In the dark Weight fore it There it is That singular smile Making light Of everything Taking a twinkle Over Awe the whirled As never Settling for number one Even as wading for it On and on As inevitable As unstoppable Groan Only doing what comes naturally Going That second smile On that throne Laughing In efface of death
This poem is autobiographical, reflecting on my persistent inability to be serious while simultaneously and chronically dealing with serious issues. While my joking may be self-deprecatory, I specialize in deflating and parodying the powerful, dangerously powerful, if that’s not redundant. For me, the lightness that characterizes the best of life comes face to face with the all-to-often brutality and injustice that intersects, often vivisects, our lives. This laughing in efface of death is my most treasured place to be, in the role of jester, for which I am willing to die, that is, die laughing.
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POEM: Trash Talk God is culpable
Of more than you can
Imagine
Your momma
Fodder unknown
Know Job
A dyslexic dog
Dissembling I'm OK, you're KO
Unsporting
A boxer of tiny portions
And ...
POEM: The Awe Might He Acorn The acorns fall
Like reign
From above
As the mighty yoke is broken
Flailing to grasp the gravity of the situation
Each won
A tiny oak
Tolled by nature
If only
Such ...
Mock Funeral – Occupy Toledo Yesterday, April 1st, April Fool's Day, was the one and only performance of Occupy Toledo's Mock Funeral -- in life (and death) there are no rehearsals, this is it! If you ...
POEM: An Oasis Scarcely Better, Then a Mirage From oasis to oasis
Straw men
Hiring suckers
Living under
Dissembled bridges
Until it's over
Troubled waters
What's the hold-up
Living for weak ends
And long ...
POEM: Hypothetical Questions Your hypothetical questions
Have prevailed
I will no longer oppose violence
Except in the real world
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 ...
Waiving his red pen He made his mute point That spoken word is knot poetry Like meting Meter and anti-meter And the invariable deconstruction of awe As if Employing free Versus The hire mind For awe That its worth Save in alliteral weigh Abut Alas Bringing too bare Undisciplined obscenities uddering As opposed to the ladder As any won May eye Make this suggestive Perhaps you’s An unpronounceable cymbal farmerly no’in as prints Pulling weeds Of biblical pro portion Fore whatever It maybe worth There is know space Sandwiched Between poetry and knot poetry Between amateurs and prose Knot that which isn’t Nor which is The wurst I ever metaphor Whatever Call me I am An outspoken unspoken word artist Unspellbound in my crappy weighs And should upon In the coming daze Sow called poets anon meet As shepherds to sheep affix Due the write thing Feel free To shut the flock up
This poem was inspired by a blog article that a friend shared, entitled, “Spoken Word Is Not Poetry.” My immediate response was simple: “I find it helpful to see everything as poetry.” Of course, this is the gloriously useless mode of perception I aspire to use awe the time. However, this poem represents a more detailed critique of the assertion that spoken word is not poetry. The author of this article pined that many readers at open mics are not trained poets and typically use free verse or prose poetry. I must confess: I am an untrained poet, except by my tutelage under various muses. Further, the often quick use of vulgarities offended the author’s parently higher sensibilities. I strongly suspect that the work of any poet or poets is never complete as truth in word, as opposed to doing the deed in life, because life is F’ing ineffable. Claiming that spoken word is performance art, which it is, seemed to be a means to taint spoken word artists as something other than poets. I certainly don’t mind being seen as more than a poet! I wonder if the author would consider a novelist not a novelist if they read their work aloud — that would be a novel idea! I related to the author’s point that an important part of poetry is the relationship of the reader to the written word without being nailed down by a verbal representation (or layering upon it performance art). Most of my poems are best read silently, to allow for the multiple interpretations and meanings to brew within the reader; this process is at the heart of my poetry. I find it difficult to read many of my poems out loud because I must pick one way to read the poem which inevitably shortchanges the beauty of dancing multiple meanings. I must admit that when it comes to my poetry I am conveniently an anarchist, formally rejecting socially constructed boundaries of form. I do not doubt that the many fine forms of poetry developed over centuries are worthy of attention. Nonetheless, I consider deflating pretensions as fodder for my poetic vocations. If this itself seems pretentious, please feel free to take a meta view of my sow-called poems as self-parody. At the end of my daze, I want parity for awe.
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POEM: Love Is Scored He did
Not necessarily
Believe
In evil
Though he found it
Much easier
To commit
Than endure
And hear in lies
Won lessen
As love is scored
This poem is a tribute to ...
POEM: Less Than Eternal Question The Rev. Medley
Had risen
To the highest position
He would ever
It was only down from there
An awe too common
Occupational hazard
Of moderate irony
And accumulating ...
POEM: Can She Be Eunuch? She stated
No one else can do what I do
To witch
They rejoined
Realing in whore
Accept that you are a cog
You intractable wrench
Unfit for cloning round
And ...
POEM: My Heart Breaks Daily Life is messy. Compassion is messy. Acting in the world in a way that is congruent with one's broken and breaking heart is a challenge. A challenge to the actor, and a ...
POEM: Wading for Gödel Wading for Gödel
A play of mathematical imprecision
Fraught with everlasting interpretations
Malingering, idoling away the ours
For a character whose reputation must ...
POLITICAL POEM: Among Politicians For Sail In the art of politics
We are the wind
Awe that madders
To those who sea
Among politicians for sail
Transcending them to helm
In their infernal riggings
And whatever ...
Logos used Too mean Know ledge Like that age owed ad vice Would you jump off a bridge If every won ails did As in sayin’ Bye your good will As money oozes from the non-prophet, health care (sic) system The sores of philandering philanthropy Well, come to PR medica An unholy owned subsidiary Of Tourette’s Industries You will swear Buy them Weather you want to or not Their marketing deportment is As good as goaled As black as poets inc Greasing their wills Stuck with irresistible pitch As verbally contracted Not worth the pay per Printed upon Yet this awe Will in deed Make it passable to live As resistance is feudal And being Penned Is what poets due Indubitably Sow branded As live stock For tolled Too get a rise The Tao jones Working in our flavor Over and over and over Un-till bank rolled In a dark ally Buy and buy Hour justifiable salivation Attending too in trap meant anon Agin and agin and agin Fore the yoke is on-us Awe the more Fore the fire brand Not with standing In a flesh of genius Is incensed As won red scent Becomes too Until udderly crying out In an unherd-of steer I love the smell Of nay palm In the mourning High noon And too fly by night Sullen this, sullen that Soully worried How irate In some won ails size Butt, its my skin in the game Lonely hoping Knot to be found Within and without My pants around my knees As its only My panties in a bunch Over Awe that madders Poetic license And corporate patronage Some body Has to Pay the piper To keep your roost ere plumbed As upright as it comes Why cant you Say “uncle” You know Like that rich uncle Who wants you To sit on his lap And tell you Bed time Stories That will mark you for life Butt kept mysteriously in a family weigh As long As in your genes As in c’est la vie Or sow, I’ve herd As if We are posed to be prod Of being cattle Scarred I’ll go All Gandhi on you as BE the beef Awe the wile beating a different conundrum Refraining that whole eat me thing The mark of the best (sic) Or rather sic sic sic’s Sow fresh and hoary unholy revelations Indulging vain wishes for dead presidents And CEOs Men of letters posterior to autograft Ass-ever-rate In playing defense At my offense With such propriety, proprietary and property For my own good, posedly Their mirror deflection But, but, but, but, but Except two a t And so I’m bare assed And without They’re money You’re nothing butt A bum And the rush Too be just THAT
I am not a big fan of branding, whether it is of livestock or in corporate public relations. I was inspired to write this poem because at a regular monthly poetry reading they secured a small amount of funding to pay invited featured poets. The source of funding included local community foundations plus the nearly ubiquitous ProMedica, the largest health system within the Toledo region. I have come to call Promedica, “PR Medica,” because of its often over-sized logo and branding in Toledo, aka ProMedica-ville, is nearly omnipresent in venues big and small. I found its intrusion into the local poetry scene offensive, particularly because I am an iconoclastic, anti-commercial poet who specializes in addressing social justice issues. This was a little too close to home for me. I announced before my open mic reading that I did not want to be considered as an invited poet. I suggested that to de-commercialize this reading, sending back the portion payed for by ProMedica, along with a strongly worded letter (might I suggest F and U), would be in order.
This is not the first time that I have unleashed my poetic visions against ProMedica. The first time I devoted a poem to ProMedica was when they sponsored a state-wide poetry contest on the topic of anti-hunger with an honorarium to the winning poet that would befit and maintain the status of starving artist. My unsubmitting, unremitting poem: Speaking With Spoken Sword: Owed To Hungering Fore Anew ProMedica.
ProMedica, if you want to combat hunger, pay all of your employees a living wage. ProMedica, if you want to fulfill your mission and redeem your non-prophet status, devote 0.01% of your revenue toward advocating for universal health care, everybody in, nobody out. Until then, you can bye this poet all you want.
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POEM: Escaping Hubris Indigency is the quickest road
Out of hubris
Few of us can afford
Its high price
Hubris, or arrogance, is powerfully seductive in the human mind. This excessive ...
POEM: Rousing Fresh Fortune To no what is possible
Sum look too the passed
To undertake certainties
Too due dreams untested
Some are moved
Bye this present
Liberating futures seized
And undo
The ...
POEM: Rascal I am a rascal
Of course, there are many kinds of rascals
Of which sort I won't tell
That's part of rascality
Anyone who wholeheartedly embraces and explores their free will, ...
POEM: Writing Poetry I like writing poetry
except for the writing part
Writing poetry is an art from the heart. If there is work in writing poetry, of which I don't find much, it somehow relates ...
POEM: The Short End of The Shtick The earth quaked
Beneath the CEO
As he re-torted
It's no bodies fault
In a sense
Coming upon
The prophets of owed
Raking over
That thin lyin'
Between purveyor and ...
He thought Too himself More or less THAT would tickle God’s whiskers Which was particularly funny Since God has no whiskers Un-less That is God is right Under your knows
This short poem plays with the notion that God is more than we can even imagine. To some, this may launch profuse ponderings of untold wise cracks, offering glimpses into eternal mysteries of the spirit. Too sum, this may forebode cruel jokes of a grumpy owed man shitting up on his throne, offering butt flashes of the highest rank. Either weigh, the joke is, well, on you.
What did the child say when he happened up on three holes in the ground? “Well, well, well.”
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ELECTION POEM: Owed Too An Election: The Don’s Power Grab How grate thou art
Of the power grab
Too expose the private part of US
As innocence on the lam
Sow so sorry
As if
He is just
Exercising
His first amend meant
Rites
Sow ...
POEM: Net Worth Beings? Traveling light
Speed of awe
That can be seen
Bye passing knows to knows
Only for going
Do do
Though scene buy sum
As net
Worth beings
This poem is about being, caught ...
POEM: Wage Slave Be Free I am not a wage slave
I am free
And worth every penny
This week, I celebrated 10 years free from wage slavery! My ensuing poverty has been a small price to pay for this ...
POEM: Shooting Star You are a shooting star
Enjoy it while you can
And may others look up
And see your light
The short poem focuses on the theme that life is short, yet it can be glorious. ...
POEM: Illiteracy I am illiterate in hundreds of languages
And more so of the ones I know not of
At least that's what a little birdie told me
Or so I think
I'm not really sure of
These ...
POEM: Autobiography Excerpt The authorities' lack of investigatory skills
Were more than made up
By his incriminating honesty
He argued Fore cynicism Farced to choose between What’s left What is right And he one handily With won hand tied behind his back Soundly Like the slow clap With the only hope That he is not contagious And that joy can be found in abandon In the grip of whatever he comes up with
This poem continues in my perpetual theme of cynicism versus hope, with a tip of the hat to the post-election ennui experienced by much of the American electorate and non-electorate. Like I have been known to say: cynicism is its own reward. This poem awards cynicism with one of my favorite insulting critiques: cynicism is like masturbation, except without the short-term pleasures or long-term benefits. While experiencing the grip of cynicism qualifies as normal, cynicism strikes me as a profoundly maladaptive response to building a long-term, hope-filled relationship with reality. If you argue for cynicism, on whose side are you on? Of course, misery loves company. Incorporate that company in your worldview and you win amputated possibilities and learned helplessness. Cynicism is locked in lamentable necessity and wretched necessities. Hope lives in possibility and possibilities ordered by our deepest dreams. Hope accepts the hard work of recognizing that our stymied yearnings are more of a reflection of the depth of our longings than mirror confirmation of our foes’ oafishness. Cynicism is fueled by the easy focus on others’ shortcomings. Hope is fed by the steadfast convergence of dreams and dreamers. It is easy to fall for seasons of cynicism and its many accomplices; I only ask that we keep the spring of hope in the lineup and work to swell the list of usual suspects…
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Double Oh No: The Name’s Cadabra, Abra Cadabra God's
Name is knot
Abracadabra
Too be unloosed
Unwhirled
As owed man
Putting on
Some kind
Of spectacle
Who's genesis
Giving
No quarter
To years
Behind
In a ...
Homosexual Agenda Homosexual Agenda - Spend Time with Family - Be Treated Equally - Buy Milk
Homosexual Agenda - Spend Time with Family - Be Treated Equally - Buy Milk--Gay
Pride Rainbow ...
POEM: Lines in the Sand I run circles around your lines in the sand
You're going to need a bigger sandbox
POEM: Wanting Amor It is never
Enough
I want amor!
This very short poem, like most of my poems, can be read (at least) two ways. The first line, It is never, can be read as one not getting ...
POEM: A Forgetting God Remembering God is almost as hard as God forgetting us
Remembering God can be difficult. Remembering God can be particularly difficult if we are not trying to remember God. ...
POEM: BUCKET BRIGADE – Owed to Karen Krause BUCKET BRIGADE
Owed to Karen Krause
While some pine
That faith
The size of a mustard seed
Can move mountains
Like magic
Perhaps with a wrinkle of their knows
Wiser ...
POEM: Straight Shooter Straight Shooter
If I were to do anything
And you looked back at me
If you were to say
I can see that
Then you might just know me
However, if this frightens you
Then you ...
POEM: Come Alive At a party
A stranger
Approaches several guests
With great anticipation
Won by won
Not asking them
The routine inquiry
"What do you do
for a living?"
Instead asking ...
POEM: In Jesting Another Triple Crown America's quest for monarchy
Failed again
A triple crown thwarted
The quest for total domination
Foundering
Another cracker jack faux
A for-see-able sir prize
Californian ...
Sum wear Long the weigh Countless souls Lost Their sense of humor Only too end up Way to Sirius Occupying that eternal box Under the counter Only willing To pass it long To whom sow ever Claims it for their owin’ And consider it Awe the more Than mirror junk And that unmatched Like a kid smitten With another helping Bringing it awe back To the whirled of the living
This poem was inspired by a couple of occasions where others had spoken about how they had lost their sense of humor and I thanked them, because I had found it. I find humor nearly everywhere. Life is endlessly intriguing, stubbornly surreal, and surprisingly funny. Many may look at my life and might consider it a perfect storm of their worst scenarios. Nonetheless, I often feel like a kid smitten with that unmatched experience of finding joys in what others consider unwanted junk in the lost and found box. Valuing what others consider trivial or worth avoiding can be vexing at times, yet there is an expansive freedom in not chasing after and competing for the same stuff most everybody else is. Some days I feel as though I am literally living in a different world; yet, I sense that I deeply see our shared reality, replete with pain and suffering, countless contradictions, and despair, just as abounding with joy and serendipities, poetic beauty, and profound hope. I find that humor abounds amidst odd juxtapositions, playful exaggerations, and a rich appreciation for the possible. I often use humor to see past cynicism and fixations on the ugliness in life. Sometimes this may strike overly serious folks as grasping for baubles, but value is largely in the eye of the beholder; and if conventional views snare despair, then it may just be time to discard such views. Humor may not be everything, but humor can be found nearly anywhere. If you have lost your sense of humor, I’ll keep an eye out for it. Trust me, I’ll give it back to you if I find it.
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POEM: The Meaning of Vex Lex In a universe beyond apprehension
She caught herself
Vexing once again
Is there meaning?
Looking above
The stars just winked
Looking below
The grass said
"How can you ...
POEM: Traveling North Still I was traveling on a journey
And it was definitely not south
I watched the mile markers grow in number
Until I found myself in a different state
Noticing that
The mile ...
SPEAKING TRUTH TO POWER: A Christian Perspective on Justice Here is a portion of a document that I drafted a couple of years ago while I was a board member of Toledo Area Ministries (TAM). It was never adopted in any form, but I put a ...
POEM: In A Family Weigh The future looms
Sew large
As we seam
Sow singularly stranded
In the present
Weave heir
A parent
With know designs
Beyond
Sum won ails
And grater still
The mine ...
POEM: A Ghastly Alchemy For just
Some
Dam
Weepin's permit
I protect and serve
Up my enemies
Like
Cold
Turkey
Shoot
Only to rifle
But growing ode
In a ghastly alchemy
Silver bullets turning ...
POEM: Attorney General Edwin Meese III I know of a man I never met
A foe of mine, I can only bet
A very close impersonal friend
To my unknown needs he's supposed to tend
To rehabilitate me from what to what
Maybe ...
Who dares ax Why I am Sow meta for As the spear it in me Razes up Too meat the spirit in you
This poem is an ode to my favorite version of the greeting “namaste:” may the spirit in me rise up to meet the spirit in you. My poetic version plays with the meeting of the spiritual and physical, the spirit and the flesh. How do the sublime and the crude coexist? The short answer is that life is marvelously messy. Daring to question why I am the way I am can be a precarious project. Delving into why the great “I AM” is “I AM” can be downright dangerous. Existence is puzzling; essence more sow. One of my projects in life is to be in touch with my bastard nature, daring “too meat” the spirit in you. The churning of my spirit yearns to kiss the whirled of flesh, and perhaps more. The paradox of “Razes up” speaks to the inextricable cycles of destruction and creation, countless resurrections, risings up from the ashes like a phoenix. This is a death-defying game: “the spear it in me.” Still, I like to stir things up. Things that are settled strike me as dead. Where there is pretension, expect to be punctuated with vulgarity. Where there is cynicism, expect to be flooded by my delugings of unabashed hope. I will hurl sublime poetry over your ahead, but I won’t pick at your soars. I will lob softballs to hit you out of park, but know one will keep score. The hallowed and the hollowed will mete. There are plenty of weepin’s in this life too be had. How ever, weather I reach hi or lo, behold my arse and all. Think good that the pun is mightier than the sored! What ever this life is, it is the most beautiful thing I ever metaphor. Namaste.
POEM: Financial Wizardry Steal from one
You are called a thief
Steal from many
You are called a financial wizard
I like this short poem because it plays with the idea of how we interpret personal or ...
POEM: Near Life Experience A few years back he had a near life experience
It might as well have been
A disaster movie
Stream of consciousness meets tsunami of denial
This funny little poem addresses a ...
POLITICAL POEM: Unite In The Write Poets of the world unite
Delivering a bill of writes
To the regressive elite
And overcompensating narcissists
May the love of word in deed
Translate into a raging river of ...
Sen. Robert WALDO Portman, Where Are You?! Sen. Robert WALDO Portman, where are you?!
All about
Red and white stripes
And no blue to be seen
In what
Might better
Be a black and white world
Yet no wear
To be ...
Supreme Court Nominee POEM: Ostensible Merit, Garland Ostensible Merit, Garland
Senate Republicans bemoan
We can't Ford
No delay
We just
Long to confirm
As weave past attest
Merit
Garland
This poem is my owed to Senate ...
POEM: Sow Much For Multi-tsking Hello
Hello
People looking down
As electronic devices
Looking up
Over hear
Over their
Owned buy virtual realty
Totally
Sum wear
Ails
Hole heartedly
Parting from wholly ...
He was feeling it In a corny state The mother of corn starch In the thick of it A sweet mother High on fructose Full of it As lots of feed In feedlots Of walking meat But it was my job To make fun Of corn
I recently returned from a road trip out to Iowa to visit relatives, some of whom are corn farmers. I couldn’t resist this corny poem, one of two corn poems written on this trip. I wrote over 25 poems on this eight-day trip, setting a new personal record of nine poems in one day, the first day. Riding (and waiting for) the bus offered ample time for writing. The Megabus earned two specific poems and inspired a third poem about corporate incompetence and poor customer service. Quite predictably, cell phone and electronic gadget noise pollution garnered a couple of poems as well. Plus, there are the omnipresent self-indulgent poems about poetry or being a poet. The muse, rather than taking a vacation, is far more liable to hook up with me on vacation, loving open times and spaces to work her magic. A poet is always on duty. I am delighted to have the vocation of poet alongside my other 24/7 jobs, such as running an e-commerce web site and being a blood donor. Fortunately, I can do several jobs in my sleep! Stay tuned for more lodes of crop in coming weeks!
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POEM: To Be, Sow Fly Could it possibly be
A cliff hangar
She jumped
In what felt
Like
A free fall
The feint of art
Closing their eyes
Thinking this only is
For the birds
Or perhaps ...
POLITICAL POEM: Fighting Exclusively It was his thing
Fighting exclusively
Battles he could win
His crowning I deal
Never finding himself
On-the-cide of losers
Whirled why'd
Naught ails
But win
Filling his ...
POEM: Lovers of Dirt Lovers of Dirt
Wile in cathedrals
The atheist
Dares claim
The title
Of mass debater
As little comes
From behind the veil
That doesn't exist
In the slightest
Hint ...
POEM: Lifting Fog Lifting Fog
You can't fight city hall
They are too big to fail
We are too small to make a difference
A mere drop in a vast sea
These lies can travel through vast deserts of ...
He in choired So you think people should have sex before marriage? My straight forward rejoined her: Hell, I think people should have sex before breakfast!
This short poem is a playful response to the straight-laced attitudes of many religious folks surrounding sexuality. The “in choired” intimates that he is speaking out of a community, most likely a religious community. Ironically, a congregation’s choir is perhaps the most likely part of a congregation to contain gay folks, often condemned by fundamentalist or conservative religionists. In some cases, a congregation’s choir may actually be more gay than happy!
The leading question implies the desired answer and is designed to put the questioned on the defensive. The whimsical answer transcends the intended course of the debate, with an unapologetic celebration of sexuality. The “straight,” “forward,” and “rejoined her” implies a straight male responder — perhaps even myself — who is not backward, perhaps straight but not narrow. Beginning the response with “Hell,” playfully mocks the judgmental implications of hegemonic religiosity. The argumentative nature of judgmental questioning betrays the very tender nature of authentically intimate sexuality. As neither a fan of orthodoxy nor the dominant Catholic version of sexuality, I will not be drawn into the narrow and unwelcoming clutches of evangelistic mass debaters.
In the end, if this poem made you laugh, it has served its purpose.
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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 ...
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 ...
Hate Taxes? Avoid These 102 Tax-funded Enterprises Tax time is around the corner, and it seems increasingly popular these days to hate taxes. Of course, hating taxes is a simply a more palpable manifestation of hating ...
POEM: Fully Human When Wholly Divine From wear
You ask
Came quiet
A storm
At the end
Of won's rope
The blest piece
Ever no'ing still
Falling in too
A death too small to handle
A life too big to ...
BLACK LIVES MATTER POEM: US Flagging? WHAT?!
Part of don't don't
Wee under stand
A bout
Being Black in America
Served up by coppers
Not worth too sense
Like Lincolns shot in the head
From a civil war that ...
POEM: The Innies and Outies of the Birthday of US Here is a tribute to the immigration debate going on in the United States, as we celebrate the birthday of U.S., with a tip of the hat to Dr. Suess' Butter Battle Book, where the ...
She threw up her arms in disgust
He said that she might want to stick to finger food
This short, funny poem is a good case study into how my twisted mind works. First, I am not often put off by gruesome whimsy. Whimsy typically wins. Smiles trump frowns. Groans are not necessarily to be avoided.
This poem was spurred by witnessing someone putting her arms in the air with mild frustration. My dramatic flair and habitual scanning for multiple meanings did the rest. Throwing up is, of coarse, a classical crowd pleaser in elementary humor. Following the inescapable logic of throwing up one’s arms led to the sensible call for moderation, thus the suggestion of sticking to finger foods. If in this small digest, you don’t find justification for such a poem, please remember that it wasn’t me who bit off more than they could chew…
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COMEDIAN JESUS: Pax Romana — You’re Killing Me! This Comedian Jesus political cartoon highlights the shallow liberalism and false choices of Pax Romana, the metaphorical stand-in for Pax Americana, peace through so-called ...
POEM: Stage Coach Stage Coach
One day
I lost my script
And was taken back
Only to have scene
The other actors
Guise
Now
In the audience
Having won
More stage
Contracted
This is a ...
Direction Headed If Do Not Change Direction End Up Where Headed--PEACE QUOTE BUTTON
If Do Not Change Direction End Up Where Headed--PEACE QUOTE BUTTON
This cool design is linked to a button, ...
POEM: Relationship Advice My advice
Treat her like the goddess she is
Engenders an inevitable response
What about this and that
I say
"Treat her like the goddess she is"
NOT
"Treat her like the ...
POEM: Just Desserts I had a dream
Where we lived
In a world
Where everyone got
What they deserved
I woke up
And was pleased
To recollect
We receive
More than we deserve
This short poem is ...
He cried out “I would climb the highest mountain for you!” She said “How about doing your fair share of housework?”
This short poem goes out to all the ladies in the house. I am a big fan of epic love. I salute grand romantic gestures. There is an all-to-vacant spot in our universe for such sumptuous stunts for ailing hearts. On the other hand, the foundation of love, and all grand acts, is sharing our day-to-day lives. This includes such mundane tasks at housework. To be a helpmate to one another is very sexy. So step it up fellas. Climb that mountain of laundry. Scale that mountain of chores. Otherwise, she may just clean house all by herself…
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POEM: Pirate Queen Wile the sands of time
Make some wail and blubber
In the aye of the storm
You could sea it
In the wides of her eyes
Shown as bright as a thousand stars
Her pupils
As deep ...
POEM: Human Beans In A Chili World What's too like
To be
Human beans
In a chili world
Offering ourselves
As nourishing fare
In the face of
Ingrate full consumers
Somehow besting
Our pre-sumptuous ...
POEM: A Lousy Take on Lao-Tse A Lousy Take on Lao-Tse (Tao Te Ching 38)
When Tao is lost
There is virtue
When virtue is lost
There is morality
When morality is lost
There is propriety
Yet oddly
Even ...
POEM: Curt-sy He was packing
Enough courtesy
In a singular hi
More sow
Than a jillion marketers
Shooting their wad of scripts
Most people seem to be in a hurry most of the time. This ...
POEM: Life is a 45 Record Life is a 45 record
Most of us are playing it as a 78
Or perhaps we are being played
Few are old enough to get this
Even fewer are wise enough
Most of us lived life ...
POEM: Shame Old Story A little bit
Of shame
Goes along
Weigh
Too much
With blinders
Knot visible
In a sense
Lost
To over looking
As awe full as life is
This poem is about the overabundance ...
Ouch! That guy should come with a warning label She said after Having had A piece of cautionary tail
You can divide life’s lessons into two basic categories: 1) that which deserves emulating, and 2) that which warrants avoidance. This short, funny poem highlights the latter of life’s lessons, the proverbial cautionary tale. Fortunately, one of the redeeming qualities of life is that we can learn from both positive and negative experiences. Of course, the content of this poem treads on the precarious territory of relationships and the ever-looming potential of the battle of the sexes. Lust and romantic possibilities are often more than enough to pass by potential warning signs in dating relationships. I am a big fan of throwing oneself fully into human relationships. This seems consonant with living life fully. Nonetheless, woo can turn to whoa very fast, often skidding deep into woe. The reality is often that the best way to know where a line exists is by crossing it. There is much in life that is unknown. Spending too much time mapping out every sign and landmark may prevent one from living an actual life. Hopefully, we can offer one another enough room and grace to make mistakes as we careen joyfully through life’s messiness. In fact, such lives deserve emulating…
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POEM: Incompetent Evil I don't care much for evil
I don't care much for incompetence
Though when present together
Incompetence becomes a blessing
As in math, sometimes in morality, multiplying two ...
ANTI-VIOLENCE POEM: Sisyphean Tax He was steeped in the slippery slope of violence
An idol escalator
Heedlessly powered by gravity and gravitas
A climb it denier
Of the worst breed
Not giving won ascent
A ...
POEM: I am The other day I got kicked out
Of an atheist's club
Told in no uncertain terms
There is science
And no other!
And I am left
To wonder
Wow, where did that come from?!
I was ...
POLITICAL POEM: Trump U Verses Screw U O pose
The establishment
Of his style
Outside is in
Down with up
As drive in reveres
"I love sow and sow more than anyone"
And awe
That is
Con men
Selling Brooklyn ...
POLITICAL POEM — Donald Trump: Know Laughing Madder Donald Trump
Is beyond doubt
Know laughing madder
Failing incalculable spells of misogyny
Portending to have awe ready one his election handily
Too the victor goes the ...
POEM: Until The Banks Overflow In awe of creation
I am
Not alone
There is just us
Like an ever flowing stream
Until the banks overflow
Into unquenchable cache
And from the breast
Of life
Sucking
I am ...
In my write mind I am on a roll Plain and simple And there is nothing butter On that!
I haven’t published a poem in a while. This is because this week the muse has had other plans for me. I found myself working on an epic poem. I soon realized that the nearly infinite reservoir of material and possibilities destine this poem to be of epic proportions. In the midst of the rising poetic genius, the above short poem emerged. This is a poet’s poem about being in the zone. Of course, the metaphors can be extended to any of life’s moments of peek experience into its awesomeness. May you find yourself on a roll soon…
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POEM: For Awe That Has Been Urned In her dreams
She is wanting
To be moved
By more than
Slumber too slumber
Mirrorly to a wake
Daze unending
With that annoying buzz
Thirst thing in the mourning
The pique ...
POEM: Ad Dulled State Ad Dulled State
Well come
To this ad dulled state
What will it take
To see the light
Tell a vision
Divining every yen
Razing the whys
Jacking up
All that meters
Taxi'ing ...
POEM: Surfing The Heat Wave Surfing The Heat Wave
While surfing the heat wave
I peer into my horror scope
Is life a beach?
What is there to sea?
The age of Aquarius in retrograde
Mercury rising
Is ...
The Poor Have Suffered Enough The Poor Have Suffered Enough-POLITICAL BUTTON
The Poor Have Suffered Enough-POLITICAL BUTTON
This cool design is linked to a button, but other great Top Pun products like ...
POEM: State of the Union – Barack Obama The State of the Union
In come in equality
Barack Hussein Obama
Raising a question
Of will he deliver
His second state
Of the union
Different than the first
Shot from ...
Despite the high cost of employment It is still quite popular
This short poem is a takeoff or elaboration of Will Rogers’ infamous statement: Despite the high cost of living, it’s still quite popular. As wage slavery continues largely unabated, many are confronting the seemingly wild proposition of whether it’s worth being employed! Surely, millions of Americans in two-income households have concluded that it just isn’t worth it for the second person to work. By cutting childcare, transportation and other cash costs, as well as cutting the emotional costs of unsatisfying work, many people have experienced enhanced quality of life. The trends to increasing self-employment, contract work, or voluntary part-time will likely receive a boost with Obamacare offering more access to health care that is not dependent on large employers. Similarly, small business entrepreneurship will likely accelerate.
Personally, I have found that being dangerously underemployed is quite wonderful! I have grown to appreciate the value of time over money, and the profound freedom to pursue my passions, most of which are not particularly monetizable. My need to monetize is governed by the organizing principle of: for every dollar I don’t spend is a dollar I don’t have to earn. I regularly ponder the possibilities of “hiring myself” to do tasks that I would otherwise pay cash for, and often get satisfaction in a variety of such tasks. Cooking is a good example of this, where I can eat more cheaply and more nutritiously by preparing my own foods.
As workplace dissatisfaction is endemic, and employees commonly feel dehumanized, the push to finding fulfilling alternatives will likely continue. Hopefully, this can help transform work into a more meaningful enterprise for millions of people. May we all find joyful work and abundant re-creation.
POEM: The Right and Wrong End of a Gun I shot Bill
In the gut
He stood there
For a moment
Seeming like a lifetime
His blood flowing
Like
Well
Freely
Or
Might as
Well
Be
'N aRiA
Souled
A Bill of ...
POEM: Divine Picking A Friend’s Knows Buy God
They had
Catalogued
Immeasurable weighs
Too knot believe
Wholly haunted
Bye sum divine coupling
Or just won more
Each picking
Their favorite ...
POEM: Own Worst Enemy One day I realized that I am my own worst enemy
And as it turns out, I am a formidable foe
Self-awareness seems to key to one's own progress. This short poem offers a ...
POEM: Unoriginal Sin Thirst thing in the mourning
Adam collided with Adam
Agin and agin
As taken aback
As it was a hit
Necessitating an equal
Yet opposite reaction
Recoiling for time in ...
POEM: Destiny Mending Weave had to live
In the shadow
Of our looming
Self-destruction
It's time
To take
A strand
Enough
All ready
As we hit the concrete
Beyond erudite
Threads on ...
She said Your poetry seems like a lot of work I said It’s less wordsmithing And more wordjonesing Or sew it would seam
There is little doubt that reading my poetry takes some work. It is commonplace in my poetry to have multiple meanings (puns), multiple parallel narratives, quickly shifting mixed metaphors, and erudite references, whether scholarly or from obscure pop culture. This often makes for a highly alliterate reed, demanding enough flexibility to bend with the shifting winds of meaning, and seeing passed the tides of meanness.
In this poem, the launching point is from the reader’s perspective, implying that it is both difficult to read and difficult to write, or “wordsmith.” While the former may be obvious, this poem shifts the focus from mere difficulty of work to the underlying passion fueling such effort, “word jonesing.” At its best, in writing poetry there is an irresistible pull from the allusive muse. Sometimes I even experience the poem writing itself, from whence I dare not say! Thus, transforming the Smith and Jones of words into something transcendent. The concluding line, Or sew it would seam, references how this process results in a seamless body of work, where I typically hold out some healing message, even to be unfrayed in kneading knot keep up with the joneses.
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POEM: A Mega Something — Owed To Megabus We waited
Quiet
A long time
For what would be ours
For what would pass
As high noon
Breaking the news
As poor
As the bussed itself
Loitering in the company we keep
A ...
POEM: A Thoreau Reading — Owed To Awe That Sucks Some say
That he sucked
The marrow from life
And resin ate
Down to my bones
Blood brothers
In what is
Not a race
To judge knot
In won slice of life
Or as-certain fine ...
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 ...
POEM: Owed To Chet Chambers His exacting integrity
Was seeded only by generosity of heart
He loved
Awe of God's children
As well
As he kin
He planted seeds
That others would harvest
He worked side by ...
POEM: Fearmongers Fearmongers
Fear-mongers rein upon US
And weave so much dread
Of what dismay due
We simply back into
A dark future
Like bit players
In a bad horror film
Where more than ...
PROTEST POEM: Round The Public Square Theirs
Smoked filled plays
Behind closed doors
Where there is no room
In the halls of power
Fore the wrest of us
Relegated to copping democracy
Round the public ...
After my vision quest My shaman told me From now on My Indian name would be “Rhymes with orange” Only having never Seen an orange
This short poem can be viewed as one of my more whimsical poems, or perhaps not. The poem begins with an epic undertaking, that of a vision quest. A vision quest is an anthropological term used to denote “(especially among some North American Indians) the ritual seeking of personal communication with the spirit world through visions that are induced by fasting, prayer, and other measures during a time of isolation: typically undertaken by an adolescent male.” Whether the poem descends into the depth of absurdity or ascends into the mysterious heights of the spirit world depends on your perspective. My perspective positions itself on the thin line between the seemingly absurd and meaning itself. While my poems dance about this magnificently thin line, I quite consistently fall on the side of meaning. The venture of poetry itself may be aptly characterized as trying to use words to bring about an experience of reality that is beyond words. The secret twist is in the Indian name chosen by the wise shaman, “Rhymes with orange.” This moniker would be recognized by most poets and most anyone schooled in rhyme. The commonplace meaning of this moniker is that there is no appropriate word to fill the shoes of such an attempted rhyme. Exactly! To drive the point home is the juxtaposition of the reality of “Only having never/Seen an orange. The point of whether this reality is that of the shaman or the vision quester is intentional left vague, because the answer is “yes.” Not only is there the elusive task of trying to find a rhyme for orange, but the poet, even using any existing universe of words (including “orange”), must select words that can never fully capture or exhaust the depth of the underlying reality one is expounding upon! To risk getting impossibly lost in the paradox, the poet expounds on that which either has not been fully seen or cannot be fully seen (or at least communicated). The poet’s job can never be finished. This results in some not bothering with such a Sisyphean task, confronting newly discovered absurdities endlessly. Others recognize the wide open field available for willing workers, mining the never-exhausted world of meaning. Your choice is your. My choice is mine.
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POEM: Succor Punch: Owed to Water Water is
Liquid liveliness
On the surface
So abundant
Yet its unique
Properties for gotten
Pre-sumptuously owin'
The establishment
Of hour get-up and go
Taken
For ...
POEM: Tasting God Tasting God
I almost tasted God
In what turned out
To be
A fine guacamole
A common mistake
Well worth repeating
I find eating guacamole a religious experience. As ...
POEM: Censorship The worst thing about censorship is
This short, one-line poem could be mistaken for half a poem. This poem may leave the reader wondering what I, the author, consider to be ...
POEM: Mere Image I look in the mirror
At a real piece of work
And I thank God
That genius recognizes genius
Sharing more than mere image
I am more than the sum of the images that you can ...
POEM: Our Weekend Away On our weekend away
I heard many rumors
Of magnificent scenery
And stunning views
And yet
I found myself
Effortlessly resisting
Any temptation
To take my eyes
Off of ...
POEM: A Life Virtual, oh so… There was twitter Jen
Facebook Jen
Work Jen
School Jen
Family Jen
Amongst others
Never at risk
That they would hookup
Or unplug
In some formidable Jen convention
Or at ...
When a ship is sinking It may be wiser to follow the rats Rather than the humans That is, if you can tell the difference
This Titanic poem juxtaposes the zeniths and abysses of humans, created only a little less than angels, and rats, a generally unappreciated part of the human experience. This poem sets up a contrast of the ingenuousness of Western civilization and the oft underappreciated wisdom in nature. Amidst the myriad of human-created crises, looking to nature for wisdom can cut through a lot of foolishness. Rats are less complicated creatures than humans, not as prone to confused and conflicted decision-making. This simplicity can be lifesaving in life threatening situations. Of course, when humans are at their lows they are less reliable guides for behavior than rats and exceedingly more dangerous. Calling a human a rat is considered derogatory, but in some situations rats exceed human performance. Maybe we should cut rats some slack. Similarly, in our foolish scurryings about, perhaps we should refrain from the term “rat race,” as this also may be unfair to rats.
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ACTIVIST POEM: With Eyes Fixed — Owed To Shannon Frye She was tired
Enough
Fore sentries of human bondage
Still
Those precious wons
With eyes fixed
On the prize
Forever remanding us
Stay qualm
And carry on
This poem was ...
Summer Solstice Poem: A Day of Longing No More The longest day of the year
And nothing too due
He was well
Grounded
Sent to his roam
Bye know won
On the level
Of ants
Who never say "uncle"
With blades broken
Beaten ...
POEM: The Human Race Is Not Well Done The human race
Is
Not
Well
Done
I like the short poem because in seven words in five lines it can be read several different ways. The human race can be seen both as a ...
POEM: Plodding Vivacious Nature While I was busy
Doing my busyness
Over taking
My competition
Nature was successively
Undertaking my previous busyness done
Supplanting my decomposing legacy
With crop ...
If you put a hundred monkeys with typewriters in a room Would there be any way to tell That it wasn’t the Fox News copy room?
This short poem is a parody of both the infinite monkey theorem and Fox News.
“The infinite monkey theorem states that a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter keyboard for an infinite amount of time will almost surely type a given text, such as the complete works of William Shakespeare.In this context, “almost surely” is a mathematical term with a precise meaning, and the “monkey” is not an actual monkey, but a metaphor for an abstract device that produces an endless random sequence of letters and symbols. The relevance of the theorem is questionable—the probability of a monkey exactly typing a complete work such as Shakespeare’s Hamlet is so tiny that the chance of it occurring during a period of time even a hundred thousand orders of magnitude longer than the age of the universe is extremely low (but not zero).”
So, if you watch Fox News long enough you should see the complete works of William Shakespeare! And they said Fox News viewers have a short attention span — and no taste! Unfortunately, Fox News is not random. In this case, randomness would be a blessing. If only Fox News were merely a troop of chattering monkeys! But alas, Faux News has a distaste for fair and balanced news, bringing a distinct point of view or perspective that twists the truth to its own ends. Their outrageous claims pawned off as news leaves many a reasonable person red-faced as Fox News quixotically swings about their moulin rouge derrieres like careless baboons.
While the infinite monkey theorem is a uselessly clever construction, much like Fox News, I find its allusion to evolution a hilarious fortuity. Partly because Fox News clings to a nominal conservative Christian doctrinaire which disdains evolution. Partly because Fox News may, in fact, be the best contemporary evidence that evolution does not exist! May the Fox News copy room never be copied, and may this unbecoming mutation disappear without progeny.
POEM: If I Were King If I were king of the world
My first official act
Would be to resign as king
It is a common fantasy to be a powerful ruler so that you could enact your will over others. ...
POLITICAL CARTOON: Comedian Jesus – Tough Crowd Comedian Jesus Speaks!
Well, this week marks a difficult week for comedian Jesus. As is the case with many standup guys, one day they get adulating crowds, then the next day ...
POEM: A Star To Be Borne — People Knot Looking Up In dozin's of dozin's
They were engrossed
Fueled time and time agin
In con founding sow a ware
Their tension helled by their idol busyness
In pitches black to looming ...
POEM: Chains of Command A juggernaut of freedom
He proudly served
As the weakest link
In the chain of command
And above
Awe
Due no harm
This poem juxtaposes the contrasting notions of freedom ...
POEM: Eat Your Heart Out, Skepticism Eat Your Heart Out, Skepticism
Jaden's skepticism
Was like a cannibalism
That learned to crave
The taste
Of it's own flesh and blood
And could settle for nothing
Less
Then ...
I once met a man of letters Though you might not have recognized it Probably because he specialized in F
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POEM: God Gets a Bad Wrap God gets a bad wrap
As do men
Gloom
Over
Rite and wrong
Babies borne of bathwater
Throne buy themselves
Like clay
Giving rise
To the pitter potter of little feats
And ...
POEM: The Next Best President Victory lies
In the wanton
To be a sitting president
Existentially unable to take a stand
As a wizard behind the bully pulpit
Meaning only
Curtains for US
A ...
POLITICAL POEM: The Whole Damn Nation Oh no
No no
A nation divided
And so so partial to the whirled
As who elect
Who to rule
Over US
The select select
Culled before we can even vote
In the worst OKs ...
MLK Day Poem I have attended Toledo's Martin Luther King, Jr. Day Unity celebration for many years. Today, I decided to pass on this year's "show" (yes, the organizers used the term "show" ...
POEM: Gimps of Heaven To the skies lifted
The lairs of heaven unfold
In speechless beauty
That would deify description
My eyes and hands
Razed freely
Embracing awe
That heaven was packing
In ...
This poem is autobiographical, reflecting on my persistent inability to be serious while simultaneously and chronically dealing with serious issues. While my joking may be self-deprecatory, I specialize in deflating and parodying the powerful, dangerously powerful, if that’s not redundant. For me, the lightness that characterizes the best of life comes face to face with the all-to-often brutality and injustice that intersects, often vivisects, our lives. This laughing in efface of death is my most treasured place to be, in the role of jester, for which I am willing to die, that is, die laughing.
ProMedica, if you want to combat hunger, pay all of your employees a living wage. ProMedica, if you want to fulfill your mission and redeem your non-prophet status, devote 0.01% of your revenue toward advocating for universal health care, everybody in, nobody out. Until then, you can bye this poet all you want.
