POEM: Stiffed by Jello™ — Owed to Dem Boners

The surest abet is congressional Democrats caving…

Stiffed by Jello™ — Owed to Dem Boners

They went back
To what was
Their grate-est
A word
The fallowing mourning
To the feeled of battle
Soully too learn
Their most ghastly lessen
Of what remains
A fooly formed spine
Maid of Jello™
Their most terrible aspic
The squishiest revenge passable
As be trayed
By a silver platter
Served cold
Falling flat
On their efface
What was left of it
Plausibly beyond saving
Having drunk
The Kool-Aid™
That red tide
The closest thing to blood
Coarsing through their vanes
They blue it
And bye partisan
Both pissed and depressed
Out stripping red and blue
On back ground
In their tidy whities
Sow what’s in it for Dem
Nothing
The prize of being scared
Shitless
And miraculously still
Full of it
How
Lo
Can you
Go!

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POEM: Democratic Liter Ship

I wrote this poem quite awhile ago, fully expecting that congressional Democrats would cave in as is traditional. The Senate Democrats have caved after shutting down the government for 39 days; and what did they win? Opening the government they shut down. This is eerily Trumpian: solving the crisis you created and getting nothing but a big dose of chaos and hurt. In this case, a bipartisan disaster. Booo!

Democratic Liter Ship

Sow trying
To place
Owed whine
In new whines kin
The botty politic bursting
In couraging
Puddles at their feat
All for sail

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POEM: Dealt God’s Hand – Owed to Matthew 6:25-34 [Do not worry]

Do not worry — look more closely…

Dealt God’s Hand – Owed to Matthew 6:25-34 [Do not worry]

Toward the end
As my life plays
Out
I might have been
Strung long
As some dare quest in
Sew what
Thread bear
Weep knot
As should upon
Bye life
You find me
In a pile of crap
Seamingly impenetrable
Keep
Looking
For the adamantine soul
With butt the finger
Prints of my life
Pointed words pointing
A mist
To know a veil
Riding forever
A tsunami of love
Fearlessly serfing
In cryptic happiness
Awe ways in trouble
Not worrying
What?!
I ware?!
In the hands of
The Great Clotheser
Taking care
Of tomorrow
A prayer daily bred
Never offering stone
An open heart broken
Tendering perpetual communion

NOTE: The last lines include an allusion to Matthew 7:9,11 — “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!”

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POEM: Fare Share

Life isn’t fair — it’s excellent. Please feel free to share…

Fare Share

Are you happy
With your share
There is fair
And there is fare
Then something amor
It is a quest in
Of heavenly perspectives
And pauper attitudes
Passing on gifts
Or merely getting even
Fore what you due
Paying it forward
Or just getting back
Quiet a few keep their eye on the prize
Wile others keep their I on the price
Sum contend
That getting gives them what
They need
As others a vow
That giving gets them
What is called forth
Giving freely
Receiving freely
Answers will come
As presence experienced
Or steeling a tension
Surrounded buy right and wrong
Or holy encircled
Are you happy
With your share

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POEM: Sea Change

Are you the king (or queen) of your own life? If not, who or what has veto power? This poem is a meditation on being the change you want to see in the world…

Sea Change

What was he posed to be?
He was in stalled
Still, after awe
King
Of his own
Life
The ruler of know other
And the realm of one
His own
Edict
Just, how far
Should he tax himself
To be the change
He wants to sea
In the whirled
Up side down
Incite out
A wresting
Oar halting soul!
The out side in
Just
As owning won’s see
Change

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POEM: Laugh, Lord

Holy self-deprecating…

Laugh, Lord

I was looking
At God
Straight in the face
Soully able to say
You made me
Laugh, Lord

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POEM: Homeless, Man

Prophetic words can came from unexpected places…

Homeless, Man

He sat on a concrete couch
Overlooking an asphalt river
Its banks colonized
With big boxes of all sorts
And this specific mourning
Passers rush bye
Caught up in nothing
Resembling a tension
As he announces
Rather madder-of-factly
“We live in a grand manor of fools”
And a busyness man
A regular
Is off to the razes
You could see in his efface
Warn of daze gone buy
As wince again
Calling attention to no won in particular
“We live in a grand manor of fools”
“You’re dozin’, dozin’, man”
In grossed in other whys
As they scurry long
What is herd
Won more time
“Are you a manor mouse?”
Yet no one new anything other
Accept per chance
What someone needs
A resting, man
Beyond pedestrian
As rows of cars
Line up long
That asphalt river
Neatly cued
Between the banks
Never quite noticing
The big hows

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POEM: Little Guise

This poem goes out to the little guys, and gals, and “them”…

Little Guise

A tension
Wee the people
Too big to fail
Will fail
And the heir in this will
Oligarchs
A bout bailed out
By US
Wile they
Buy up all of our asses
For common cents on the dollar
Epic disaster capitalism for sum
Gruel-ingly thin for the wrest of US
A fig leaf for the little guise
As near buy
The naked truth

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POEM: Good God Immigration

Radical hospitality for immigrants, refugees, and neighbors of all kinds is the 80-ton elephant in the Christian branding of Republican party — and that elephant has forgot something…

Good God Immigration

“The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt.” – Leviticus 19:34

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” – Mark 12:31

They sow coveted
To be Christian
In their idol nationalism
And wanton grave in image
They tried to stop
God at the border
But whoa unto them
They couldn’t keep God
Out!
Their last grasp
And soul hope
Turned out
As an inhospitable lessen
As God welcomes
Awe of God’s children

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POEM: Saddle Light First — Owed to Genocide in Sudan

This poem is based on a striking new pinnacle of inhumanity, the first dead bodies and bloody ground seen from satellite — a grave convergence of the indifference of technology and humans.

Saddle Light First — Owed to Genocide in Sudan

As a first in humanity, satellite imagery from space documented dead bodies, strewn across the Darfur region of Sudan, on background of a palette of blood, known as “true red” in the biz.

Don’t look up
Things looking down
From the cold and dark
Of heaven’s above
In deathly obit
Of plan, it be
In continents dark
As if God shit
Whole countries
From that eye in the sky
Picture dump
With Sudan ease
That bloody stool
Of the thrown of God
In humanity looking down
Onto pallets of blood lyin’
Captured in a halo of true red
Halving herd
That fateful lessen
In dark night skies
Saddle light first
And you can’t tell
The deference of humanity
From our highest tech

For the full story: https://abcnews.go.com/International/blood-visible-space-sudan-shows-evidence-darfur-genocide/story?id=126985544

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POEM: My Life Projected

This poem is a reflection on my calling to simple living, in what I sometimes call semi-voluntary, semi-poverty. I find the trappings much less entrapping than what passes for normal…

My Life Projected

Some may take
A mirror glimpse
Of that project
What peers
As my lamentable life
Knot sow interested
In what I no
As sum maybe
A tract
To those with
Better fallowings
And well-heeled manor of being
Yet there I AM
Focused beyond my horizons
A soul simplicity
And awe I can attest to
I have amor
Then a peasant life
More than enough
Of whatever
It is called

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POEM: Gaping Whole

I see nonviolence as a lifelong, life-longing invitation to do better. We can awe ways do better. Of coarse, active nonviolence is risky because the whirled is replete with violence of all sorts: for personal or tribal material gain, for status and “honor,” to feel powerful and void helplessness and vulnerability, sheer sadism, and that ever-fashionable “necessary evil.” I hope soully to stand agape in love…

Gaping Whole

He took
His best
Shot
And still
I stood
With a gaping whole
In the center of my being
Soully Abel to say
You can do better
Then that

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POEM: My Asthma

Sometimes, it seems that I am a little too connected to the world…

My Asthma

Just
The other day
To God I in choir
Singing my wheezy song
Why did you give me asthma?
She hummed long
Something concerning
My being one
With the lungs of the earth
The Amazon rainforest
And apprehending we is
At uncertain times
Unable to breathe
In the weight of no heirs about us
I was fully inspired
In what was ardor and ardor
As to bring to heeling of the whirled
Wading to exhale
Keeping our eyes on that expiration date
Co-mending soully
Go
And due
Like wise

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POEM: Reality Claps

This poem goes out to awe of those fascinated by both, Zen and quantum physics – plus those intrigued wannabes…

Reality Claps

What is the sound of one hand clapping?Zen koan

In the context of Schrödinger’s cat, “collapsing” refers to the process where the superposition of the cat being both alive and dead resolves into one definite state when observed. This concept highlights the measurement problem in quantum mechanics, questioning when and how quantum states transition to observable realities. This represents an event horizon between the objective, measurable probable reality, and the subjective, the other side, a singularity of possibility affecting awe in its presents.

Schrödinger’s cat is
In there box
Littered with this and that
Mysteriously both
Alive and dead
At the same time
Billed as a super position
Maintaining as cannot be
Helled together
By lesser mines
I object
Mirror litter
Clung to ether or
Cleaving neither nor
Weather or knot
A simple madder
Of what’s the matter?!
Energizing stuff!
Animating dis course or that
Collapsing into a definitive state
Coaled dead
Won or the other
Probably true
Possibly false
Con stricting up
Narrow wing down
As soar a bout
With modern fax
And ancient wisdom in memorial
Sow wanting
Being factual
Being true
The ruler of men
As measure meant problem
Won regarding halving stuff
The other subject to a singular soul
A ledge id farced
Only to be
All for naught
Who does that!!
Limit axing
Just taken
Aside
In two the would shed
Given one side rules awe
Both
And
Peer and peerless
Observe that!

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POEM: Wear Are You?

This poem is a tip of the hat to all of the hats we wear. Will the real you stand up…

Wear Are You?

He war
Sow many masks
Armor and shields
As no thyself
Wolves in sheep’s clothing
Sheep in wolves’ clothing
Clothes mine
Clothes art
Wear are you?
Never the less
Bared deep within
Not able to live without
Naked truth
A child
Awe ready is
One with
There dreams

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POEM: Divided Precisely in Have

Patriarchy’s most exquisite evil is dividing the world precisely in half, creating a divide that runs through every family, community, and nation. It should come as no surprise that the best indicator for the well-being of a nation is the status of women. This poem is an owed to patriarchy, a cautionary tale…

Divided Precisely in Have

It was bad
O men
In have they wanted
Too divide humanity
As much as they kin
Strictly down
The mettle
Razing girls and women
Splitting families
Defiling communities
Weakening nations
And hobbling the planet
The quickest rout
And master plan
To bring a bout anything
Except just us

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POEM: Stenographer Pool

I love those days when poetry flows…

Stenography Pool

God kneads more
Peephole in
His stenographer pool
But what
Due I no?
Just calling
Hymn like
I see him

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NO KINGS Bike Ride — I AM ANTIFA, Be VERY Unafraid!

Here are a couple of pictures from my bike ride along the entire NO KINGS protest along miles of Monroe St. in Toledo. I distributed 100+ yellow signs as I greeted the joyful resisters in ANTIFA-land. I AM ANTIFA. I am Jean Valjean. I am Spartacus. I am Groot. I AM ANTIFA, and I am coming for all of you. I bring reasonable, evidence-based policies to secure the common good. Be unafraid; be VERY unafraid!

 

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POEM: Put in a Box

Violence First Refuge of IncompetentViolence is too hubris-ridden, full of juicy justifications, to not reliably rebound. Nonviolence in response to violence calls for great creativity and courage…

Put in a Box

We have bin
Tolled
Over and over agin
The soul thing
Force is the Weapon of the WeakUnder stand
That sum people
Is violence
And when you get
The chants
“Kill them”
And ask not for whom
“For us”
And know surprise
Violence the Repartee of the IlliterateWhen effaced with
Anon violence
Thinking outsized
The box

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POEM: Who Owns the Right

Who Owns the Right

They had
Made up
They’re own
That they were
Right
Aggrieved of whatever left
Snowflakes
In the winter of their discontent
Too educated
Fore their own
Good as radical terrorists
Hardened criminals
Or God verboten anti-fascists
And awe too gentle vegans
Who should eat their own
Word salads
Half the world of pussies
The other
Half listening
Too the richereds
Even tricky dicks as RINOs
Nixin’ compromising
No’ing the deference between
Riot and wronged
Hippies and drug to war
And whoever left
Fondly reckon slavery
As liberals literally owned
Buy as New Joisy mobs say corporate poi’sons
Putting make up
On pigs
In escapably roaming the streets
That public transportation to prisons
By masked amen
And nobodies fooled
Buy wannabe possessions
Exorcising there freedoms
That unthinkably
Come home too roost
In new mourns
Same as the owed
Cutting off the left
So the right will be left
Right?
In cryptic weighs
What remains
Gravely unsatisfied
With what there is
No prostheses for
That elusive hole
Of left and right
Owning us

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