Inspired by the mean and chaotic slash and burn of our federal government. Wons agin, welcome to new mismanagement.
Meaner and Leaner, Have Way There
The fat cats
Broad caste
The D.C. shuffle
Their latest arrival
A Department of Departments
Certifiable as nothing like
You’ve seen before
Set fourth as goaled
In ovation for themselves
Allot meaner
Not sow much leaner
Poets are famously unread. Me even more sow.
That’s Wearing on a Poet’s Life
How trying
Too due the impossible
Mirrorly transcribing
Words of God
In some unspeakable language
As indecipherable a diction
Cloak a verse
Abetting my hide
On it
As crazy as home lessness
With peep whole seeing
Write through you
As walk on
Bye
It’s hard to know what is borne from incomprehensible places.
That Shrouded Berth
It was one
Of those moments
Wear my life seemed incomprehensible
A fit
That others did knot
Care to see
Yet I was made
To wonder
If this was the vary spot
That God new from time to time
That shrouded berth divined
Yet carrying on
How ever untended
Frankly, More Than Speaking – Owed to Pope Francis
“Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary use words.”
– Ironically, words misattributed to St. Francis of Assisi
There are many weighs to live
And Pope Francis chose
Servant leader
Acceding the Gospel
With bountiful good knews
Radiating listening
Graciously responding
What manor to live in
And wear
Called
Home
What mode of transportation
Long the weigh
What shoes you walk in
What shoes others walk in
And what a bout
The wrest of us
As daze turn to weaks and ears go bye
People of all sorts
Will debate weather
To live in mercy and solidarity
In efface of great lessens
That lode of gentle admonition
Quote others carefully
Awe the better without words
Trump is a meanie.
The Wrest of the Story
“Don’t worry. He doesn’t mean what he says.” –Trump apologists
He may mean what he says
He may not mean what he says
But you can wrest assured
That what he says
Is mean-y
And not in sum average weigh
Whatever chance of going to prison I may have, it increased greatly with the coronation of Donald Trump. The future seems replete with civil disobedience. Resistance is feudal, and I plan to serf the future. In such brutal times, that day may come when the better question may not be, “What are you doing in prison,” but rather, “What are you doing out of prison.” Of course, I worship a God who is as miraculously adept at breaking into prisons as breaking others out of their prisons. May we bring freedom to all places, for life.
Life Timer
I re-member
Well
In the wink of an eye
Washing over me too
Teem up
With God’s
Life time fan club
The soul
One
Breaking into prison
In an assist
From the bench
A titular honor
A man dressed in awe black
Though more like an owed white man
Did his Jōb thingy
Pronouncing that sentence
Rhyming with orange
As would suit me
And as an awe some response ability
To what judge meant a kin to prison
I could soully nation state
You have fell
For the ruse of law
And its parent jest US
Having loud me to break into prison
The guard axed me
A bout the quest in
Of being
The cager of souls
And free men
Worth their wait
In goaled
And what was I doing in hear
Gambling my presents
And future prospects
As kin in the game
And awe I could due
Was soully udder
Beyond the big hows
And pen
The write thing to do
By giving voice too
Perhaps the bettor framing
What are you accomplicing
Out they’re
Breaking me in
There are a lot of theories of why we need need so much sleep and what exactly is going on when we sleep. This poem addresses three theories of dreaming: 1) that in deep sleep, unrememberable, our souls return to their source for a refreshing romp unfettered by earthly concerns; 2) our brains “take out the garbage” by discarding inessential memories and consolidating experiences that are keepers; and 3) our brains practice virtual scenarios, often involving uncertain or anxiety-inducing situations to “brainstorm” possible solutions within the safety of our own skulls. Dream on, dreamers!
Dream Remains
Sum wear a bout
The mettle of the night
We re-seed
Into sacred plays
That cannot be recalled
The soul’s respite
Sailing deep sees
And gentle wins
Beyond skulls
Ahead full
A bundle of nerves
Remains
Taken
Out the trash
Of former daze
Fairy-ly a wake
Skating on thin eyes
As lessen total recall
Unsettling a wrest
As fuzz breaking down adore
Of bottomless school
And awkward commencement
Of anew day break
As souled
On tell a vision
Welcome to the free verse.
The Good, The Bad, and the Ugh-ly
The good news
My poetry can’t be bought
And I can’t be sold out
More sow it’s awe free
And presently
The bad news
It’s worth every penny
Gems paid for
With toil some red
And pain the admission prize
As hearts cracked
Open
Letting the light in
Welcome to the free verse
When it comes to constitutional rights, use them or lose them. Please feel free to exercise your rights and exorcise totalitarianism.
What Does The Security State?
Accordion to security state
Expand surveillance
As the spyin’ of totalitarianism
And into the bargain been
Private eyes
Everything
Contract
Out our freedoms
Shrinking liberty like crazy
As that belle wrings out
Our rights
Wither snowballing be helled
Or socks in one’s drawers
Easier lost than found
Our thirst amendments cornered
Round privacy in the public square
An affront to getting back
And on awe sides
The answer is something a kin
To exorcising each and every right left
Or they just
Go away
I like the saying, “If you aren’t living on the edge, you are taking up too much room.”
Edge Worthy
I found myself
Living on the edge
Anew view
Bounded soully
By spaciousness
The giving
And taking
Up
Space
Optimized
In efface of ecological sanity and even decades-old market forces, the carbon-based life deform known as Donald Trump wants to bring back coal. I guess Trump’s century-old vaudevillian show wants to feature Mother Earth in blackface. Under his watch in Trump 1.0, he wanted something similar and a hundred coal plants closed. Even his second-hand vein attempt and uncanny ability to give people the shaft won’t bring back coal. This poem is an ode to the foolishness and 1984-esque plans to backtrack on renewable energy. Also, the title is a tip of the hat to the satirical, black comedy film, “Don’t Look Up,” which parodied climate-change denial.
Don’t Look Up, Sunny
Listen, sunny
Who wants
Renewable electricity
Lighting the way
What you need unquestionably
Is gas lighting
Even burned
As abate and switch
Back to coal
Does this seam crazy
The back wards of America
Enjoining that nuclear option
As enduring future be lies
The truth left underground
As the hole earth cries out
With the slickness of oil
From right to left
Save that whale blubber
Taken aback
Don’t look up, sunny
We know what is up
The knew down
I predict that there will be an Occupy Wall Street type movement spurred by our suicidal management of our economy plus mindless and heartless austerity on those least able to withstand the brutal disruptions.
Yo Yo, Down With the Stock Market
Yo yo
What’s up with the stock market?
Yo yo
Down with Trump
The fascist there is
With the down aside
Holed steady
His love fare with Main Street
Taxing workers
And cutting deals with capitalists
What too due?
Wee are just
Not holding our breath
To be occupied
Wall the street
It Rains On
The storms of life
Soully whet
My appetite
For free rain
In a whirled
Just
And unjust
I suspect half-truths are more dangerous than complete lies. We can do better. Demand radical honesty.
A Crumb-y Life
He heard the whole truth
And was tolled
You half to believe
People will never swallow that
And with practice
You will learn to live
On crumbs
If I look a little raggedy at times, it’s awe part of a larger plan. Things don’t always look like they seam, a little deeper.
Knot a Frayed
I over herd
Sum won state
You peer a little seed-y
Yet presently
Any wear I look
I fine poetry
And whatever may seam
I am knot a frayed
Having words, even as wee stand in awe, of what may be, unspoken…
Poetry Offensive
I started a poetry offensive
To tear down de-fence
That divide of a tension
Between read and blue states
The rise of pauper papers
And citizens ink
Uplifting the truth
That
Having words
Will not hurt US
As cleave meanings
Shall not be
As under
And if cross some lyin’
Light heartedly banned together
Even as fires incite burning
Wee stand in awe
Of what may be
Unspoken
First they came for…
The End of the Line
I was a little
Late to the party
As board that partisan ship
Itching for box seats to the show
Checking my pass
That tick it
Buy the S.S.
Titanic
As I peered ahead
Those affront of me
Lots cast before me and mine
And huddled masses on deck
I herd a comforting rumor
They weren’t going to waste
A bullet on me
It was all a bout
Walking the walk
Their plank
Republic Canned
They went on
A bout cleaning up
But they maid the mistake
Of knot knowing
The deference
Between complicity and cooperation
Proffering sick a phony
Over solidarity
Trumped up charges
Over forward moving
Backwards throne
As republic canned
They maid their bad
And they’re going
To lie
In it
We live in foolish times, with unbelievable creatures totally full of shit.
Doctor Doo Little’s Pushme-Pullyou
Are we awe living
Doctored doo little’s life
In hour pet beasties
Trapped in 100% proof
And believing is seeing
Stuck with sharp mines
And pierced hearts
Awe most as weird
As a pushme-pullyou
That tug of war
A kind of wore hoarse
Knot knowing
Forward or backward
Weather strange a traction
Or compelling awe
Possessed by our own holed
Over others
And how and when
To under stand
The deference
In the thick it
Orthodox
Heterodox
A paradox
Beyond me
Hit it in efface
Or aloud enchant
With the perfect words
Leaving spellbound
Or sum other authoritative doo
Just
Perhaps
Silent action
Speaking volumes
Embody language
In the mettle
Of comical forces
Mine, mine, mine
Verses mime, mime, mime
It’s a small whirled after awe
Can wee survive our selves
Make it
Happens
As we peer
In finitude
Dude
And still
It’s never
Enough
How doo we
Surrender
Steeped in that inclination
To hill and back
That Sisyphean pinch
Too relieve us
Of awe assholes
And live side by side
In accompany of mythical creatures
Dam well full of shit
And miss red
Anger
Over what is
Peace
And over what is
Hole
The Braking of the Whirled
To whom
Put the spin
On the whirled
And how made
A brake
For it
As rein
On the rich
And poor temp
To dis patch bad luck
Wanting
What they halve
Mirror bits
And peaces
Between war out
Shaky wrests
In the thick of thinness
Far-fetched closeness
A mist
Exclusive clubs
Bad manors
And limousines careening
Coming to
A fool stop
What might be
The solution
Stuck in the same owed ship
Over aheads
Waters
Still
With deep a motion
Yearning to breathe
At the bottom of the see
What seams the impassable
To inspire without heir
More than litter
Beyond fishy schooling
Emerge
Onto landing
Beyond species arguments
Anew creation
Playing in a chord
With won and awe
As no longer band-ish
To the hinder lands
