Honesty does not require brutality.
Disarming Honesty
Heed consider it
Disarming honesty
Lopping off limbs
As might right and left
As dead would
In there vary own forced
Never as well
Received
Rather in loo
The aftermath
Winsome loose sum
Frankly, hot dogging it
Every now and agin
As sin sear as can be
Even fourth Reichness
As a demonstrable hit
And down for account
Is it passable
Too heed lessness
And what might be
Just awe kinds of weighs
Entreating others
“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” ― Howard Thurman
I see that which is truly productive as rooted in healthy being, emanating from a healthy soul — awe else is trying to cheat reality. Plus, I find that if something makes me come alive, it isn’t really work.
What Makes?
What do you do?
As little as possible
Avoiding work
Soully doing
What makes
Me alive
And thus becoming
Strangely productive
Here is the April Fool’s Day poem for this year…
The Joke is on US
Until more notice
April Fool’s Day
Will be
X tended
In definitely
Without end
Accept
Its many means
Enriching the rich
Representing the national deficit
Serving as tribute to the ridiculously loaded
Drinking it in
Those hims of preys
And fixation on enemas
The on going
Slap stick
Will it
Peter out
Without the humor
Short-term pleasures
Or long-term benefits
As sow base
Never enough
Impugn-y crimes
A quit
Until our renouncement
On the take
A bate
The joke is on US
I wrote this poem last year and I hadn’t published it yet. For better or worse, the poem is still timely and timeless.
Its The Economy Stooped
Hey homies
Welcome to the hows
Of whining elections
Know madder how many dwellings
Falling flat
Or lodging complaints
It really might be
A bout
Proferring the will
Of the people
Estating undeniably
Inhospitable a bode
Its the economy stooped
And no other
Subjects
A porched earth policy
Weather you like it or not
There will be
Know climate change
There will be
No real talk about race in this race
Let a loan
The human race
Its
A bout just US
And tar nation
Hell
O lord
Its
The manor of things
Aver ran duh
To our buy and buy
This poem was inspired by the Oval Office press conference Elon Musk dominated as co-president, with his little kids, X and Donnie Trump, fidgeting as Elon droned on. Of course, a South African immigrant in the White House seamed a worthy fit. There is untolled irony of a white billionaire naming everything “X” (including his son), when historically “X” has been used in the African diaspora for those who don’t know their family name, only a slave name given to them. Musk, the stench of wealth, played the roll of an immigrant coming for your job, delineating the end game of literally owning the libs — and all others. The only good news is that slavery has 100% employment. His diarrheal demagoguery exemplified that little payin’ for the benefit of the long runs…
Little Feat
Welkom to the white hows
We’d herd
The pitter patter of little feat
Where X marks the spot
With crayon treasure maps
The spawn of apartheid
The diversity of Afrikaners
And the repugnant musk of billion heirs
Those immigrants coming
For your job
Engendering wons
And lots of zeroes
As sum kind
Of binary code
A continuum of heir transplants
And jacked up jaw lyin’s
Making a man
More or less
As if
Sum how productive
Welkom to the porcelain throne
Built by slaves
Occupied
Buy johns of awe stripes
Miscegenating with orange and green
And US be getting
The color of shit
On the genocide
Of even the caricature
Of first nations
NOTE: Elon Musk has had gender affirming care; that is, hair transplants and jawline surgery, making him more or less a man in his binary world.
Giving my take on give and take, taken in bye a take, take, take whirled.
Something Has To Give
Living in
A whirled
Of take, take, take
Taken in
Something has to give
As dam lessens
Open the flood gaits
Of walking the walk
Over
Coming
As zero sum game
Give or take
As I eminently
Get it
Turning out rather something
Someone
Has to give
And it might
As well
Be me
What is the sound of a coup of a dove? No arms flapping.
On the Wrings of a Dove
We rise
On that warming
Of clear and present
Things to come
Arising
On
Those heir currents
Of turbulent resistance
And unflappable flight
Global in nature
And awe ways a bit loco
As the whirled hurls
Flipping the bird
Wee a send
A message for awe
Look, ma!
No arms
Just
Well yearned soars
A mist
The temp-est
Uncaging those in forced
Cleaving what seams everlasting
The eternal incite
Unbroken flights for life
As soully seen
From a bird’s eye
Thrust
Up on
The breath
Of billions of living beings
Buoyed soully
On that emanating
From every for us
The U.S.-Israeli genocide in Gaza is a horrific failure of humanity and godliness. We must look unflinchingly at what this means for US.
Mirror Palestine
Mirror, mirror, behind a wall
Who is beautiful
One and all
Helled
Up to the world
What kind
Of world
Due we want
Made in God’s image
Lightly shining
Beyond likeness
Or broken
As children razed
More than bad luck
As bombs reign
Parently unseen
Entreating humans
To no their pain
And open hearts
As awe reflect
A Lenten poem:
Lent Not Enough
Many years a go
I gave up
Lent for lent
Even sow
God has designs on me
Living lent
365 days a year
Every mourning
Over multiple daze
Slowly fasting
From ashes to ashes
To the wholly of holies
Alm’ed to the teeth
Weather wins south
Nor’easter
In compassing awe
Ever kneaded
In case you’ve run into a counter fit recently…
The Prize of Eggs
What’s up?!
With that frightful dozin’
Scaring up
In all probability
Showing promise
A lie ability
Butt shucks
It helps
If you’re a chicken
Laying big fat eggs
Though more frankly
The prys of something
From big asses
For life? Give it up…for life.
This Little Alight of Mine
In alight of God unearth
That day may show up
When I offer up
These poems
A bask it know longer
Covering this little alight
Of mine
A treasure of gems dropped
In obscurity
Soully to be found
As real eyes mete
Concrete and steal
Of a brutalizing whirled
Awe ways standing
In concert with hearts singing
Billed as stories
Of sky scrapers caste a bout
And awe tolled
I was hear
How ever list in
And take in aback
Soully wanting
Solid-heir-ity
With those presente
And a future worth living
Shhh…it the truth…
Everything is a Conspiracy
Everything is a conspiracy
As God conspires hour vary existence
Inspiring
Expiring
Prayers
Preyers
Ineffable
F-able
Converging into won
Awe there is
Wholly word
Till utter breathlessness
Peers
And dis peers
Plotting a long
With mere fig leaves
And legal briefs
Wiled filing
As wearing oaths
Breaching every berth
The soul law
Love
The wholly sublime
Conspiracy of awe
More than just us
For good
In the era of Team Cruel, life can be in hospitable.
At Last Picked
There is allot
Of blood sports
In the schoolyard of life
And death
Teeming with God’s children
A lot
Left wanting
To be picked
Last
Fame kills.
Fifteen Minutes of Fame
“You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.” –Dean Martin
He had
That first helping
Fifteen minutes
Of fame
And besot
By 900 seconds
And as won swill
He was toast
And licked
Efface down
On the ground
And oddly even then
Could heartily hang on
More abductions every day in a ledged land of the free.
Ugly Ducking
If it looks like abduct
If it paddles like abduct
If it’s a quack like abduct
Then it is in deed abduct
Duck!
Plane clothes agents
Over unidentified flying
Objects!
All in a daze work
And in the end
What does this
Say
Chill
A glass of free speech
Weather half fool
Half empty
You are toast
Of a nation
Asleep
More than a kid nap
Snoozing awe over
A shadowy regime
Until what due you know
Hi Jack
Load and be hold
A boat load
A plane load
A truck load
Of shanghai visas
Mirrorly for looking
Like a land of the free
Resist now. Fight for awe of our rights.
Fascism Rapped in a Bow
Fascism is rapping at adore
Power surrendered to the awe powerful
Rich richered
Poor poured
Like sow much effluent
Right sized means
Pauper austerity
As a share crapper
With far-flung shoulding
A grave matter of will
Presently bow
Yak knowledge
What is the best weigh
To void a load of crop
Giving up
Hour cede
For but a few seasons
As for shadow record yields
Stomaching our own
Fecund surrender
Screwing generations to come
With ever-lusting public preyer
What will it
Take
To cough up this heir ball
A monstrous masquerade
Fore humanity
Yet re-cast by billions
With stand
Take
Our righteous plays
As human kind
More than kin imagine
Resisting on a million affronts
Dancing circles around
Their corrupt takings
Effacing them a cotillion times
And when some won
Comes to our adore
There is soully won admission prize
To our sacred dance floor
A level playing feeled fore awe
That won condition
Presently bow
To our shared fete
This poem is metaphor for the process where our beautifully eccentric and unique lives are laundered and collated into impersonal data for greater algorithmic control.
Butterfly Affect
“Plagiarism is the highest form of flattery. Stealing from one is plagiarism; stealing from many is research.”
Plagiarism is
The highest forum of flattery
Like a butterfly
Fluttering it swing
With unyearned affects
Herd round the world
Pulled off a thousand times
And pocketed by many
Is sum thing
Dubbed
Research
That slight
Deference between
Etymology and entomology
Palestinian journalist Hossam Shabat has been assassinated by Israel after being openly put on a hit list last October. Hossam is the latest in over 200 Palestinian journalists killed by Israel since the beginning of the genocide in Gaza. In his last letter, prepared in the expectation that he would be assassinated, he makes his final ask: “I ask you now: do not stop speaking about Gaza. Do not let the world look away. Keep fighting, keep telling our stories – until Palestine is free.”
Will Western media cover even the mass serial targeting of journalists? Shame on US.
Here is yet another poem on the U.S.-Israeli genocide in Gaza.
Seize Fire Wow
What kind of accrual
Miracle
To take hole of fire
Seize the whole cost
Without being
In sin raided
Helled in won’s hand
As if
Never agin
Kiln children
Flame throwing
As if some pillar of God
More like dare devil
As forced fire in a desert
As sow sin sear
Their brand of score
As many daze
108 Palestinians, 0 Israel
Piggish ambitions
Bombs sway
And diplomatic cover fire
A three wring circa US
Their lies
A diction
As the crack’ll
Get you offed
Their barb a cue of flesh
A wiled fire in runes
A future made up
Of dead would
And the inter-ogation
Of God remains
NOTE: An obscure meaning is in-bedded with the Israel-Palestine score: 108 = won zero ate, where victory lies on Palestinians eating nothing.
If you are bewildered, you may be just, catching on. Still, weather the tide coming in or going out, there are things too due.
Due Something
Here I sit
Wading for the tide to change
As ponder US
From see to see
The gravity of being mooned
And awe the wile
Like a fish out of water
Oar humanity
Without heir
It’s a life bout
For the sheeple, and the wrest of US, wee the people.
Baaad Blood
It was the largesse gambol
Ever made
Assure abet
Living for wagers
They threw in
For allot of baaad blood
As part of a wiled and woolly herd
In this ill loom a nation
Crap shooters rolled
As snake-ize
The grift that keeps
On giving nothing
On the take
Down
To the last drop
Of baaad blood
Far beyond sheer resentment
Be wear
Of shepherds in sheep’s clothing
Threw in through fleeced
As miss herd
And over raided
A dark horse
Turning out
Mirrorly dark
And soully a beast
Of un-no’in descent
In dispute Abel blood lyin’
