POEM: Flowing Inevitably Threw Us

Our hearts were broke
A cache sow, well, spent
In solvent
In life
Long
Yearnings
Teaming tsunamis of solidarity
Of the largesse kind
Poor
Over us
Torn as under
A heavy wait
Pre-seeding
A compelling yield
As if
Some bank erupt
Reigning
The affluence
Of won another
In tsunamis of serendipity
Having pre-pared us
Seeing in owed daze
As broke
Open
As chambers and vessels
Suited fore rivers of love
Flowing inevitably
Threw us

This poem is about what seems to be a necessary heart-rendering process of our hearts breaking before they can fully pour love out into the world.  I strongly suspect that this is the way our heart of hearts is built.  Much like soil, our hearts are tilled til compassion gives root to patience and grace-filled kindness.  This too fold process is upending to our less mature and superficially romantic fields of dreams.  Real Miracle to Walk on Earth--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThe hard edges of injustice cleave us as surely as the serendipitous realities of unmerited kindness and generosity.  While the specific injustices and grace that we each experience is unique, our heart of hearts flourishes in solidarity with others.  The companionship and mutual support that flows through those who recognize themselves as being in the same boat binds us in one accord and harmonizes our souls so we can walk together as won people.  Only when our love pours out into the world, not bound and limited to vain vessels of our own, do our hearts function at full — nay overfull! — capacity.  OCCUPY EVERYTHING (Heart) - OCCUPY WALL STREET POLITICAL BUTTONWith love flowing through us, we are never broke; we have become holy, awe together, and udderly teeming with plenty.  In the process, our mortal hearts, like many earthen vessels, are thrown for a loop, only to be torn as under.  And for awe that, our heart of hearts is fashioned for sow much more.  Hearts united beat more than blood could ever dictate.  May our hearts never brake, pouring into the world with awe of our untamed hopes.

POEM: The Rein of Hope

A tsunami of hope is coming
Are you preparing such a weigh?
Will you be caught looking
Through shot glasses
Only to be decked out with eyedroppers
For blood shot eyes, those cynical vanes
Ill quipped to see arose
As a master of heavy arts
Uprooted by a juggernaut of serendipity
Leaving ewe to find won self
Oar reel state underwater
In the bust of surf and turf
As well sculpted ideologies
Serve up anchors and chains
In efface of assail boat
Occupying the same
Regardless of weather titanic cap size
Kicking buckets down the road
As if
Awe is to be fathomed
Only too arrive
More than any won dare expected
Even as some specious of large-mouthed perch
Will settle
Just enough
Too fill one’s lunge
In a whirled turned
Upside down
As big fish in a bigger pond
And still
Hope floats
Not even holding water
A parent as sow much hot air
As a cloud to water
The sores of life cleansing
Bound to witness new arisings
From such a gossamer point of you
Not to be governed by stars
Returning only amor
Gentle reign on earth

This poem addresses head on and heart on one of my favorite themes: hope.  Cynicism is easy. Hope is often somewhat more elusive.  Courage, enthusiasm, and an open heart are prerequisites for hope to flourish.  Change is happening awe the time.  Do you see it?  Don’t get caught looking through shot glasses or nurturing any of the many chronic dis-eases characterized buy the hardening of the attitudes.  Love is skulking about working its way into the seemingly hermetically sealed hearts of the ignorant and perversely-incentivized, and when the time is right, love will flood the vacuum in such vacant souls.  Things will suck in anew weigh for those not paying attention in tuition of life as a topsy-turvy whirled writes itself a new future.  Feel free to spice up your life with such advent seasoning…

POEM: Shown Up

The last time
He punched
A time clock
It was time to stop
A feudal gesture
Accept that
It got him fired
Up to his passions
Eyes wide open
After halving it awe
And feeling dread
In the mirror mourning
Shuddered into pieces
Having watched
His life
Go bye
As hows divided
Against won self
But now
Happening upon him
To be
Re-billed every moment
A knew
Yet know longer
Buy
Sordid clock suckers
And boorish time machines
Transporting too distant years
Never wanting
Such promise
A-trophy
Re: tired
Too due much
As everything ails
In the passed
Having shown up
Today

This is perhaps an appropriate Monday poem for many of the wage slaves working out there.  The first theme addresses one of my grate pet peeves in modern capitalistic culture of most daze experiencing the violence of an alarm clock to get out of bed, usually to work for someone else.  The evil genius and efficiency of replacing a human taskmaster with an electronic device in which wee dutifully assure our appointed time as “shown up,” speaks the the successful internalization and colonization of our lives by bosses.  Most spend most of their waking hours at a job, or jobs, that most would leave if they felt they could.  Many would rather be sleeping.  Some may find it difficult to find the difference between a-little-too droning-on working and a-little-too fitful sleeping.  We sell ourselves wholesale, some might say prostitute ourselves, for the promise of what remains.  This poems overall theme is about trading now for the future.  This can be a dangerous busyness — sometimes as dangerous as living fully in the now!  The strange paradox here is that the danger of seeking predictability and security in life is often the very thing that robs us of life; while a passion-driven now may bring a careening future routinely beyond prediction, such a future is a more lively and life-filled future than the promise of conventional wisdom’s financial security and touted freedom from uncertainty.  The present is uncertainty, and the freedom this entails.  Inasmuch as we recoil from uncertainty, we make ourselves vulnerable to the purveyors of branded futures, featuring proprietary properties, that are designed to convince you to sell today for tomorrow — or more commonly, a paycheck every two weeks.  Granted, a few folks experience the serendipity of their passions now lining up with their various bosses (or co-conspirators).  Still, the inescapable equation is that quality of life is directly tied to how often you show up for your own life, that is compared to pawning your life for money or a boss’ designs on your own.  May your life be shown up by an incredible series of presents.

P.S. This is my 500th blog entry.  I better watch it or I may be considered productive.

POEM: Megabus Late

The loco bus
Was barely running
Trafficking in creep after creep
At Lake & Michigan
It was sink or swim
Facing too soon departed
To be won or lost
By foot
Right, left, right, left, right, left, right
Miraculously walking on Water St.
Run
Run forced
Run
Will it be
Decided by a minute minute
No bus in site
Faded to stay
In Chicago another day
Only then realizing
The line I had crossed
As pre-sumptuously late
Other poor soles
As per usual waiting
Fore the Toledo Megabus
Mega-late

This poem emanates from my trip earlier this summer out to Iowa.  This poem is from the last of four legs of a Megabus trip.  As it turns out, two of the four buses broke down and had to replaced with regular tour buses.  This poem is about the serendipity of things not always working out as planned.  Oddly, it never occurred to me that the bus I was racing to on foot would be late.  While the bus ended up being two hours late, this was much better than missing the bus by mere minutes!  What a beautiful thing that a bus being two hours late is a cause for celebration!  I am a big fan of serendipity.  As a recovering professional planner, I have spent much of my life planning to “make things happen.”  Fortunately,  I have witnessed so many times in my life that my plans not turning out as I liked turned out even better.  As I have been known to say: God never gives me what I want; God gives me something much better!  My daughter now parrots back to me the saying: If you want to make God laugh, tell God your plans.  More recently, you might find me repeating the Niels Bohr quip: “Prediction is difficult, especially about the future.”  Life is what happens while your making other plans. John Lennon quote SPIRITUAL BUTTONThough perhaps John Lennon said it best: “Life is what happens while you are making other plans.”  May your life be overflowing with wonderful surprises.

POEM: Less Taken Now

It was an eve to remember
The surf was swell
Giving rise to him
Way above his peers
He cried out mightily
“I’m on top of the world!”
Just moments later
Crashing onto the rocks
Baring him
No ill will
Nor give
A lessen too great for won
What remains
Borne by less fêted peers
Less taken now
By swell futures
Rocking on
Before the rising dawn

By accident or design, by great will or serendipity, we may find ourselves in epic places. This poem addresses issues of humility, grandiosity, and risk. A desire to be above our peers carries inherent risk. In both humans and the material world at large, there are natural limits. The organic nature of life does not easily support parasitical relationships. Even a parasite must take some care not to kill its host. I view humility as being right-sized, neither being too big, puffed up, nor being too small, shrinking to life’s demands. This poem addresses the puffed up half of the humility equation. Nature is not mean. Nonetheless, nature has laws. When nature’s laws are broken, such a lawlessness creates chaos rather than harmony. There is risk inherent in chaos. In pushing natural limits, we can reasonably expect push-back. Some might call this karma. Sometimes it is simply gravity.

To some degree, we must all deal with some form of chaos, if simply the unknown, or even unknowable. Life requires some space for give and take to thrive. Nonetheless, even gifted surfers of chaos would be better served by respecting grander surges. Living life in harmony requires a balance and a deep respect of the danger of extremes. A harmonious life, in contrast to a parasitical life, often demands from us to be “less taken.” This phrases double meaning encompasses both the material world where hoarding of nature’s bounty, or its destruction creates imbalance, and the transcendent world where our undue attachment to material wealth and power originates such imbalance.

Humans seem to have quite peculiar, even unique, role in nature. If we learn and respect natural laws, we can navigate the world in a nearly infinite number of ways, symbiotically glorifying both nature and the highest human potentials. If we live in ignorance and conflict with natural laws, in essence being parasites, nature may very well take us down, crashing us on the rocks from our foolish heights. There is great wisdom in understanding the simple and profound gravity of such situations. There is plenty of room for harmony. Nature is not miserly. Our own greed and blind grandiosity is the greatest threat to humanity. As Gandhi so wisely summed up, “There is enough for everyone’s need. There is not enough for everyone’s greed.” This is the most basic natural limit that humans face. It deserves the highest respect.

POEM: Passing Through Sublime Daze

I pass through
Sublime daze
Uninterrupted by alarms
Or dread lines
Clothed in a peril so frayed
I am practically naked
To the whirled
To wit each mourn
I live in that last squeeze of toothpaste
And that first blush of nature
Calling me out
Of every manor ad mired
Lodging in my heart
I live in vast open spaces
That most rush buy
Unseen
Like the homeless
With mansions to build
I live off what others store as waist
Happiness shelved
In small bytes
And simulated living
I lay away
With every breath
The air of my weighs
I have little
And want even less
I am
Enough
As I am
Fed up with awe
Save that primordial
Uddering
Simply
Well, I declare
I live on

I love my life.  I love life.  This poem is a tribute to my relaxed lifestyle.  I relish my seasons without an alarm clock.  I delight in sojourning along the road less traveled, so I don’t have to wait in those dreaded lines chock full of people trying to get to the same place, who often are at a loss at how they got stuck in the cruel trafficking of life.  I welcome a naked vulnerability as an irrepressible weed in a human landscape with more concrete than effervescent spirits.  I am fond of my wanderings daily leading me to the savor of the world, where the mundane and the sacred meet, whether it be a revel without a cause or a long-sought vocation.  I delight in experiencing the better portion of life, not by having more, but by wanting awe.  Ideal in letting go, sow serendipity can Marvel me with super powers.  Life inspires me, and the err that is human finds a gentle hommé as the human grace lungs forward.  I am.  Enough.  Living on.  That which know name can udder.

POEM: Amateurs and Prose

There are moments
When I feel
Like such an amateur
Then the payments come
So much more
Than I could ever hope for
The only falling short
Is ever thinking
That life
Is fated to be
Any won thing
Except
Well
Spent
Surpassing awe
In deed not
Buy miserly prose
Dying with more
Than a pauper attitude
Lein-ing on the everlasting alms
That train to glory
Bound
Less debt
Eternally

Life is good.  The gift of life offers so many great things and awesome possibilities.  Gratitude strikes me as perhaps the most fundamental human attitude toward life, if reality is seen in a large enough perspective.  Maybe I’m just lucky.  I prefer to view it as grace.  Either way, I have experienced the bounty of serendipity on countless occasions — and I count these occasions as priceless!  Hopefully, such a beautiful predicament engenders paying it back and paying it forward.  I see life as an invitation to more life.  I view vitality as best served by generously overflowing, by joining in and continuing the perpetual cycling of giving.  Miserly attitudes can stunt this wondrous cycling.  Greed is a parasite on plenty.  May gratitude and generosity carry you as a living antidote to miserliness and greed.

POEM: Hungering for Answers

Hungering for Answers

We should stay the course
To turn the corner
To see the light
At the end of the tunnel
Yet long-term solutions
For the hungry
Are difficult to stomach
As for those who have
Empty hearts
Eatin’ out
Over the question
What too due
And how fast

This is another poem in honor of the 50th anniversary of the “War on hunger.”  Well-fed minds are familiar with the tensions between short-term “charity” and long-term solutions in addressing social issues.  Of course, long-term responses and procrastination across generations often go hand-in-hand among those with well-fed stomachs.  Hunger is not an issue that can be compassionately put off.  Tomorrow’s solutions still leave today’s empty belly empty.  It strikes me that the juxtaposition of great wealth and grinding poverty in our world yields a parallel juxtapositioning of empty bellies and empty hearts.  A typical excuse that well-fed minds make to their empty hearts is that continued hunger will teach those hungering how to be more responsible and avoid their hunger at some later date.  This sets up a bizarre serendipity in that children are most likely to be poor and hungry as well as thirsty sponges for learning.  So, what are these hungry children learning?  My guess is that hungry children learn more about the callousness of those with excess than the obvious lessons in securing food.  As if the excruciating experience of grinding poverty isn’t incentive enough!  Apparently not.  Of course, there are profound social factors outside of the control of hungry children and the overwhelming majority of hungry adults.  Given these realities, it is absurd to posit that individual irresponsibility is the primary cause of hunger.  Probably much worse than absurd; in fact: empty-hearted.  May we smash the barriers that keep us from sharing our abundance with those who have too little.

POEM: Pulling a Steckler

Pulling a Steckler

Steckler was the type of guy
Who would ruin
The fun
Of magic tricks
Enjoyed by friends
By revealing their mechanics
Partly to annoy
Mostly because he could
His routine was so common
His act was named
Pulling a Steckler
So named by friends
With no first names
As a young chide
He had meticulously dissected
Almost two hundred frogs
A familiar story becoming mythic
Scores of animation erased
Weather comical or cruel
Such carrion luggage
Exacting a price
He became all too familiar
As corpses became cool
With rigid bodies of evidence
So much so
He became convinced
They were never really alive
In the first place
Winning a world without
Magic
Banished
To a place filled
With undead
Never quite living
Any warmth met with
More heat than light yielding
A cold and shadowy place
Needing no other
To take his breath away
Nor confer
Pulling a Steckler
Out of a hat
To be warn
His crowning achievement
In the mud
Like a croak
Hauntingly unfamiliar
In the passing years

This poem is another ode to the strange places that the logic of scientific reductionism will lead us.  Many will cross the line from elucidating the mechanics of everyday magic to an all out assault on mystery itself.  The worst offenders militantly believe in nothing.  Most just can’t make peace between objects and subjects — which is one of my favorite subjects!  On a good day, we can avoid hurling high-speed objects at subjects!  I find subjects infinitely more valuable and fascinating than objects.  The sad thing about the character in this poem, Steckler, is that he alienated himself from other people by missing the whole picture; ironically, by trying to explain the whole picture, as he sees it.  I can relate to this passion, if not obsessive compulsive disorder.  I am sure that I alienate some with all of my talk about spirituality, the transcendent, and mysticism.  My only defense is a claim that open minds focus more on more, and cramped hearts focus more on less.  Science without serendipity is like pinching aloof.  Speaking of serendipity, I chose the name “Steckler” as a pun on stickler.  Being a stickler for Steckler, upon further genealogical investigation, I learned that the origin of the name “Steckler” is a nickname for a person known for making snide remarks.  May “pulling a Steckler” add to awe, not take it away…

 

POEM: Fortunately

Unfortunately
I am deeply cynical
The sum of my hurts, disappointments, and fears
Fortunately
I am unfathomably hopeful
Beguiled by unearned graces
Surrounded by serendipity
And pelted by joys out of the blue

In many ways, life is a double-edge sword, fortune and misfortune mysteriously entwined.  The difference may largely be what we focus upon.  I find that the firmest foundation upon which to rest my attitude is gratitude for all that is fortunate in my life.  Most of this, such as the gift of life itself, is not my doing.  Granted, much of the difficulties in my life also originate outside of my control.  Of course, I have a great say in what I choose to focus upon.  Frankly, I find gratitude so much more pleasant than resentment.  That which I do have some control over is a priceless gift of opportunity.  And such opportunity is best engaged with courage rather than fear and timidity.  As Amelia Earhart said so well, “Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.”  May you find, that inasmuch as your life is out of control, that it comes to you characterized by grace, joy, and hope, rather than hurt, disappointment, and fear.  May you find, that inasmuch as your life is in your control, that you meet it with courage and gratitude, rather than fear and resentment.

POEM: Serendipity and Dippity Doo

On occasions
I find it easy
To believe
In sarin gas
And dippity doo
Rather than serendipity
These are not special occasions

While many of my poems have an edge to them, my body of work is decidedly hopeful.  This poem reflects on the way too easy response in life to be inane or even cruel.  It seems that the “reptilian” deep part of our brain that responds to immediate threats with “fight of flight” is a default mechanism that is triggered, and acted upon, unless higher functions override it.  When confronted with violence or injustice, a first response is often to strike back (fight) or avoid conflict (flight).  In an unreflective reflex to large, institutional violence or injustice, the “sarin gas” option feels good, to strike back and hurt when hurt.  Fortunately, such actions are rarely converted to action!  More commonly, conflict avoidance is practiced by burying ourselves in simple denial or inane distraction — thus, the dippity doo (for those who may not get the reference, dippity doo is a hair gel).  Each of these fight or flight responses is contrasted with “serendipity,” a playful alliteration, and a lucky or pleasant surprise.  This is a call to live in a place that is more luminous, patient, and generous — to live in the presence of a higher power that is beneficent and life-giving.  This may seem namby-pamby or a cop-out to some, but it is actually a place of being from which right action emanates.  With gratitude rather than anger and hurt, we can de-link our actions from simple fight or flight responses and transcend to a higher level of action.  Of course, allowing time for reflective mental processing is essential for finding a third way, out of “reptilian” action-reaction.  When the instantaneously “easy” way is taken, and the “reptilian” brain runs our lives, “These are not special occasions.”

To learn, adapt, and grow, we need to be open to that which is new.  Humans have a special gift of conscious awareness and will or intent to aim and frame our experiences with a chosen attitude.  More simply put: expect to be pleasantly surprised.  Certainly, we are animals.  But more importantly, we are so much more than animals!