Archive | May 2018

Is It Something You’ll Say?

Is it something you’ll say that will put you away
Through asylum, impeachment or natural cause?
Is it something that you may have already said
To someone who is wired or sleeps in your bed?
You’ve become a fine screwup. You deserve applause
Before you have completed you very last day.

You bit off a big chunk. Is it too much for you
Given apprenticeship with the art of your deal?
‘Lock Her Up!’ …did I hear you say? What about now?
If you both did some time maybe that would allow
Such a railroaded nation to finally heal.
Why not find a way out? That’s the right thing to do.

You said once, a frail woman would need lots of rest
If she took on high office. Your humor is fine.
You’re no pillar of strength. Your base will see the light
Through the long-darkened tunnel grow ever more bright.
When your girl child is threatened, you will then resign.
The nation will recover. It’s all for the best.

I Get What I Expect

I can know that my thought is where I left it last.
Once I notice that, I can do something with it.
I can score a few points if I make that my goal.
Much of life is like tossing a ball through a hole.
I create not by thinking it out as I sit.
When the thought has become me, I hold it steadfast.

I would like such to happen. This is the best start.
Because when I identify what I prefer
I’ll become a vibrational match to the same.
It’s the sure way that I know to sharpen my game.
When aware of how I feel, no thought can occur
That would bring about failure. That is playing smart.

As I move about mindfully, awkward in form
While I dribble the game piece and stake out my turn,
Most of what can but happen will not be by chance.
When I stare at that hoop, I’m in pure thought expanse.
If I don’t make it this time, that’s no one’s concern
But my own. Other players don’t weather my storm.

Anticipating Bad News

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When an unhappy end meets a journey begun,
It’s as if I’ve been punched by life in the gut hard.
I can’t see others’ issues. I only see mine,
Yet, if anyone asks, I will tell them I’m fine.
When momentum has gathered, I can’t disregard
The full wave of discomfort within me homespun.

But has anything ended? No lead shoe has dropped.
It may be that my outlook has taken a dive
Due to things I’ve been looking at and taking in,
Knowing full well that taking in filth is a sin.
Destination awaits with no drill to arrive.
As I regain some focus, I cannot be stopped.

There are big things and small taking place everywhere.
I’ve no need to experience all that is known.
Someone may drop a bombshell. The earth may explode.
That would be less severe than content overload.
I’ll stay informed of self. Throughout life it has shown
That there are many things of which I should not care.

Allow and Receive

If I want to be able to write with sheer ease,
The desire is the kick start. I need nothing more.
As the rock who has mastered much moss on his hill,
A vast ocean of words has succumbed to my will.
I Allow and Receive them, then get a downpour.
When I want words to flow well, the cosmos agrees.

If I tried hard to do this, would it turn out well?
No! would be the right answer. I must be turned on
And receptive, allowing, tuned in and prepared
To download what is helpful and easily shared.
There’s a source all-inclusive who gives us the dawn
And the darkness, who whispers what then I must tell.

When it seems that it’s easy, sometimes it sounds weird,
Then I question myself and get in my own way.
I could keep in mind I am the author, in that,
Spirit speaks its mind through me without sounding flat.
On occasion it seems I’ll have something to say
That is of my own spirit, though not to be feared.

Cut A Senior Some Slack!

It’s too much touchy-feely, this techie phone thing.
I don’t hear a damned dial tone. How do I make calls?
When I swipe, it will beep. When I tap, it taps back.
When it vibrates, I feel I should give it a whack!
For something so inanimate, it sure has balls.
This thing gives me a headache. I can’t hear it ring.

Now, I’m sure my kids hate me. This thing is my proof.
Had they given me nothing, there would have been doubt.
But they gave me a smartphone, insisting that I
Need to get with the program. I gave it my try.
Things are so frigging tiny. I can’t sort them out.
I am ready to toss this thing from a high roof.

Does this thing make life easy? It gets on my nerves.
I get calls and a lot more than I’ll ever need.
Is it fun keeping seniors locked out of your club?
When your time comes around, you’ll be given the snub.
With each new generation, the old must concede.
Careful clearing of leaves is how nature preserves.

A Derivative Integrity

Factual and intuitive linked in embrace,
The derivative function will give us the speed
On an average – an instantaneous look.
With velocity constant, the function will cook.
If or when it collapses, there may be the need
To start over in some other relevant space.

What we know to be integral is of the whole.
We can generalize to find area there.
As the limit approaches some well deserved end
We may find in the numbers our very best friend.
Yet, of course, there are those who would simply not care
That some geek may be into it heart, mind and soul.

Integral and derivative objects are those
At the basis of calculus and of much more.
Intermixed in a matrix that nature provides,
They exist to enthrall us and serve as our guides.
They are sometimes a puzzle but never a chore.
It would be quite a trick to apply them to prose.

God Hangs Out in The Strangest of Places

Many men will find God somewhere near a girl’s butt
And it might as well happen since God’s everywhere.
Among butts, He’s not hiding. He’s out in plain view
Taking pride in His fine work and blessing it too
They’re designed so that young men will put their eyes there.
And they might end up finding there, heaven knows what.

Place that butt on a platter of silver or gold.
Put it up on a pedestal. Let it perform.
To stir up some excitement, they fashion their walk.
And it matters the least bit that others may balk.
I appreciate girl butts. I’d hope that’s the norm.
As I take notice of them, I’ll never grow old.

Women’s butts are a blessing. They need no disguise
Nor a statute of censorship to keep us tame.
They’re released into nature that we may be sure
That all notice God’s handiwork, sacred and pure.
Staring at that butt package is part of the game
And a helpful distraction for those who are wise.

A Box by Any Other Juke

Is there need for refinement of relevant speech
When it comes to discerning the way of the dance?
Often people are juking when there is no tune.
They may pop and go weasel from midnight ‘til noon.
It’s not done much in daytime. There would be the chance
That the yellow box has not much in it to teach.

Yet it need not be yellow like some submarine.
Give it any fun color, one vibrant and bright.
All the music inside it is plug nickel free.
Who would argue that that’s not the way it should be?
Take your shoes off and park them for juke bug delight.
Don’t expect the expected and already seen.

We are out on the town on a big ballroom floor.
Some of us are quite clumsy. Some dance very well.
While the music is playing, we all do our best
Or at least suffer through it in well-tempered jest.
If I trip on the dance floor, just ring a loud bell
So that all will take notice and ask me for more.

A Festival of Appreciation

For the sheer joy abounding throughout all the earth,
(There’s a lot more of it than of anything not.)
There is reason to celebrate and carry on
In a spirit of caring. We rely upon
Each and everyone of us to earn what is sought.
Though we’re not in the sixties, it’s time for rebirth.

Clear desire, no resistance… connection is made
To the source that is in us all wanting to live
And to love at full throttle, unfettered and wild
In the way that is merriest as with the child.
Deep inside us all, there is volition to give
Towards the health of the planet. Can this be delayed?

It need not be elaborate… even world wide
In the sense that it’s organized down to detail.
We can party in private with family and friends.
Will it spread epidemically? That all depends.
When we celebrate more, then good tidings prevail
So that current events can be taken in stride.

Holy Trinity

An aquatic triangle, nearby and revered
As the Godhead, confounding and hard to know well,
Is my faith such a mystery for me to know
For the purpose of being persuaded to go
By the way of the masses who cannot rebel?
It is said that divine wrath should ever be feared.

Deity equilateral isn’t by choice,
Nor is it by the fate of chance cast by the breeze.
It’s a God well-constructed and fashioned to be
Both a philosophic and discrete remedy
For the disease of living life as one may please.
So, wherein are we given reason to rejoice?

It is in Holy Trinity that I may be
All the am that I am as my father is now…
And the spirit among us is certainly real.
I can know what is true by the way that I feel.
To engage daily living requires no vow
Nor the risk I could ever be sent back to sea.

True Satisfaction

We enjoy co-creating. One reason we’re here
Is to mingle with others and make life a dream.
We are certain our lives here are meant to feel good.
It’s amazing most people don’t know this and should.
We have but to feel satisfied and not extreme
About making dreams happen, lest they disappear.

Being more and more satisfied in being more
Is the way that we tweak and mold as we create.
We create with much pleasure if we so decide.
Nothing can separate us, not even our pride.
When in true satisfaction we feel that it’s fate,
We embrace not the will nor the time to keep score.

Find oneself in reception, then one will find peace.
Not a thing on earth matters if we’re satisfied.
When it’s good, it gets better. When bad, it’s a gift
From the cosmos reminding us we need to shift.
Happily ever after cannot be denied
To true heart’s satisfaction. One’s faith will increase.

A Most Ignorant Clam

Don’t you know who I am? I’m the ignorant clam.
I’m the one who goes pigshit to offer his love.
There’s a blindness in kindness, a blissfulness too.
I’m attractive, I know, because I’m a good screw.
I may sink to your level. You’ll rise not above
Your most well practiced habit to not give a damn.

Yours is alien speech to me. Mine is to you.
If we all talk in circles we get to no point.
If I try to build for you, then you tear it down
As if made by a jackass, why wouldn’t I frown.
I’d have given up then, as there’s naught to anoint,
Yet, I confound my error with much more to do.

My fine work is a treasure – or was, I should say.
Too much time, sweat and intent went into the prize
Before it was allowed to completion in grace.
It seems beasts that I deal with have spit in my face.
Yet another life lesson… I thought I was wise.
Yet, the older I get, I get dumber by day.

Routine Colon

Just a plain routine colon is who we have here
And grossly unremarkable, to say the least.
We’ve no polyps to probe nor no fissures to fuse.
I am sure that the patient will find that good news.
But to we, he’s a healthy unfettered young beast,
When our job is to learn to make stuff disappear.

This benign seeming waste tube has nothing to teach.
It’s just too frigging faultless. The textbooks, in awe,
Would accept this wholeheartedly and with delight.
As my students you will study stuff that ain’t right.
Within any perfection, we’ll learn to find flaw.
Then we’ll bombard the patient with intricate speech.

If you know one who has one that’s kicking his ass,
Do a full workup on him, then send his ass here.
If he’s got something nasty, we’ll make sure you know
And throughout the semester, our knowledge will grow.
We maintain that good medicine is based in fear.
We’ll instill that in you through the tests you must pass.

Let He Who Is with Faith Cast the Next Sin

Blast you bad baby butchers! You will burn in Hell!
And as God as my witness I pray it to be.
God designed women’s bodies just as he did land.
Everything that’s worthwhile comes about by man’s hand.
And if man says the bodies of women aren’t free
Then its gospel. There’s no place for reason to dwell.

You were made to make babies. The bible says so.
Fertile land can’t take cover. It takes what it gets.
If it gets stomped and spat upon, that’s no one’s bad.
Lowly soil can well take it and learn to be sad.
Jesus Christ was no woman. You have no regrets
That would come to outdo his. This too you should know.

Many Christians are righteous in will to spew blame
Like selective airborne fodder trapped in the throat.
If it’s hocked out in violence, there’s some hell to pay.
Like hypocrisy, it should be washed clean away.
Latent violent tendencies too often denote
Something deeper afoot that no goodness can name.

Harvest Humans

Toward a shortage of mother meat blindly we trek
With respect for the science. Reliance upon
Quantum leaping achievements to solve world crises
May result in our being grown and picked from trees.
Of the pungent most processes e’er to see dawn
Is soil spermatization to see what the heck.

If Subgeo Infiltro Zygotization
Comes before we are ready, it may come to pass
That we’ll treat one another much worse than our fruit.
One might juice his poor brother or chop off his root,
Though it’s no longer needed for tapping that ass.
Men may masturbate into the grass in sheer fun.

They’ve been freezing the eggs. And for what? A new day
In some post Armageddon where life is laid waste?
Maybe that’s an idea that does make some sense
Since, apparently, no major growth will commence
As our mores remain so unwomanly based.
What we think can make fertile much of what we say.

Get Some Taurus In Uranus

There’s an anus in Taurus. Just whose would it be
As Uranus encircles our sun on its path?
For the next seven years we’ll have earth on our minds,
In our hearts, through our veins and in news of all kinds.
We may see the bull tear down and release its wrath.
Could Uranus detain us? No fool would agree.

It is here to surprise us. Uranus, at best,
Introduces keen insight with radical change.
And through Taurus it could mean concern for the land.
We are not the earth’s owners. This we’ll understand.
We’ll become more collective and welcome the strange.
Rights for humans and beasts shall be fully expressed.

Land and money and resources, water as well,
Will see vast innovation creatively so.
We’ll remain well in touch. Electronics will thrive.
We’ll know sustainability keeps us alive.
That the earth is a china shop people should know.
We could trigger demise like a bull out of hell.

Psychotoxic Horrendosol

Toxic radiation comes in many a form.
Our economy ensures that we get the best.
We get most from devices and some from our friends.
Were we not to get any, the detox would cleanse
The sick psyche. It seems though that we are obsessed
With excitement and drama. This is an old norm.

Psychotoxic Horrendosol is used a lot.
It has properties fully resistant to change.
When it’s mixed well with meaning, it makes life stand still.
People’s programmed behaviors then become the will
Of the toxin producers. Is this sounding strange?
Then perhaps I’m affected when I had thought not.

Take that UHDTV and seal it in lead.
Ship it off to Siberia. Then breathe a sigh.
Your toxicity levels will decrease in turn.
You will have less concern and be eager to learn.
If content is addictive, then boredom is why.
That is why I’m a poet. What more can be said?

No One’s Bible Is Libel

Don’t ask me to read scripture. I’d keep a straight face
Out of programmed politeness, but way before long
I would burst out in laughter, and that would be bad –
Not for me but for others who’d thought I had had
Quite enough drummed into me with upbringing strong.
I am doomed to find humor in most any place.

It’s the way people talked then that tickles me so.
They would think ours is funny, that is, I would hope
That our difference in time and space is a clue
To how vastly divergent we must be in view.
We will hang ourselves righteously with enough rope
Fed to us through a dark hole from so long ago.

It’s a humorous story. Don’t take thou my land…
I shall smite thee my wrath… Woe betide thee this day!

Lord, I know it ain’t Shakespeare, but give me a break!
At least half a page turner would keep me awake.
As I’m laughing my ass off, do know it’s my way.
I mean no disrespect. I hope all understand.

Ichabodra, The Crane Unattainted

It’s a shame Ichabodra does not rhyme with stork.
Otherwise, she’d be easy, like Sunday at dawn.
She’s unshown to us, though, and that is by design.
One who would write about her would have to define
A worse person than Ichabod. Could such be spawned?
Ichabodra is thickened like tough salted pork.

Every human vice known, Ichabod knows it well.
But his counterpart gender-wise cares not the least.
She’s a figment of my mind, so she is benign.
Nowhere near Sleepy Hollow would she find divine.
Rings of sausage to her is no sensible feast.
And her temperament, at worst, is nothing to quell.

She’s escaped from calamitous scapegoatish prose
Represented as satire of concurrent style.
Ichabodra deserves not a page in a book
That is of the same title. That Crane has a hook
Well intended to keep women down for a while.
I can find Ichabodra wherever she goes.

Parts Is Parts

Parts Is Parts and can sometimes be born of the arts.
They’re the roles that the actors take when they have work.
Many parts are well played by performers of class.
When they come to be known, much moolah they amass.
Wealth and fame are but two; they earn many a perk.
When they’re good, they evoke feelings deep in our hearts.

Many wholes made of parts are aware that they are,
Like soul mates through eternity locked in embrace.
All the parts of all wholes have a consciousness too,
In acknowledgement that there is much work to do
To maintain healthy functioning by our own grace.
We have taken a leap. Have we reached all that far?

What is different is integral to the whole.
Where integrity differs, the function evolves.
Every part of a function works best with the rest.
There’s no sense in determining which part is best.
Parts Is Parts is a puzzle that no human solves.
Our survival in partnership may be our goal.

The Standard Not Cased

The Standard Not Cased – A professional term,
Somewhat militaristic sounding to lay ears.
We all know what is standard. We’ve learned it from birth.
Our dominion is sacred and good for the earth.
We are Monarch! That’s how it most surely appears.
Why is it that our fine standard makes others squirm?

Ours is red, white and blue. Others… blue, white and red.
There’s a handful of colors each nation may use.
We can’t run out of colors. They can’t go away.
We hijack them to standardize what we must say.
We do give up our freedoms as we dare to choose
Metamorphosis raging at full steam ahead.

So, the Standard Not Cased are the colors unfurled
And released from protection from weather and wear.
I salute them, in general. Orders I take
From my inner self only. Why live not awake?
Today’s sentry is willing to notice and care
That our standard may not be the best in the world.

Barcode Overload

It’s too much information – that naked barcode.
It behaves like the butt crack. To me it looks gross.
Everything on earth has one – perhaps the moon too.
And like assholes, opinions and bad humor (eew!),
That machine-crafted zebra mark is bellicose
In a manner that messes with me when it’s showed.

Everywhere I will see them, like peeping Tom’s eyes.
Hanging out at the corners of labels they hide
Unassuming to most. But they give me the creeps.
They may thrive on immodesty, but not for keeps.
I do cover them forthwith with paint well applied.
I just don’t like to scan them. To me it’s unwise.

Is the growth of the barcode because of the growth
Of our species-specific domain, as it were?
We are plenty in number and things that we do.
We need means to keep track of all that we accrue.
Though they’re God awful nasty and too oft’ occur,
They’re a sight for the digital dimwit or both.

Abuse of the Mirror

We have nary the need for a mirror task force
Nor police to keep all mirrors safe from abuse.
When the flat shiny surface encounters a face
That may cause it to vomit pea soup everyplace,
It will mimic that faithfully without excuse.
Either beauty or ugliness it will endorse.

If I frown at the mirror, it will not smile back.
The least strict of realities would not allow
What I put out to come back as other than me.
Both a thing and its image, indeed, must agree.
Past and future are not seen. I only see now.
If I see not the present, I see only lack.

I am made of the mirror, as it is of me.
Particles of existence are common to all,
And are conscious, responding to those of their kind.
Not a single one ever has been mis-assigned.
There’s no sense of illusion within the eyeball.
My self-image, it would seem, is who I must be.

Feeling Satisfied in The Thought

I have been meditating, in fact, quite a lot.
Now that I’ve got the hang of it, what is it worth?
I get signs I don’t follow. Where is my belief?
With my best persevering, why do I find grief?
Meditation may start with the moment of birth.
Could I nestle each segment in fragrance of thought?

Am I looking for trust or belief in the path?
Or can I just be happy as thought takes on form?
Would my thinking too much about finding my way
Then preclude my advancing? Not likely, I pray.
The path yields me not always the grandest brainstorm
Nor serenity born of the kind aftermath.

Satisfaction this moment is all that I need.
Not a proof, nor belief or a hint of a clue
Is of import this moment. I’ll just breath a sigh.
My, how good that one felt. I do love flying high.
To delight in this moment is all I need do.
Feeling satisfied in the thought is feeling freed.

Every Princess’s Dream

What do little girls dream of? Why would a man care?
Were not women once little with bigness of heart
And with hopes made of magic, fulfilling delights?
What suspense all-consuming awakes her at nights?
If I knew every answer, would that make me smart?
I would be but her subject. I’m quite happy there.

We are caught up in pageantry. That’s just my take.
I would wonder what legacy should be passed on.
Little girls all have beauty and talent and grace.
We exalt competition. We make babies face
Early on a malignant dependence upon
Other people’s approval. And much of it’s fake.

Every Princess’s Dream is to know she is love
Of the purest variety e’er to be known.
She would dream that all grownups would know this as well.
Every little girl’s magic will cast a love spell.
We have lived out our lives. We should leave theirs alone.
Every little girl’s dream is a gift from above.

Adult Onset Nativity

Were I born yesterday, things would make much more sense.
As it is, I arrived here before my own time.
In the meantime I’m given some room to explore
This life chamber around me that I should adore.
Is it wrong that I’m learning stuff way past my prime
As my time to be born consumes me with suspense?

In some ways, I’m brand new here. With each rising sun,
I’m essentially nuanced to wipe a clean slate
In the morning before any drama begins.
It is nobody’s business who died for my sins.
If I dropped dead this moment, who’d care if it’s fate?
If there’s needed a young heart, might I be the one?

 Neither exit nor entry certificate states
Where I fall short of worthiness and due respect.
Hopefully, an old bundle delivered anew
Can provide entertainment, if but for a few.
I would not discontinue this due to neglect.
Both the mother and baby have intertwined fates.

Father Tony

We know Father Tony Transubstancioni
Just like we know well what it’s like to be locked
On a wild roller coaster through theology.
We are young enough still that we’re able to see
Human nature’s innate tendency to concoct
Ways of selling salvation as if it weren’t free.

Now, some say that it’s not free. Someone paid a price.
Well, that’s good looking out. We’d have done quite the same.
So, what’s up with the guilt trip? We did nothing wrong.
We are new to your choir yet still sing your old song.
Has engaging with spirit become a board game
Wherein one can win only by great sacrifice?

With concern, Father Tony, do hear our advice
Given you who love torment as if it were sex.
Many acts are unholy. Please keep that in mind.
We would love to work with you, but first we must find
An environment safe enough in all respects.
What one learns from delusion is not worth the price.

How Does Dog Become Scapegoat?

Did your son kick the dog today? That isn’t cool.
It is wrong to hurt animals… or anyone.
But how does a good parent then deal with a child
Who may fear that he may be severely reviled
For an act that, at some point, all creatures have done.
It’s not easy to live by today’s golden rule.

If in fact he is spoken to, what does one say?
“You should not do that naughty thing…” as with the beast?
Put them both in the doghouse. They make a fine pair.
When the kids in the neighborhood come by to stare,
They will not think of hurting their dogs in the least.
If one took not an action, what would that convey?

Kids are low on the food chain in family affairs.
What they say isn’t listened to. Then they get pissed.
One consumed in frustration will not kick his dad,
But he’ll sure kick that dog around when he gets mad.
When the dog is gone, he knows that it won’t be missed.
When the dog becomes scapegoat, that means no one cares.

A Borderline Penance

As I wax purgatorious thinking I’m right
When my brain functions backwards in so many ways,
Do I make any progress toward reaching my goals?
Why my character takes on so many damned roles
Is a question I’ll ponder the rest of my days.
Nothing of the ethereal is the dark night.

I exist in my own world. I think we all do.
We concern ourselves only with things that we love
Among our inner circles… if we are so blessed.
What I may find of interest is not to the rest.
If my ego feels like it’s been given a shove,
Should I take solace in the fact I have one too?

I would like to be human when I think I’m not,
Yet I know I would have to be one of the whole
Of nature’s fine experiment: creatures who may
Understand with illusion much of what they say.
It takes courage to live well within my own soul
And to know not, nor care that I may be forgot.

Owe Me One, Then Owe Me

I could be Rumpelstiltskin or Pudding and Tang,
Yet a friend of Luke Flightjacket is who I am.
Way too many sci-fi flicks have taken the turn
Toward placating sensation with much crash and burn.
So whenever you find yourself in a big jam,
Just owe me one, then owe me, son. This isn’t slang.

Some would say I’m a Jedi because I kick ass
In the mystical lucid land on the wide screen.
There are dark evil forces in your world as well.
They take over your content and cast a deep spell.
Do I slice through your rubbish or make things seem clean?
If I do that, then my character isn’t crass.

And for this, you don’t owe me. Do know me to be
At my best with my light saber held tight in hand,
Strong and ready to offer diversion from hate.
With some imagination, we may gravitate
Toward the friendlier force, perhaps as had been planned.
If you know me, then owe me your living carefree.

Why Do I Cry?

In its essence, it’s innocence of the unknown
And the known joining seamlessly nestled in love.
I sometimes know why I cry, as most people do.
We all tend to feel deeply. We are creatures who,
When consumed in sheer happiness, wouldn’t think of
Somehow keeping it hidden, or else barely shown.

I grow older, and as I do, sometimes I find
There’s a mix in my energy that I can feel.
If I stop to take notice of my heart’s desire,
I may find that there’s nothing that I need acquire.
In that moment of knowing, I cannot conceal
Where the new thought has taken me as I’m aligned.

My desire is a yearning for that which is known
To be ideal implicitly for one and all.
We all come here from kindness and pure loving light.
We all know how to make love and frolic despite
Any emergent issue we’d deem falderal.
As I get used to crying, my spirit has grown.