POEM: Living Between The Pages

He wrote
She read
Studiously massaging
Fact and fiction
And in between
The pages
They lived

This poem addresses both the role that storytelling plays in the narratives of our lives and the need to move beyond fiction to incarnate into our real lives such truths as stories may impart.  Storytelling through literature and theater serves more than mere entertainment.  Storytelling can model character studies, cautionary tales without the real life tragedies, and heroics of all types without constant personal risk.  The emotional catharsis of vicariously experiencing the many and varied lives of others, biographical or mythological, can inform our own exploration of our highest ideals and darkest impulses.  Still, storytelling, even at its best, is no substitute for living.  At some point, we need to author and act out our own narrative on this stage we call earth.  And life has all the complications of live theater — and more!  There are no dress rehearsals for life; this is it.  Life does not offer any assurance of a Hollywood ending, and you can’t read ahead in a script to nuance your motivation.  In life, tragedies are real and heroics are risky.  Of course, such a precarious situation offers a much more spellbinding way of living than recounting even the best “studiously massaged” story.  May you cast yourself into the lead role in your life, and may your story be original and lively enough to bear repeating.

POEM: Won Race

He ran his won race
Not around other men’s tracks
But in open fields
Into sunsets and sunrises
Never looking back
As no one affront
And know time
Where mostly losers must collect
The whiner’s circle
And still
Fodder time
Will only
Weather win place or show
Every champ yon door
Will not cry out
As sum hoarse race
Only to whinny
But one race
In riding a loan
And won for awe
Jockeying honor
In steed
Bye only crossing
The finish line
In unison
As a singular knows
Tide for thirst

This poem plays with the tensions between the importance of both our inner experience and compass and our collective outer experience.  Self-knowledge and self-awareness are prerequisites for healthy functioning in the world.  Otherwise we will be doomed to project our ignorance and misunderstanding onto others, confounding communication and degrading joint enterprises.  We must know ourselves and trust our inner experience and instincts, if we are to live our own lives.  This recognizes a radical aspect of our own inner subjective experience: that part of our lives is uniquely our own, both in terms of being only indirectly verifiable by others (what’s going on inside) and that our own agency gives us responsibility that cannot be pawned off on others.  To some inescapable degree, we must run our own race.  Recognizing this freedom and responsibility is the key to winning our own race: Not around other men’s tracks/But in open fields/Into sunsets and sunrises.  If we gauge our own lives too much by others’ behavior and the various cascading situations in the world, we risk living lives as mere reaction formations of our environment.  While this is a profoundly sad loss for ourselves, it also robs the world of the gift of another real live actor in the play of life.  Of course, human life is an ensemble role; we share a collective stage and have intertwining stories.  Life is not a horse race, with the inevitable winner and losers — though that may be part of the narrative we act out.  In sharing both a collective stage and the power of each to contribute their own role to the play,  life is pretty much guaranteed to be dramatic, perhaps somewhat chaotic, and hopefully interesting and fun.  Human life begs both individual creative response-ability and a deeply collective attitude and respect for our shared enterprise.  A wise ensemble of actors, recognizing the varied roles of protagonists and antagonists, gladly plays their role, not another’s.  And as passions rise, the story unfolds.  The story is not won by who is present in the last scene, but who are present at awe, wherever they peer.  If there is a larger winning in life, it may very well be the solidarity of comrades sharing passions, but not necessarily playing the same roles: In unison/As a singular knows/Tide for thirst.  As for that horse race: break a leg…

POEM: Fore Awe That Can Be Souled

He lived buy
The law of the jungle
Except for that whole jungle thing
And law
Fore that madder
Welcome too
Living bye
A-weigh of living
A-lien from nature
As not giving
One ascent
Fore awe that can be

The so-called law of the jungle is largely disrespectful of nature and law.  The presumed law of the jungle is typically a rationalization for amoral behavior.  Buying such low living is not becoming to humanity.  Greedy, fear-filled, and violent people swear by the notion of a “dog eat dog” world, even if they have never seen a dog eat a dog.  And if one has witnessed firsthand a dog eat a dog, it is a near certainty that this resulted from the instigation and/or training by a human.  Contrary to popular mythology, the overwhelming majority (95+%) of living beings on this planet live and die without being eaten.  Live and Let Live SPIRITUAL BUTTONLive and let live is a far better characterization of the nature of nature than some arena of death thrust upon us to bedevil us to our untimely end.  So, this poem is about respecting the higher harmonies of nature, including human nature — the nature of the soul, if you will — as we experience the gift of life.  Such higher harmonies lean into the predominant reality of life as a gift rather than a curse.  It is a destructive lie to characterize nature, or our nature, as a taker rather than a giver.  The jungle is a wild and beautiful place, but the awe and wander of its presents inspires its true companions to revel in reverence rather than dreadful competition or wanton violence.  A Savage Is Not The One Who Lives In The Forest, But The One Who Destroys It POLITICAL BUTTONMay you find that the wild places in your life bring you life-affirming inspiration and render you a lousy accomplice to greedy and guarded weighs.

POEM: Boulder Climate Change Strategy

Know madder
The body politic wants
Wee are
A given
Political climate change
Fueled agin
Buy dollareds
Hot air
And cheep solutions
Trapped in a net worth
A slew of zeroes
Proffering barren fruit
Their cut
Wile the snare drum beats
US like lemmings
Lurid over
A bluff leading know where
With the last feather in their icy cap
Plunging a head
At breakneck pace
Their ultimate un-doing
In won weigh or the other
Hung by a tight rope
For good
Snappy necks ‘n dashing suits
In their bald Sisyphean crowing
As gods joke
Boulder for brains

This is another in my unrelenting series of global climate change poems.  Western Civilization Is A Loaded Gun Pointed At The Head Of This Planet -- Terrence McKenna quote POLITICAL BUTTONI mock cowardly politicians beholden to earth-destroying corporate interests, offering only half-ass solutions to what is likely the greatest threat to humanity and the planet this century.  I mix several metaphors simultaneously, but the prime metaphor is of Sisyphus as the symbol of grandiose futility.  Of coarse, the climax of the poem offers Phoenix-like hope as these Sisyphean politicians bash their brains out on the rocks of the reality they so persistently deny and discount.  And for good measure, and a backup plan, they also hung themselves with their own rope, in a tip of the hat to the old Marxist joke that capitalists will sell the rope to the executioner for their own hanging. And for a triumvirate of metaphors to seal their destiny, a bird metaphor (“cheep solutions, “last feather in icy cap,” and “bald Sisyphean crowing”) assures that the brains dashed against the rocks are bird brains as well as boulder for brains.  Be on notice chicken-hearted and bird-brained politicians, there is no escaping the carnage of my poetry!  Of course, I hope to embolden planetary citizens to take bolder action to relieve such politicians of any authority or power over the fate of our Mother Earth.  Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself --Rachel Carson quote POLITICAL BUTTONMay the people of planet earth rise up and create a sustainable destiny for humanity that fully respects the deep harmonies of nature.

POEM: Beauty Us Aging

There is a beauty
In aging
A reservoir
Of singular moments
And glistening years
In ignorance passed
Belying youth
In wrinkled knows
At untaut skin
In the game
Wear even
The future rests
In time
As quiet
A scene
With awe
Facing beauty

As every ancient wisdom tradition teaches, beauty is more than skin deep.  The beauty and wisdom that comes with accumulated experience trumps even youthful vigor and physical vitality.  Trading the vicissitudes of youth for the vicissitudes of senescence is not a bad deal.  With every loss there is opportunity for learning — learning that youth often bulls its way past, with zealous confidence or strapping hardiness.  Even surviving long enough to experience senescence can be a daily reminder of life’s bountiful blessings and accumulated graces.  An earned acceptance and long realized gratitude can pave a way forward with a truer compass, more reliable than the dashing speed of youth.  This deeper beauty is a layer anew in life, nesting where the future rests, as even now wrests.  May you find a profound beauty in aging, enabling you to live awe of the days of your life.

POEM: How Does It Awe End?

Sow ponderous are wee
The nature of God
God of nature
Never two be the same
As one
Awe weighs
Whichever becoming
Created in won mine
Weather mirror mortals
Or I am parish-able being
A quest in during
Too haves
And halve knots
Regarding the spirit of what matters
Neither helled fast
Nor celestially slowed buy death
And aft-er life each claiming
Stern up trouble
Figuring the other’s sale is rigged
Know cents in fallowing
What is billed of star board
Oar all is port
As solid grounds a mast
Exceeded only by wind
Assumptions and renunciations
From the back spew and affront row
A mist
The sow called
Only wandering
How does it awe end

I am prone to venture into the dangerous arena of speculation on the nature of God in efface of skepticism and the idle juggernaut of cynicism.  This poem is about awe, that and much more.  I view awe as a primary experience of what I would term spiritual or mystical.  I find awe uplifting.  Dissecting life rarely leaves life still living.  In do coarse, most arguments about God or any sublime reality devolve into reductive thinking and defensive emotional stances, regardless of one’s belief in common ground or sacred spaces.  I am skeptical of any view of humans as solely common ground.  I am also skeptical of the races of men to lay claim to the sublime spaciousness that is sacred.  Awe is elusive.  The spirit is like the wind, as we know not where it comes from or where it goes.  I suppose that it would not be an unwarranted characterization to say the awe is my religion.  Of course, awe and wonder are the enemy and antidote to dogmas, in this dogma eat dogma world wee in habit.  Sow, this poem is a bout finding a place where awe does not end, where awe is not exiled from our ideology of the moment.  May you ask wise as you wander, and as you find awe that you are seeking, make more of it.

POEM: My Proffered Busyness

My proffered busyness
Is riding poetry
It takes me
And even as sow many
Times come a bout
The heist spot in the whirled
Strong-armed by incoming
Dealing with lives steel
As sell sum
Pilfer everything
As if
Following racing rats to a loot
Or tender my resignation
And well come
My big amble
Out performing
Peddling vagabonds
At any prize
Wear happiness too spare
Rambling on

This is a poem about a poet’s joy in writing poetry — that would be me.  This is yet another ode to the muse which strikes without warning, though with overwhelming warming.  There is little question that writing poetry is a way for me to work through living in such a surreal world, where grave injustices and serendipitous joys reign over my life.  This tension between the often heart rendering work of social justice and profound gratitude for the many blessings in my life is a familiar theme in my life and poetry.  May you work for justice with a grateful heart; and may your joy be deep enough to sustain you in the most difficult times.

POEM: Corn Fed Politicians

We are surrounded
By corn fed politicians
Who don’t eat corn
But slaughter the herd
Fed only corn
In a round a bout weigh
In realty
And capitol punishment
Their hire power
Contracts executioners
To deal with every unwieldy beef
If one is to get to the bottom
Of their food chain
In locking up votes
With cheap gruel
And patronizing jobs
It is enough
To give you gas
But I’ll pass on
The magic
Of any half dozen
Of such human beans
So called
With their meat and greet
As giant he goes
Stalk, stalk, stalk
Chop, chop, chop
Nothing left to ax
Accept the sky falling
And the eminent crash
Hour only comfort
In the succor borne this minute
That they don’t know Jack
As we get out of

Politicians make at least one thing easy; that is, to be cynical about politics.  This poem melds an ecological and vegetarian theme topped off with a Jack and the beanstalk climax.  Politicians often contract out their dirty work so they can maintain a veneer of respectability and civility.  Of course, they may be lazy-ass cowards too.  Radical politics often has two somewhat divergent strategies: 1) expose, confront, and bring down elitist and corrupt politicians and political systems, and 2) dodge the disastrous social consequences of power and money hungry politicians — along with nurturing humane and sustainable alternatives.  Mainstream politics is largely about securing specific interests, better crumbs from the flesh-eating politicians.  Usually its a lower level political crony handling the corn and crumb distribution.  The System Was Never Broken It Was BUILT That Way - POLITICAL BUTTONRadical politics is a more wholesale and holistic approach, recognizing that reforming a system that is fixed, not broken, needs to be fundamentally replaced.  Thus, there is plenty of work for all, bringing down corrupt systems and building up new sets of human relationships and community that serve all, not simply an elite.  Radicals are hold outs, rejecting the wholesale social contract that imprisons most people and holding out alternatives that can provide humane work and meaning for all.  Rather than simply hoping that we don’t crash or waiting for a crash, radical politics erodes the power and authority of dehumanizing systems as a way of life.  Please Pardon Our Peaceful Chaos As We Reboot Our Country's Operating System - OCCUPY WALL STREET POLITICAL BUTTONPlus, rather than simply trying to not be the next one to get the boot, radicals prepare for the reboot.  May you live your life in such a way that when the flesh-eating politicians come for you, you can happily retort, “Eat me!” — ever working for that day when we won’t be food again.

POEM: Just Us Fore Awe

Privilege and disenfranchisement
Are two sides of the same coin
Defining this flipping world
And the soul weigh out
Is to stop chasing coin
And exorcise our debt to won another
Just us fore awe

People are more important than things.  Human persons are more important than corporate persons.  You can’t serve God and money.  These are relatively simple truths that can order our disordered lives, individually and collectively.  Chasing the almighty buck degrades the awesome aspects of our humanity.  Focusing on how we can profit from others, what we can get from others, is the ultimate “taker” attitude.  For those who have a lot, are on the long end of the stick, the looming threat of disenfranchisement, and those disenfranchised seeking justice, assures that having is never enough. Even those with little, or on the short end of the stick, often internalize this sick attitude as wannabe privileged, perpetuating the dominant worldview of domination over others.   As I see it, the soul weigh to get rid of this two sides of the same coin is to get rid of coin.  Inasmuch as people are viewed as means to ends, we will have a whirled of mean, and unsatisfying ends.  Recognizing, honoring, and glorying in each other’s irreducible humanity and awesome possibility is perhaps the only debt we have to each other.  If you view this debt to one another as a privilege or a duty, you are correct.  The awe at the heart of our humanity is what should command our respect and serve as our authority in all matters.  Our greatest gift to one another is to serve awe.  May you find awe that you are looking for, and may awe that you due serve others.

POEM: Keep Your Eye On The Ball

The red ball bounces
Like a metronome
But with less rhythm
Over every lyric uncomposed
Like a wrecking ball
But less harmonious
A juggernaut emblazoned
In fire engine red
But less melodious
Like a no alarm fire
But with less refrain
The only words aloud
Keep your eye on the ball
And you need not no
Its whirled of hurt
A bouncer of chorus
And ballads unkneaded

This poem employs the metaphor of the little bouncing ball over the lyrics in karaoke as a distraction from what is really important in life.  This poem sets up a double-take as it reverses the usual meaning and positive association with keeping your eye on the ball.  Karaoke is unoriginal mimicry at least.  At worst, karaoke is skin-crawling, nails-on-blackboard-scratching, cat-in-heat-howling torture.  The powers that be in life benefit from the distractions of “harmless” entertainment as opposed to mind-provoking and heart-expanding artistic endeavors which erode social control.  In modern Western civilization, the risk-averse obsession with safety and security routinely leads to a dull relationship with the precarious risks inherent in living fully.  At least karaoke offers an opportunity to put yourself out there and make a fool of yourself, a good skill to practice.  The whirled of hurt that characterizes a substantial portion of human existence is often enough to leave us overly defensive, even walled off, with untold, unwritten and unsung ballads.  Perhaps even worse yet, avoiding hurt, discomfort, and presumed foolishness, regularly provides ready-made rationalizations for even considering dreaming as dangerous, leading to trouble, and supplies built-in blinders to the fortuitous perks of risk-taking.  May you dare to write your own lyrics, sing out loud to your own tune, and discover deeper harmonies than simply pop culture.