POEM: Wiled Fires

Wild fire smoke plumes are still messing up our air quality. Unfortunately, with asthma, I pay a lot of attention to such things. Check out the air quality yourself at: https://www.airnow.gov/?city=Toledo&state=OH&country=USA (set for Toledo).

Of course, I have a poem ready for unjust such a situation:

Wiled Fires

Pillars of fire
Smite come our way
In some backwards whirled view
In heaven as on earth
In some sick forum
Of sky righting
Crying for hell up
Wheeze in the same bout
Where there’s smoke

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POEM: Progress

If continuing consumerism is our notion of progress, then carrion and on…

Progress

Progress is
An allusion
To something ails
Bought ensouled
Re: store
As you whir

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POEM: Fratricide

In case you didn’t no, fratricide is the killing of one’s brother, or sister, or any member of  won’s own, such as children of God. O Israel, do not bring a bout a hollowed future echoing with grief.

Fratricide

We are culpable
Of striking you anywhere
Reveling in hour
Blank it
A tact
What can won say
To alleged hommes
And frat reside
Unfortunately Abel
Sow prone to lying
And grave doings
Bared in their desecrate
Deep-sixing humanity
In their deathly loot
And crypt keeping
On anon

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POEM: Relieved of the Magic of Cynicism

Most people are skeptical of something coming out of nowhere — no surprise there. However, many people overlook the commonly cynical view that much of what we do disappears into nothing, makes no difference. Perhaps dispelling this cynical magic would lead us to value what we do a bit more…

Relieved of the Magic of Cynicism

He said determinedly
What you due
Doesn’t matter
No difference to be made
Whatever is the point
Projecting
The tip of the spear
Of cynicism
As some negating mystical acts
Chopping us off of consequences
Of any kind
And shit coming out of nowhere
As from some magical asshole
I opted to reply
Thanks for noticing
This is my superpower
Stepping outside
The chain of causality
Feel free
Creating anew
Give it
A whirl
Of good
You might just
Find it
Super natural
Though at thirst
You may still
Hunger for your chains
Relieved of all you do do

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POEM: Owner Us

Lots of great stuff in the lost and found, though sometimes we don’t even check it out…

Owner Us

Lost:
One humanity
Return to
Owner
Us

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POEM: In Summer-y

A poem for a summer-y Fall day…

In Summer-y

The springs are increasingly summer-y
The falls are increasingly summer-y
And long last the summers are
Increasingly summer-y
In summer-y
We’ve been warmed

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POEM: Re fooling

As climate chaos ravages our one and only home, many are still mostly worried about gas prices and refueling…

Re fooling

Gaming on
Saving the planet was
Up to US
And he was speeding down
The high way
Rushing to get off
The broad way
Exit 666
To get too
His hows
He had
Already bought it
Consumed with his own
Life
He was deathly a ware
That he was
Lo, on gas running
Road raging fumes
Naturally, when the law pulled
Him over
He was beside himself
Aping some sign language
Muttering out of breath
Still resenting
Any mother stopping him
A little hot under the collar
Copping a lame plea
I saw you like flying buy
As plane as day
Due you no what fast is?
What might
Be tolled
Making everything
Fine
I was fueling despondent
I had to get
Wear id be home free
Just
Like everyone ails
Yielding a posit
Some vane tempt to feel safe
And secure
Hoping against hope
Fore a bit of credit
Accept we awe no
Hows it goest
Means
Ends
Busyness as usual
Know such luck
Re: fooling ourselves

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POEM: Monkey Business

Letting go and getting on with the good life, that bye the weigh which is not hanging on to wealth, power, and status.

Monkey Business

“To trap a monkey relies on its clenched fist, unwilling to let go.”

It was a jungle out there
He could help himself
So he couldn’t help himself
Grab the villager’s nut
Inexorably tightfisted
Captive to that middle passage
As narrow as fruit full
That bottleneck to capitalists’ dreams
The most for the least
Turning on
Evolution’s trick
An unimaginable catch
Release
Giving everything fore free
However crypt ticket
That message in a bottle
Everything for sail
Monkey sea
Monkey due
That inescapable lesson
That uncanny ajar
And say
Monkeys
Uncle
Let go

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POEM: A Poet’s Currency

Poet versus economist:

A Poet’s Currency

ARE YOU A CAPITALIST?
no
i am more
a kin
to that econ amissed
e e cummings

In case you didn’t know, E. E. Cummings was a poet who often broke the rules of capitalization.

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POEM: Love Birds

Back to nature. Forward to nature.

Love Birds

His life peered
As an empty field
Soully a tree
Stray flowers
A pair of birds
Blades of grasses
Up on closer inspection
Colonies of bugs
A myriad of life
On the down low
In the dirt and dust
From whence wee come
A grain of sand
To see the world!
And every now and agin
Two legged wons
Scurry buy
Reflecting too themselves
Mirrorly a vacant lot
To sum
Still
Fore me
This lot
Is heaven unearth
Welling up
With awe that is doubly yearned
Out standing in my feeled
Holy culpable
Of telling the deference
Between life and death

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POEM: Needle-less to Say, ESC Late

Israel has embraced 1984 doublespeak with it’s “de-escalation through escalation.” Our addiction to violence as the only response to violence spawns absurd levels of destruction. We need to inject nonviolence into confrontations, or be drug to war.

Needle-less to Say: ESC Late

We are tempting “de-escalation through escalation.” –Israeli officials

Our culture of violence
Is deeply vein
A main lyin’
Drug through our body politic
Instant solutions
Pressing a lone button
Plunging us into oblivion
Saying high to new problems
For every won wrought
Endlessly strung out
Soully wading
Fore what is
Overdo
War anon
Powerless to compute any amor
Terminally tardy
That singular key
ESC late
Countlessly hitting
And no return

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POEM: Oddly, Never Out of Whack

The warring mob bosses speak with murderous necessity about “my enemy made me do it.” A ledged human freedom is disappeared. An even more assure bet is that the mob bosses are, oddly, never out of whack. So, if you are feeling an excess of whacked…

Oddly, Never Out of Whack

Dead enemies in your wake
Dead enemies in your sleep
You might just
Think to celebrate
As laud as you want
Your supplicated preys
Your decimate
Your faux
Lies dead
On a rival
All the same
The lyin’ roars
All that is human
Shield

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POEM: Brand Knew

Every war starts with something to the effect of: “This is a new kind of war, a new kind of enemy that we have never seen before.” Spoiler alert: war is the same owed shit recycled. Anew kind, of war, as some kind of possible.

Brand Knew

They loosed the dogs of war
Fresh meet
Unlike anything weave
Scene before

 

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POEM: Fort Knox Elementary

JD Vance at the Vice Presidential debate became the latest exemplar of the hollow response to school shootings, offering thoughts and preyers, and fortresses, and nothing else in between — except offering up our children to gun terror. This poem is the latest of my gun writes on the last bastion of free dumb.

Fort Knox Elementary

Under lock and key
Beyond broke in mettle detectors
Behind that which is bullet proof
Could our hearts lie
Where our treasure is helled
Those hapless minors of school daze
Undertaking
Alarming drills
Shut up in
The last bastion
Of free dumb
A moment of silence
Reloading
School preyer
Fervent please
That only thoughts
Are passing
Through and through
Our kids’ aheads
Soully choiring what is taut
That might he fortress is
Hour God
No longer culpable
Of being schooled
In the deference
Between bunk and bunker
In sticking to our guns

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POEM: Unfrock The World

With this poem, I inaugurate won of my many titles: “The most write irreverend.”

Unfrock The World

I slammed it
Hearty har hard
In fool reveres
Being soully in titled
The most write irreverend
Fore awe
Who will hear
The world is frocked
And the king has no clothes

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POEM: De-construction Jobs

This poem goes out to those lives and communities where climate disasters wreak havoc, especially those suffering in the chasm between those who have the wherewithal to recover and those who don’t. May we be good neighbors to each other and Mother Earth.

De-construction Jobs

Climate chaos rains supreme
Yielding fateful knews
Of coming grave whether
The hows still standing
Those that have
Assurance
Have brought a bout
A boom
In construction
And those that have not
What just
Remains
Fore sail
An other kind
Of Jōb
Re-manned to the pauper authorities
Re: construct
Or bust
A small chide unherd
If soully a village razing
Their after
Wrests in piece
Some wear ails
Whither work to be undone

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POEM: A Bit Touched

Some people claim that people who are a bit disturbed are more creative. This may be true. Surly, I am a bit touched…as this poem would have it.

A Bit Touched

I was a bit down
Taking me
To the dark of night
I was a bit broke
A loan with the riffraff of my mine
I had a dream
That was a bit disturbing
I was wearing nothing
Abut a throng
When from the heart of the rabble
The oldest of friends
Plays their hand
Upon my shoulder
Of a thorough fare warn
Whispering in my ear
Unveiling some poetry
From a place unherd
Giving me
Awe I need
To be
A bit touched

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POEM: That’s Rich

Most rich people consider themselves just, comfortable. My favorite dialogue from the movie, Crazy Rich Asians:

Rachel Chu: “So your family is, like, rich?”
Nick Young: “We’re comfortable.”
Rachel Chu: “That is exactly what a super-rich person would say.”

That’s Rich

It is just
Money
The rich proffer
Effacing oblivion
I am just
Comfortable
The rich prey
What does it
Profit amen
To game the whirled
And loose your sole
Travailing the globe
Till kingdom come

The only specific behavior of the rich that this poem alludes to is travelling around the globe, presumably made possible by jet-setting. I suspect that flying on a plane countless times is a good proxy for being rich. Flying by plane is increasing worldwide; but, most of this is a small portion of people who fly many, many times. Estimates are that 80-90% of people in the world have never flown in a plane. If you cannot guess how many times you have flown, say within ten times, with the confidence that you would bet someone else’s life on, then you are rich. If you would bet someone else’s life on it, then you are rich as well, oil well.

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POEM: Jackson Pollack Heart Work

Jackson Pollack Heart Work

This poem was inspired by the image of my heart exploding and the splatter creating an unfathomable work of heart on any walls closing in on me.

Jackson Pollack Heart Work

I was cornered
Awe round me
I temped too
God be holed
In a four chamber homme
A work of heart
Life beaten
Threw me
Exploding on
Too the seeing
Every wall
Canvas squared
A wreck tangle
Of some kind
No’ing the impassable
A cure rate unknown
That winnow
To my soul
To my whole body
Of work
Without brushes
With death
Compelling soully
To but a few

This poem can be considered a companion poem to an earlier work of heart:

My Heart Breaks Daily

My heart breaks daily
Spilling out into the streets
And other public places.
The authorities instruct me
To clean it up.

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POEM: A Man of Promise

A poem of what is owed, what is the present, and what is yet to come…

A Man of Promise

“What is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?”
–Micah 6:8

“Jesus promised his disciples three things — that they would be completely fearless, absurdly happy, and in constant trouble.”
–William Barclay, commentary on The Gospel of Luke

Awe that God
Axis too due
Justice
Loving mercy
And walking humbly
As a man of promise
I am
The free-est
Man I know
Wear joy abides
In that beautiful pain the accost
Of keeping won’s eye on the price
Mitigated only by
Not getting out that much
Accept to be
Completely
Fearless
Inexplicably happy
And in constant trouble

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