carry onward, delirious fools! Make your sudden loud noises mean what they’re worth. Your bright blasted colors I won’t see tonight. Been there-done that, my fellows, and I have the right To block out all that mankind has done for this earth. We’ve become nature’s enemies – not her best tools.
Let the frigging land breathe again! Now, that’s a thought. Clear the air of sick news bites that fray at the nerves. It’s our hate-spangled manner that’s destined to wave. We could make the state tanner and then self-enslave. In the end I recall that all living deserves Every chance to diminish whatever is sought.
Does the FBI know me? I speak enough mind And I don’t care who sees it nor if they exist. In a world of my own, did I plan it this way? There may be not a world where one hears what I say. I am often heartbroken and frequently pissed. Are there others like me? Am I one of a kind?
I’m the jimmy – the one that will fiddle with things. On occasion, I get some to work as they did. There’s a voice deep within me that clearly cries out. There’s a great deal more to me. Why should there be doubt? I have nurtured this voice since I was a kid. Since I’m old now, I’m ready to trade it for wings.
Just a jimmy – a lowlife – a half-assed half man Who took no one’s advice nor did reap their rewards. Now, not even in wisdom of age can I find Someone else who is like me – someone of like mind. When my time is done, I will move swiftly towards The Beginning again where I once began.
What then of this Billowing Hatred in me That is too far away from the peace that I seek? I despise every human this sick world has spawned And that does include me. Seems a new day has dawned. I could get used to battle. I pine for the bleak. I don’t care that I’m troubled. I could kill with glee.
I pretend that I like people. It’s not my way. It’s a means of survival. I couldn’t get by Without having to deal with some half-human swine. Human kind is my insect. This should be a sign That I should be well listened to. Wanna know why? I would kill in a heartbeat. That Would make my day.
What has made me the Beast? One’s Black Bitch with a wig And with eyes that speak volumes with each practiced roll. Have I cast enough pearls to the pigs in my way? Do I forge a path forward through utter dismay? I must do what I can to take back my control. I am God Damned Pissed Off, and I will not renege.
How long do I keep up this foolish façade Of believing I’m worth what was offered to me? I took a big gamble thus ruining my life In pretending I’m healthy enough for a wife. I continue to screw up as people can see. Thought I’d followed the program, but things turned out odd.
How does fate keep the terrorist from finding me? There are those who are worth more. Had they had the chance To grow old with their loved ones as worthy folks may I’d be that much closer to my judgment day. Life’s puzzle has proved such a strange circumstance. There’s a reason for ISIS that I clearly see.
That I blither my ass off, can anyone know? I can piss in pitch darkness and other things well. If my stream should strike something at least I would know That there is something out there. That might help me grow. I did want isolation while burning in hell. I’ll admit I’m a fuck-up. That’s not a hard blow.
Not another frog’s out there. No one knows I croak. I was let loose to blunder my way through my days. Easily I hurt others on my reckless path. What procedure could probe at the heart of my wrath? It’s one tough black sheep syndrome. I’ll get through this maze. I’m one well-tempered asshole. It seems that’s no joke.
Happy Birthday, Dear Violet. This one is for you. It’s a long time in coming, but here it is now. For a fine girl who’s practical, fun and at ease… Who brings pleasure and comfort to all whom she sees, I would give you myself if indeed I knew how. But perhaps I can manage with words just a few.
You take care of yourself. I can see that it’s so In your determination to do what is right. Behaving appropriately is a skill. For some folks it takes quite a bit of hard will. I remember the night when we had a great fight. You’re a teacher of passion, I want you to know.
There isn’t a day that goes by without you On my mind, in my heart, in some part of the day. And my words are packed loosely in cumbersome verse. Seems our lives were a play where I didn’t rehearse. To the child who is grown now, I just want to say I would be less without you, and that’s nothing new.
My future cannot be about what is past. The two are like apples and lug nuts to me. Of course, I’m the same then as now, in a way, But by growing, we’re distant, as night is by day. If I live in right NOW, I can very well see That this moment is powerful, but it won’t last…
…As, the next moment, powerful… fast on the heels Of the previous one, will take form in the mind. Not a thing that has happened pertains to right now. It’s a cumbersome paradigm shift, given how Our programming goes against how we’re designed. One should pay better listening to how one feels…
…Every day, every second… from this moment on, If I keep my now current, I’ll be as I am. I’ll continue to think and to speak of what’s now And then come to know that I’ve not changed, somehow. Fresh new thoughts for today is a worthy program. Through Eternity’s Portal I am ever drawn.
Pump-a-Boooom! Pump-a-Boooom! What a plague to describe! That rumble is distant yet headed this way. There’s no denying that message is Force And it’s done to disrupt my wellbeing, of course. It’s on me to unravel this sick nigger play And it baffles me so that we’re of the same tribe.
That Boooom becomes rattle, sustained to the max As it draws ever closer, disturbing my space. It’s riveting shock waves rip right through my heart. You have mouths full of venom. I DO NOT take part In the trashing of woman and verbal disgrace. Pull your pants up, sound weapon; it’s time to relax.
When war comes to me, I don’t see it as race. We are all sorely human, obsessed with our ways Of extruding our phlegm from our psychotic clouds. If you want your dick sucked, then go find the right crowds. I’ve no need for your nodules of nebulous haze. Get your pimping assed homies to cum in your face.
I don’t care who you’re talking to, boy. It ain’t me! Keep your Noise to yourself and don’t shove me around. I’ve a hair up my own; I don’t need yours as well. There’s a place for your talent: With Poets In Hell. I would hang you myself or else keep you well bound. Am I proud we are brothers? I’d rather be Free.
Just a while before Christmas and what’s to be said? Should one write down all matter expelled from one’s head? No stockings are hung; there’s no chimney here. It’s not really by choice, yet perhaps I don’t care. Christmas time is for sports and for people and stuff. It is not time for assholes who’ve not loved enough. Am I really a loner? Well, let me just check… Some friendlies on Facebook… no hick on my neck. …A few cordial neighbors who smile when I say “Merry Christmas.” If that’s all, it’s better that way. Dope man called me today; hadn’t talked in a while. He was lonely… just wanted to hear a real smile. …A few spicy boomers who meet for a brawl Most Tuesdays, yet for them, I’m always on call. …And this site that I keep like a mildewed mad hatter May someday reveal what the hell was the matter That nature allowed such a creature as me To express in a way maybe few people see As verse that is worthy of scant inhalation Among those acquainted with thought transmigration. Now, the story here (There should be one, I know.), Is that of another who lived long ago The son of a duo who knew only good They raised him up rightly as all parents should Yet, much wiser than man, he knew well all along That the kingdom within guides the soul with its song. His humble birth quite embedded in love… His whole life is brilliant with light from above… When caught in dilemma, I’m not proud to pray And don’t care if others don’t see it that way. As for cute Christmas cards and the business and bustle To meet the clock’s tick in the mind like a muscle – I don’t do that no more and I can’t recall last I broke bread with my family for fear of the past Seeping in where it does not or will not feel good So, this cycle, again, I’m a howl in the wood. How would Jesus have acted were he my big brother? What a question to ask! With that said, here’s another: Now seated in glory in heaven above Can he show me the way of unspeakable love In such a way when I sit down to write I take note of this special silent night? I have plenty to speak with no shame in the way. Am I foolish for some of the things that I say? Judge ye not, or be judged, is the way of the Cloth It’s a paradox, though, like a flame to the moth Where in judgment a writer has right to expound On whatever infiltrates and feeds common ground. So, enough of this nonsense; by now I’m quite bored. I know that because I oft’ bore our dear Lord With incessant pleading for help with my writing. His humor and wisdom is ever inviting. This practice is hot chicken soup for the heart As I sit alone, cozy… not really apart From all people worldwide and throughout all dimension, To learn how to love is my greatest intention.
Bless my mouth with a stew of red raspberry goo Wrapped in manna delight straight from heaven’s front door. Ain’t no preachin’ for me lessin it’s ‘bout eatin’. With them crepes on my mind, I ain’t up for no meetin’. My purpose in life is to taste and explore All them fancy concoctions like better folk do.
I’m beholdin’ to berries just like simple birds. The rasper the better; the tarter the taste. Folks is tribal; I’m liable to invite disdain. I keep my dream silent to avoid the pain Of other folks lookin’ and judgin’ in haste. My desire is scripture; its crust are my words.
Folks is raisin’ up Cain? That don’t bother me none. I’m accustomed to tastin’ the salt in the earth. Maybe I ain’t like you. A croissant will not due. My craving erupted not out of the blue. With a raspberry crepe I’m a man of great worth. I’m a crepe rapin’ raspberry scone of a gun!
The Flower of Nature and God intertwined, The stem of her peace ‘of the masculine thorned. The war’s none of savvy against master minds. It’s one of protrusion’s dysfunctional kinds. Dear daughter of mine, had we all been forewarned Would your freedom in safety be better defined?
I know not Islam, yet were I to believe That kids in their twenties killing others their age Has something at all to do with you My faith in religion would unravel anew. You are sacred, young one – my heart’s silent rampage… Your heart filled with wonder where grace doth conceive
My religion is cool… My back yard’s somewhat safe But assault on your pureness of point of view Sends a hellish cold chill up my spine as well. Were my own teen distressed, in my heart she doth dwell And, I’d much rather learn about Islam from you Than from elders or young men embroiled in chafe.
I’ll admit, Massa Povich, I’m caught right off guard In waiting room hostage, eyes locked on a screen Such excitement and drama, a pinch of delight Big Baboonish Behavior Barks the Brightest Stage Light Your Black Rats in a cage are now everywhere seen Their lives cast in turmoil; their hearts deeply scarred
What the Hell are you doing, you fucking Bastard? You married a Bitch whom now no one will trust. Is she blabbing your secrets to folks who don’t care? If she shits in your face, then just have an affair. Leave Black Lives Alone, there are worthier lusts! But, alas, there’s that financial gain you’ll have mastered
You come off quite well faking love and compassion While mining for gold in the sewers of strife But some of us know what you really are That’ll do it for me. I’m exhausted thus far Having strayed off course and lost trusting in life Caught up in backlash is not really my fashion
If through Mother Goose or by Nigger Noose The roof that you build caps a nation secure In its image of Black folks as troubled and tainted Old man, that ain’t me! I’ll make sure you’re acquainted With Blackness Paternal not about to endure Just keeping my mouth shut amid your abuse
From a Prince to a pauper – a Knight to a pawn I’ll tell you for sure that the seed that you sow Will grow to a dark jungle deep on your mind The shame of it is you’re not one of a kind Do thank me, you scum bag, for stooping so low As to borrow your face to blow my nose on!
Dear fly came by Wasn’t much on its mind It just snuck in to visit a while Perhaps to assess the funk in my style Or maybe just to unwind And cop a sigh
Dear fool am I Engulfed in my madness Tizzied about and engaged in my Thing Sharpening what my focus might bring I often find gladness In what I try
You’re cool, dear fly But please don’t get in my face Don’t buzz nowhere near me; the sound causes terror. Yet I know that’s my menses; with you there’s no error. Mind your own business and keep your place. Avoid my eye!
Whatcha doin’ there, boy? Turn around; let me see. I need to make sure you’re not up to no good. Do it nice and slow like you do everything. Any quick move – I just might take a swing. I’m the bird on patrol in your neighborhood. Don’t forget who’s watchin’ ya, boy. It’s me!
My job is to keep your kind under control. Though don’t quote me on that. When I stutter you can. But if I were you, I’d just keep my mouth shut. Your complainin’s what’s keepin’ your race in a rut. Don’t talk back to me, boy. Don’t you understand? It’s my big mouth and ego who’s on patrol.
There’s no way I’m puttin’ my life on the line. If you so much as flinch wrong, you’re goin’ to jail. My patrol car is runnin,’ and my lights I’ll keep blinkin,’ All the better to get your black asses to thinkin’ If you whoop ass with me, my wrath will prevail, And if you end up dyin,’ with that, I’m just fine.
There’s no problem with race in my neck of the woods. I keep a tight watch on black life that I see. After all, black lives matter. Ain’t that what y’all say? To me, that means screwing you day after day. If I go to jail, in no time I’ll be free To resume my pursuing young black men with hoods.
We The People of this treasured land Are a union most perfect in so many ways… ‘Domestically Tranquil With Justice For All’ Was the initial intent which then became law. Our Pot, as it melts, though, sets some necks ablaze To the point where they speak with a gun in their hand
So, this Matter of Lives comes up once and again. After feeling such sorrow, does it hurt more to know That Lives have no color except that of you? We know whose don’t matter. The point is, what’s new? In morbid nostalgia, do we echo our woe, Thus empowering haters to gain a new friend?
Human Nature’s a Bitch! Don’t you know that it’s true? Our forefathers knew this, hence, their slickness well-penned: To evolve a system of blue and of red Wherein gene-rooted schisms that result in bloodshed Yield Correctness Political and the right to pretend That we’re the one nation who has but a clue.
What is the deal here, Dr. Bill? I’m sitting here doing my usual thing Then all of a sudden your commandment appears. With work not completed, I’m up to my ears. Now, you tell me I’m finished, as if you’re some king? Up your Thrill, Dr. Bill! Why be such a Pill?
My work has value, and yours did as well. You’ve done some great things most keen and world class. But you fall short of proving you’re human, to me, Except for this fetish for updates I see. Their randomness of occurrence is a kick in the ass. If you updated the devil, he’d evacuate hell!
And just what are all these updates for? This brand new computer still runs like a snail Well after it shits, showers and shaves. Is your intent to make us all digital slaves? Your interrupts, sir, are beyond the pale. If they did any good, would you then give us more?
Well, Dr. Bill, here’s an update for you. Throughout your infusion of binary grace I’ve been writing about how this all makes me feel. I’ve learned to separate virtual from real. Within every nuisance, there is truth to embrace. Thanks, Dr. Bill. Now I bid you adieu.
…in ways most others care not I am labeled ‘autistic,’ but what’s in a stamp? Seems we’re all but chess pieces played on a board The name of each piece reflects how worth is scored Yet each has the guidance to come out a champ By allowing “The Player” to call each shot.
I focus because it’s the way that I am I can’t see the board; I’m consumed in each square The number of possible games to be played Exceeds that of electrons all ever made There’s no doubt to my purpose; I am sent here to share Yet another strategy unique to each jam.
But maybe I’m here to just be a fool I don’t really play chess; the fact is I suck If given a choice between chess and some hay I’d be chewing my cud for the rest of the day This analogy flattens as if by a truck Lest I make of it an exquisite tool
Since autism grants me a narrower view I look at the Game from the inside out I am privileged to honor each perfect square And to thank it for letting me spend some time there There’s no reason to worry. I have no cause to doubt That the next move is certain, fresh and new.
The body is an unmanned probe Remotely controlled by the realest self Made from the substance of what is explored It encounters another so as not to get bored Expressive of meaning like a book on a shelf But paper thin like an onion skinned robe
The body makes sense of alien ground It does so engaging the self that is ‘local’ That self is the ego. Its purpose, in fact, Is to translate the true self with intent intact Within range the command module then becomes vocal Relishing in new terrain it has found
Since there’s no one inside – just a window to Home We lock onto signals that traverse our space When Eye meets with Eye a connection is made In Heaven with counterparts proud and well-played We flood here en masse to partake of this place With robotic abandon we are destined to roam
So, where in this puzzle does ‘Houston’ fit in? Is Mission Control where we go when we die? To some, it’s a mystery; to others, a known Yet it matters to ego whose true colors are shown When caught loving earth life and flying high Despite this world’s gravity as it wears others thin.
Reality is vibration perceived Not something to face or to work into place Vibration is made through thought that is focused Not through random hopes that flea like the locust And as thought gains momentum at steady pace Within space and time all things are received
Magic is perceived vibration It completes the circuit of what is real Like a radio tuned to a certain sound Will ignore all others that surely abound. With antenna and tuner, we each know how to ‘feel’ Our way to a better situation.
What is is what was the moment it’s been. The ‘carrot of time’ matches rhythm of gait. Yet, there’s wonder in life as connection is made To a Source of our choosing wherein Meaning’s conveyed. To know how one feels is to set one’s path straight. With such knowing, each cycle begins again.
I’ve been here near a while by now… New hermit crab whom neighbors peek. The grass is getting pretty high. What reason have I to be shy? Is it their hearts I dare to seek? Then, do mine own I disavow!
If I should venture outside my door Will eyes swoop like birds of prey… To examine this carriage and semblance of soul? Will my life then be shown to the world in its whole… With all my secrets hung out for display? I really don’t know what is in store.
This lesson lifelong whom I fully indulge Seems childish and basic from point of view I only know that, suffice it be, An irrational poise comes over me To dream of accruing such revenue That the world behold as my worth I divulge.
Since last half past Fall And deep within I ponder what there may be to know To stop sneezes bandied to and fro. Is it a sin To detest them all?
Hermetically hithered in psychic mist The itching olfactory ceiling is felt, Then orgasmic release of one’s germ revenue. The sound that is uttered is a phlegm filled “A’choo!” Whence just moments prior, within sickness dwelt. At least cover your mouth, I must insist!
“A’choo!” then, is standard Among most Though benign variations span worldwide By syllabic profusion, they all coincide – All a toast To sickness meandered
When I went to the doctor, I got my shot. While waiting I met with a sniffling soul When I said “Hello,” he said “Hid-thish… How are you?” ‘Twas obvious this fellow’d come down with the flu. I’m back home by now, and I’m feeling quite whole So hold on to your germs, and ‘hid-thish’ me not!