POEM: Life As A Breeze

Life peers to me
As a gentle breeze
With fragrant harmonies
In the tenderest victories
Know longer bought a bout by yielding hope
Prospecting in rock
Dead set, vane certainties
Or coarse inclinations
While a sole breath moves through me
Not ever posing
As superior
From above
Securely skeptical
Of won scoffing up
A flunked up humanity
As a praising sneer life experiences
From the cryptic
As a well found cynicism
In the phase of unmerited bounty
On a head of the game
As dead or alive know matter
As inspiring expires
Weather we apprehend or knot
And how ever we reckon our peeps
It is realizable
Still possible
Life sucks
Or with equal viability
Life blows
Seemingly a parent either weigh
A cruel duplicity
Winds of change
Running lapse around you
Leaving won too
Giving no quarter
And only making spare cents
As scorn points
Awe the wile know one wants
Too be still
As the heart beats
Have the time
Know longer wanting
Just deserts
A trial of tears
And fated watering whole
Pooring out
As in is capable
Only too fine life in such delugings
In this tempest of life
Wear wind and water
Meet on earth
In a saucy plan it
Of surf and turf
Wandering whether
Life is fare
A mist such room and bored
With awe of its chinooks and grannies
Ever present ciao time
Reigning in time
And timeless
A mid week prostration
And fateful eras
Wrest a spell
As a right full heir
Fore life is a breeze
Only to be
Bared at see

This poem is about the ethereal nature of human life and the breezy character of the human spirit, where success has more to do with experiencing fragrant harmonies than vane certainties.  Ever Wonder? SPIRITUAL BUTTONMy skepticism about skepticism partners with my playful heart as hope and willingness trump willful crass pragmatism or cynical “realism.”  Apprehending such tender truths is better realized as believing is seeing more so than seeing is believing.  Hope, gratitude, and unmerited generosity open our hearts to seeing better than through stacks of the thickest and most erudite reams of scientific reports.  A fruitful life of the spirit is a prerequisite for a meaningful and abundant life.  In a paraphrase of the Bob Dylan lyric, “You don’t need a whether vane to know which way the wind blows.”  May you follow the winds of the spirit without overly kneading to no from whence it comes or where it goes…

POEM: Peppered With Violence

Bland and tasteless souls
Often pepper with violence
The salt of the earth
Writing a vicious cycle
In rehashed seasonings
Winners of discontent
The Fall’s harvest
Yet even sow
Hope springing eternal
And summers of love
As have know choice
In what sow ever fallowing

Spring is a season of hope.  It may very well be no accident that the Easter season coincides with Spring.  Spring is a profoundly palpable metaphor for resurrection in nature and inhuman experience a cross human history.  That Spring follows Winter with perennial reliability seeds hope amidst the fallow seasons of human life and those cold spells witch bedevil the human heart from claiming its natural endowment of patience, hope, and love.  Awe of the seasons of human life must navigate the epic realities of violence, proffered as both the cause and solution to all of our problems.  Violence Will Not Silence Us POLITICAL BUTTONLife coexists with death and death coexists with life in the undulating pulse of human experience.  The fear, even hatred, of death presence us too hour rationalization of lethal violence as the irreconcilable solution to an inescapable dilemma.  Unfortunately, such fear and hatred, blithely beating the conundrum of war and repression, is incongruous with the true pulse of life.  Winter happens.  And sow does Spring.  The eternal question posed is weather we cast our lot with Spring or Winter.  To wear due wee target our lives?  Untoward the tender shoot, or effacing bearing lives?  Either weigh, Spring shows up.  Due we poor our lives in too the riches of this earth, even if not living to seed what happens, daring that life will cede us?  The quest in is up to us.  Will we lift more than a single finger to the won-ness of humanity?  I, for one, will root for all of my tender buds to emerge from winter.

POEM: The Wanders of Love

Sow marvel as
Love wonders
Among uninhibited meadows
And the forgotten in down towns
Wile in difference razes
Its ugly ahead
Only out lusting
Less than a flower
And eyes never looking into

This poem is and ode to the frolicking sovereignty of love.  As the great theologian Forrest Gump might say, “Love is as love does.”  The World Doesn't Want To Be Saved, It Wants To Be Loved -- and that's how you save it POLITICAL BUTTONLove doesn’t seem prone to be tied down, although occasionally some try to nail it down.  Love likes open feels and seeks out the intriguing gaze of the homeless living in the neck of the woulds of vacant homes aplenty.  Mean wile, the close-fisted strike out in idol exploits, only to have, their lies work, slip between God’s fingers, gleaning less regard, then a flower, in ayes without a parent purpose.

May you be wholed the wonderings and wanderings of love, and not miss take what might be sow impotent after awe.

POEM: Until Hell Frees Us

Be very frayed
Terrorism comes
From know where
Deep in the recesses
Of kindergarten bullying
Capital vocations
And martial lawlessness
Awe rapped up in won’s highest I deal
Those unspeakable prophets
In security
Detained indefinitely
Until hell frees us
Ever more reckoning
The other
Who war like
A mirror reflection
Knot of won self
But a puerile of grate wisdom
Selling all
Having bought it
With bigger barns
Taking life easy

This is my third published poem in a row on the theme of terrorism.  You might say that I’m on a role in combating hypocritical fearmongering and conveniently overlooked accountability for vicious cycles of violence plaguing our whirled.  War: What Are We Frayed of? ANTI-WAR BUTTONThe prison of necessary evil is the bedrock upon which militarism is built.  Of coarse, the jailbirds sing oft-repeated jingles of in-group unmistakable righteousness and the presumptively incomprehensible evil descending upon their already worrisome state.  Fear is the only effective tool to fuel such jingoism and blind obedience to longstanding systems of oppression that conveniently turn justice into just us.  That such fear can swirl in a sea of privilege is the fundamental disconnect that makes chronic injustice passable.  Pointing out profound privilege and hyperbolic fears is heretical to the god of war.  Not surprisingly, the god of war, Nike, is well characterized by the slogan, “Just do it!” which has a singular ring to rule all idioms.  The inescapable prison of the permanent war on terrorism, with violence begetting violence begetting violence, based on the damnable logic of necessary evil, can only end with the absurdity “When hell frees us.” As Dante, in Inferno, signaled in his sign at the entrance of hell, “Abandon all hope, you who enter here.”  How can we free ourselves from this parent prison of necessary evil that infantilizes our moral development, and stultifies children of God into spawn of the devil?  How burden some is at the crux of this issue.  What must we sacrifice?  What must we cede?  What must we feed?

Bringing about peace and justice to the whirled is formidable work that takes a lot of time to cede itself and seed itself.  In the mean time, there is a need to endure sum violence, as an existing reality with its own inertia.  This brakes the cycle of violence.  As well, we need to address the causes and grievances powering violence and dis-empowering nonviolence.  This is required to prevent violence from seeding itself, and to feed nonviolent alternatives.  This breaks the cycle of violence.  This is not easy.

That violence can save us is as owed as life and death itself.  The myth of redemptive violence is deep-seated in human history and culture.  Walter Wink put it best: “The myth of redemptive violence is the simplest, laziest, most exciting, uncomplicated, irrational, and primitive depiction of evil the world has even known.”

This poem ends with a tip of the hat to two of Jesus’ parables.  First, the parable of the rich fool (Luke 12:13-21) who has so much that he tears down his barns to build even bigger barns, only to have his “eat, drink, and be merry” life on earth end precipitously.  Next, the parable of the hidden treasure, a pearl of great value, for which we will trade all we possess for it (Mathew 13:44-45).  That pearl of great price is peace.  May each of us be barnstormers for peace, not barn-storers fore violence.

Our lives can begin the long weigh to peace when we get beyond the myth of redemptive violence.  May we each critically examine our own privilege and personal hurts that prompt us to take the low road of violence.  May we each meditate and daily work on awe the things that make for peace and a whole, new world.

POEM: A Brother Lying

Prey fore the dead
In the name of Jesus
In resurrection of those soully asleep
Getting a phallus rise
Out of Christianity
That is, US
More sow then radical Islam
In violate fundamental lists
Dissembling faith, hope, and love
As our trinity project
Our won God triumph a writ
With a Cain due attitude
Over awe that is Abel
To spill the good word
Buy blood crying out
Too me
From the ground
A brother lying
Knot knowing
The hollowed meaning
Of I am
One’s keeper

I often write about stuff triggered when I hear the news.  I listen faithfully to Democracy Now on weekdays.  It’s not unusual to stop in the middle of a show, or even a news story, to write a poem about something that touched me: a phrase worthy of seeding a poem, an issue baffling human kind, or simply a heartfelt emotion.

The literal life and death issues of war and peace, militarism and pacifism, have been close to my heart my whole adult life.  The latest flavor of this is the unending war on terrorism, which easily commiserates with virulent patriotism, nasty nationalism, presumptive racism, and irreconcilable religious bigotries.  Our unconscious privilege, convenient distance, and well-earned ignorance of world affairs is complicit with any easy alliance of violence as a lazy alternative to costly self-sacrifice as the true weigh of incarnating justice for all.  Nominal Christianity and its state-sponsored sheep, hawk a cheap grace bound only by an unequaled military budget and unquestioned reverence for a mercenary class.

I have a more generous perception of a frightened citizenry in deed resorting to violence in an increasingly secular, postmodern worldview.  Violence seems inevitable, certainly unendurable, without a resilient weigh to measure the sacred worth of an other, a brother human, who peers threatening.  I have a less generous view of normalizing violence by those aspiring to be religious, deeply commuted to any of the major faith-based worldviews represented by the world’s religions.  In the case of the U.S., the purported rock of our moral lives is Christianity.  I assert that an honest appraisal of American Christianity regarding its world military domination is that it is ruggedly cross.  War and Peace - What Would Jesus Do? FUNNY PEACE BUTTONAmerican Christians quiet reliably in efface of violence, instead of bearing the rugged cross, demand the blood sacrifice of “others” as their savior.  To this I can only say, “Jesus Christ!”  Whose image due we bear?!  What about state violence has to do with the heart, life and death of Jesus — other than the fact that it was state violence that executed Jesus.

To add insult to injury, the budget-sized war we christen as terrorism, we blame on Muslims, or worse yet, on the sacred tenets of Islam.  The real competition may be about who has the shallowest understanding of their religion: nominal Muslim terrorists or nominal Christian war apologists.  I strongly suspect that the farces of Christianity have killed more people than the farces of Islam.  Regardless, the age-old story of Cain and Abel, shared in the sacred texts of both Christianity and Islam, plays out over and over: brother kills brother and denies the essential nature of their kin relationship and how family should care for one another.  May people of faith lead the way in ending violence between all peoples.  This goes triple for “People of The Book” (Jews, Christians, and Muslims).

Browse anti-terrorism designs.

Is Killing In The Name Of The Prophet Worse Than Killing In The Name Of Profit? ANTI-WAR BUTTONTerrorism War of Poor War Terrorism of Rich--ANTI-WAR QUOTE BUTTONWar Is Terrorism With A Bigger Budget ANTI-WAR BUTTON

 

POEM: Lamenting Violins

Wince agin
Their is a terror
In the fabric of our lies
Buy and buy
An other
A tact
Against our weigh of life
As if
Versus from the Koran
As mirror dogmas eating dogmas
And due what
We no best
Selling sects
For a faction of the true accost
As so so frayed
To efface the music
As lamenting violins
Playing well on the civilized aside of the border
Though knot so much on the other

Ending Poverty: Anti-Terrorism that Works - POLITICAL BUTTONI just wrote this poem in the wake of another terrorist attack and the ongoing repose of colonial rule.  Is terrorism some kind of wake up call?  That is, to our highest hopes and ideals rather than our lowest, most base instincts. Terrorism may be likened to hating the alarm clock but loving the wages from the work of imperialism.  The alarm clock is part and parcel to the work necessary to grimly reap the wages of sin.  In this case, imperial power is simply the ability to make the wages of sin somebody else’s death, not one’s own.  Will men and women of good will tolerate this?  Ask not for whom the alarm clock wrings, it wrings for ewe.  Human Rights: Anti-Terrorism that Works--POLITICAL BUTTONThose living in so-called civilized nations pretend that it is they who value human life, yet, how many Americans feel comfortable, even giddily patriotic, to kill ten, a hundred, or a thousand “others” to save a singular American life?  This commonplace logic is like water to fish.  In the real whirled, it is like blood to the world’s peoples.  May we not be swept away in hour fear and lifelong privilege.  Wake up!  There is much more than first meets the eye in a world of just us.Justice for All: Anti-Terrorism that Works--POLITICAL BUTTON

 	 Religious Tolerance: Anti-Terrorism that Works--POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: A World Without Boarders

Mother earth bids us
What rend must we pay
For such fear in dwelling
In apprehending tenets
In discriminating borne
Giving no quarter
To mother and child
And presumed fodder
Taking the place
Of wear every won re-sides
Drawing lyin’s in the sand
And hiking up shields of water
In a tsunami of divine just us
As fences of steal
Wherever we land
Keeping out nothing worth wile
As per sever demeanor
From our guarded kind
As all is wall
In the confines of what is ours a loan
Yet in efface of
The largesse attract of common ground
Enjoining to gather
What is the lease we can do
Inter or gate
Only wanton to ax
How to occupy that territory sow dear
Between haves and halves not
As humanity cleaves
To that intrepid hope
Of a world without boarders
In habit awe
As kin to won sky
Our only limit

This poem addresses the theme of borders and the human propensity to divide us up into cliques, clans, classes, and territories.  Such divisions are often to the detriment of the common good.  While often under the guise of security, such social stratifications unjust as often reinforce lazy conveniences and guarded advantages.  No Human Being is Illegal / No Ser Human Es Ilegal POLITICAL BUTTONIn this great nation of immigrants — and conquistadors to indigenous peoples — there has been much political rhetoric about building walls.  Xenophobia and scapegoating seem to have found more openly vulgar expressions in contemporary politics.  The peeling back of the veneer of civilization may simply be a necessary process to move from unconsciousness to consciousness of institutionalized racism, first-worldism, the seeming necessity of permanent war, and xenophobic fears of all sorts.  As our ways of life reveal themselves as ways of death, the choice for life becomes more clear — perhaps not any easier, but clearer.  This poem begins with the context of Mother Earth and human mother and child.  We are all children of Mother Earth, who only considers walls and borders as scars on her beauty.  Each of us is a child, daughter or son.  We are all brothers and sisters, cousins and kin.  We are one humanity.  We either realize that blood is thicker than water or our water will be thickened with blood.  We are all boarders on planet earth.  Activism Is My Rent For Living On This Planet -- Alice Walker quote POLITICAL BUTTONNo human being is illegal.  Nation states only deserve to exist inasmuch as they serve humanity and Mother Earth.  Without such stewardship, we just might find out the hard weigh what a world without boarders looks like.  May we rekindle a deep affection and connection to awe of our sisters and brothers near and far, for the healing of the world.

POEM: To The See Tossing

Even
As a serious looker
She wore a millstone
Round her neck
Never experiencing a vocation
Long enough
Too go
To the see tossing

This is a Monday mourning poem for awe of you wage slaves.  It is far too common for working folks to dread their work, particularly Monday morning.  I suspect that the overwhelming majority of workers have fantasized, perhaps even planned a little, about embarking on some other vocation than their current trajectory of work and career.  Given the tumultuous nature of many workers’ work life, I am at times taken aback by how “even,” or even fateful, they seem, and how even relatively few “serious lookers” actually take the plunge into the apparent abyss.  I reflect on my own multiple years process of disentangling from my own long (17-year) career path and “regular” job.  After taking the plunge, my income dropped precipitously and my quality of life catapulted to previously unimagined heights.  As deliberate, measured and astute that I thought I was, I profoundly underestimated the benefits of taking the plunge.  This counts as one of the greatest lessons I have learned in my life.

This poem alludes to the metaphor of a millstone around one’s neck and being tossed into the sea, found in the Bible, Matthew 18:6-9:

“If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. Woe to the world because of the things that cause people to stumble! Such things must come, but woe to the person through whom they come! If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life maimed or crippled than to have two hands or two feet and be thrown into eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.”

This passage sets a high bar, the death penalty, for causing a child of God to stumble, to block the highest hopes in life.  This is a powerful condemnation of the bosses and powers that be that crush our dreams in the coarse of their business.  I don’t blame workers, wage slaves, for their predicament.  They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price -- Kahlil Gibran quote POLITICAL BUTTONStill, the stakes are high for the oppressed worker.  Better to “enter life” maimed or crippled than live in hell.

Due, you need a vocation.  Longing enough/Too go.  However slim it may appear, may you find that ever precious opening to life-affirming vocations…

 

POEM: Spring Has Sprung

Winter is passed
And still
What is dung is dung
Yet in concert with nature
Sow becoming
A sublime movement
From the bowels of Mother Earth
And her thirst borne sun
Spring has sprung
From her fertile eyes
Perfectly teeming
With body and soul

This is a poem for the first day of Spring.  This poem celebrates both the cyclic revitalization of nature through the seasons and the inevitable arisings of social movements from the What is dung is dung of politics.  I frequently harken back to the theme of hope springing eternal.  If you are discouraged about the apparent lack of change in the world, just wait, change happens.  Even better yet, just wade, into such a fertile — even overripe — environment for change.  Both Mother Earth and the collective souls of humanity beckon your participation.  What is that I see breaking through the once cold, hard dirt…

POEM: Sea of Love

I was lost
In a sea of love
Only to find my way back
To this world
Look in my eyes and sea
All that I have
For you

Love is a vast place; one of those places where you can recharge your soul or simply folic in joy.  Love has an otherworldly quality to it.  Not too surprising, if God is love.  Love is a poor respecter of man-made conventions, known to turn conventional wisdom upside down.  The weighs of love are not easily subject to human calculation or even put in words, especially for prose.  This short poem alludes to this ineffability by its being made known through the eyes, the windows to the soul.  Love is not prone to half-ass measures, offering All that I have as the only proper homage to love’s nature.  While the experience of love is difficult to quantify or put into words, its nature is to share itself with another.  May you love find you and the eyes have it.

The theme of this poem reminds me of another short poem of mine:

Divine Lover

One day
I asked God
What is it all about?
There was only silence
But with the look he gave me
We’ve been lovers
Ever since

 

POEM: The Miraculous Doubt Her

Due
You believe
In miracles
Yes and know
Awe or nothing
Beyond your current
Imagination
And resounding may be

This poem of hope and expansive imagination is intended to both stretch and comfort your heart and mind.  There are wondrous things of which we know little.  Not knowing doesn’t have to lead to fear or anxiety.  Not knowing can spur curiosity and leave open a space of immeasurable size where hopes call home.  Only the haughty portend that there are no marvels outside the reach of human finitude.  Willingness to explore, hope, dream, and chart fabulous possibilities is the perfect complement to willfulness, a tenacious navigator of gutsy hope amidst fields of dreams.  Life can be harsh and disappointing.  Yet, inasmuch as we are the captains of our own fate, we are built for sailing, not the safe and limited usefulness of harbor.  While it may be trite that life isn’t fair, there is little doubt that life is excellent!  If your life isn’t a miracle, I strongly suspect that this isn’t the fault of God, real or unimagined.

FREE POSTER: King Trump, Queen Hillary — ARISTOCRACY RULES, Resistance is Feudal

Even in America, the so-called home of the free and leader of the free world, we can’t seem to escape the rule of aristocrats.  While we escaped a Jeb Bush candidacy, we may be stuck with a Donald Trump and a Clinton as the major party candidates.  Is America’s bench so shallow that it must rely on wealth and family lineage for a government of the people, by the people, and for the people?  Just remember: RESISTANCE IS FEUDAL!

FREE POSTER: King Trump, Queen Hillary -- ARISTOCRACY RULES, Resistance is FeudalFeel free to share or download this free poster: King Trump, Queen Hillary — ARISTOCRACY RULES, Resistance is Feudal

Resistance is Feudal-FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTON

Check out Top Pun’s election and third party designs.

FREE ANTI DONALD TRUMP POSTER: I Cannot Tell A Lie, I Built A Wall Around My Heart, And Mexicans Are Going To Pay For it

OK, I couldn’t resist commenting on Donald Trump.  Here is my take on his heartless presidential nominee campaign.  May his bigotry and proto-fascism fail big.

Anti Donald Trump POSTER: I Cannot Tell A Lie, I've Built A Wall Around My Heart And Mexicans Will Pay For It

Check out these electoral politics, third party politics, and anti-Republican designs.

 

POEM: Going, Going, Gone

Scores of politicians
Going for green
As peddlers of pabulum
Powered buy vicious cycles
Going for blue
As admirals of addled ad mirers
Sailing cynicism
Going for red
As wore, wore, wore
Posing as knew
Gone adieu this
Until nothing left
Gone adieu that
Until nothing right
Going, going
Too too mulch
For tender truths to sprout
Gone
With the win
Un-till effacing larger truths
Over taking
And out with the owed
In with the new
Re-coup-ing
Awe that was lost
A hearty evolution
And overdo revolution

Here’s another election poem taking on money in politics and politicians who use deceptive and hypocritical generalities to engender just enough support from party loyalists, ironically called the “base,” and from the remaining few who vote, enough support from those who dislike the other candidate more.  I will pass on such centrist and cynical electoral politics that serves few except those already in power.  I vote for a hearty evolution where citizen activists create the change they truly want to see the world, with unrepentant idealism.  We can do better!  I pledge to work each day to create a life for myself that when overdue revolutions arise that I won’t be hesitating between my current privilege and a better future for all.  I will plant and cultivate tender truths amidst the excrement that passes for mainstream electoral politics.  Hope is in our nature.  And Top Pun never sells out!

POEM: Ferry Tales

Buy politicians
We have been tolled
Ferry tales
From bank to bank
Holding no water
Liquidating assets
Left and right
Sow gully able
As they desperately wanton
US to believe
The chosen few, the elect
As top down
Driving in convertible submarines
Celling down the river
As whatever
Thou dust
Having already
Drunk
The KoolAid™
In effacing endless boos
As given the owed college try
And in curable desperation
Quipped to say
Bottom up
As no need to take any ship
From any won
Upright
Nor bail
For yawl

Here is an election day themed poem for Ohio’s presidential primary elections today.  While it’s easy to be cynical about politics, the adage, follow the money, is a powerful tool for understanding politics and power.  The political class, overpopulated by the aristocracy, has well developed strategies and tactics to appeal to the notion that they are on your side.  Inevitably, moneyed folks have a way of perpetuating their economic interests over less economically endowed folks.  These strategies and tactics are built into our everyday life — appealing to crass celebrity as distraction and chasing money (and its attendant addictive cycles of debt and over-consumption) as the unquestioned path to the good life — but during campaign season the high rhetoric typically pushes the limits of hypocrisy.  Unfortunately, the United States electorate is the most uniformed electorate among so-called advanced industrial democracies.  Plus, with brazen gerrymandering, corrupt party politics, lack of universal voter registration, and a whole host of practices degrading voter participation rather than enhancing it, our democracy has been bought and sold.  Our so-called democracy would be more aptly described as an oligarchy, plutocracy, or even kleptocracy.  Voter turnout in the U.S. is the lowest among so-called developed countries.  While increased voter turnout could offer modestly better results, a poorly informed electorate does not have the essential immunization against propaganda and manipulation that would make for a functioning democracy.  I strongly suspect the the bulk of effort needed to revitalize our democracy must occur outside of electoral politics, with social movements that force changes in our political system alongside cultivating positive changes toward a more just culture that respects human rights and dignity for all.  Voting matters, but if we rely primarily on voting, whatever is left of our democracy will matter little.  Vote with your feet and hit the streets; organize; and be the change you want to see in the world.

FREE POSTER: Only You Can Prevent “For Us” Fighters — Hillary Clinton Feeling The Bern

Yep, I couldn’t resist — just for the pun of it!Hillary Clinton Feel The Bern

Feel free to share, download or print out this Hillary Clinton Feeling The Bern Poster.

If the message of this poster doesn’t make immediate sense, then welcome to my whirled of multiple meanings, well suited to presidential campaign politics.  My first intent is as an anti-Hillary Clinton meme.  Though, skepticism about relying on anyone else to fight our fights is a good starting place for active, direct participation in democracy and politics.  Most every politician claims to be fighting for us, but we have been burned before.  May the people take back their country through direct action.

POEM: Zombie Apocalypse — Carry On

In habiting
That thin lyin’
Between living and undead
Pray and prey
Plodding for survival so chaste
Eerie reverence
For awe virtually unmoving
They’ve got
You’re numb-er
Too many to re-pulse
To take account of
De-sending from cubicles and proto-calls
Contracting art and sole
As-certain
As a ballad to ahead
Or souled heart for a song
Forging for a meal ticket
Having mist
The notice
Of the zombie apocalypse
Having all ready past buy
As things sow sterilized
And humanity’s fate sown up
In arms and sordid extremities
Have eaten
Half alive
Only too whither the storm
The moot in one’s eye
Of learned haplessness
And ever abating brains
Until getting the best of you
As present itself
As in genius solution
The just
Walk away
Hope realized as traveling light
And renouncing
Carrion

If a zombie apocalypse poem is particularly relevant for you on a Monday, then you may be suffering the blurring of your existence as living or undead.  The popularity of zombies in current culture strikes me as an apropos metaphor for the deep and abiding alienation present in much of everyday life.  Alienation is endemic in multiple spheres: alienation from our own humanity by being submersed in artificial and virtual realities; alienation from others by having life mediated by impersonal institutions and technologies; and alienation from nature and the natural world by working in cubicles, living in self-contained boxes, and traveling in mobile cages of steel, plastic, and rubber over rivers of petroleum byproducts.  Zombies seem to be the incarnation of our collective ennui and existential angst over our preternatural penchant for mistaking motion for progress and our banal disability in distinguishing between any vital life force and inanimate matter.  The titillating trepidation of slow, barely animated monsters overtaking us in our hurried existence gives freakish flesh to our fears.  The undead have some surreal power to overtake the caffeinated, if not sublimely discerning, protagonist humans slash food.  Their sheer number or inexplicable relentless hunger — fed by their will to unlive? — overwhelms any resort to our keen or ken.  We fatally mistake our presents as mere fuel or fodder saying chow to our humanity.   This helpless and hapless existence is, in fact, the fantasy, a projection of our fears, that inanimate forces haplessly set in motion are the ultimate arbiters of the human sphere.  Without resort to stale arguments about free will, human freedom and the like, I will only say that if the posers of zombie powers that be come to my door, I intend to say “Eat me!”

Carry on.