POEM: Book Ends

Life has boundaries. May we respect those boundaries…

Book Ends

We live
Fore the time being
In a whirled
Sow illiterate
That disrespects
The bookends of life
The sacred nest
Of awe human life
And the reverence
Of Mother Earth
Soully making degrade
In the mettle
We choir for generations
And regenerations
Wee must depose the gauntlet throne
Parading their disdain
Too end life
As we no it
In a vane tempt
To buy pass realty
And billions of other subjects
We must read the future
And the passed
To a sure good
In awe
Of the book of life

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POEM: Is It Passable?

Sow trying to live a choice life…

Is It Passable?

Is it passable
Won’s hole
Life spent
Caught in the balance
Between overwhelmed
And underwhelmed
Everything screaming buy
Nothing left
Yet still
Presence
Joys sprinkled
Long the wayside
For you
Just wading
Waste hi
Is it passable?

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POEM: Meet Up

Worth the admission prize…

Meet Up

I must admit
When God and I meet up
I keep minutes
Though in awe
Honest
Seams amor
Like ours
Somewhere between
Novel
Punch line
Or just teas
Weather God’s plays
Or my plays
Awe ways a hoot
And no madder when
Fore ever
Hows of worship
For awe people

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POEM: That Vast Nest of Inner Space

There is a cosmos inside of us, just as import to the cosmos around us…

That Vast Nest of Inner Space

Let me
Way in
On this microcosmic scale
That vast nest of inner space
As more sow
A dream catcher
Then some type
Of a computer
Peering awe
The more sow
As a journey of passions
Taking up
Interest teller travel
Wear the goaled standard
Is amor
As light years
Than hard years
Soully finding ourselves
In mysterious plays
That in is capable
Of saving our assesses
Braking through new frontiers
While re-moving
That circumspeck from my I
Begging the quest in
Can you go the distance
Wile not
Leaving
Won’s skull
On imaginable adventures
Of storied epic odd sees
And awe that
The longest longing
There is
To one’s heart

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POEM: Good Reeds

Resistance is natural. Resilience is integral to nature…

Good Reeds

Are you up
For a good reed
Beyond getting bent
In during the furious
Winds of change
And with standing
Holding fast
To won’s nature
Grounded
Rooted
It’s knot a madder
Of weather
Blow hards everywhere
As marsh awe forces
Abide even
The swampiest swamps
And hurricanes
Like a breeze

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POEM: Fossil Fools

This poem goes out to the COP30 climate conference from the mouth of the Amazon about won passable future…

Fossil Fools

Deep in the future
The alien archeologists landed
Long after the human raze
Was extincting to hi heaven
What did they unearth
A well populated mummy earth
And wile sum remains
Were but dust
The masses were fooly preserved
Fossils
And still
They were Abel
Too learn much more
A bout humans
From their carrion luggage
As snuffed from stuff

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POEMS: God Rains on The Just and The Unjust

This poem is about hubris, specifically that dividing lyin’ between our powerful tendency to favor our own interests, subjective or not, over others who are often reduced to means toward ends, without equal favor. I find the axiom that God rains on the just and the unjust as the ground for my sacred appreciation of what I consider the holy grail of Jesus’ teaching: love your enemies. As a mirror human soully made in God’s image, I find that I need a lot of help living up to this…

God Rains on The Just and The Unjust

Right as rain
Assured of it
That dividing lyin’
Between hymn self
And awe others
For ever object-ing
Possessed with his own
Point of you
And his titanic share of the reign
In a cold, cold see
And fantasies of being grounded
Never subject
Too God’s rein
And the parent possibility
Of being
Washed up
And up agin
Settling for just muddling
Beyond avail
Soully doubling down
On this double blind
Weather effacing tear drops
Or unfathomable joy
Know won gets
A way clean
As some manor of umbrella
Under heaven’s care
Soully re-nude
To the whirled
And the grate unwashed

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POEM: Undergound Man

Much of the life of a plant goes on unseen under ground in the root system. I suspect that most of the good work in humanity happens largely out of sight…

Undergound Man

Won might not see me
As I am
In this whirled
Blow the surface
Down at the plant
Awe of the time
Being grounded
Rooting
In liquid life
Connected to above
And though in the dark
Made of light
Till
Under ground, man

NOTE: This poem’s title, “Undergound Man” is a bit of a riff off of one of the most iconic existentialist characters from the writer, Fyodor Dostoevsky. This poem is an alternative to the alienation and shame amidst ironic egoic superiority that typifies existentialist narratives.

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POEM: Life and Death Import

I find that the urgent and not sow important often overtake and undertake the less urgent and amor important…

Life and Death Import

His sway was won of
Much urgency and little importance
A bit vane
Having
That inclination down
As being posed to
Much importance and little urgency
The things that never get
Realized
Even sow
Life weights
Fore him
Welcoming him in
Those many lessens
That may vary well
Lead him to amor
Vital presents
And out due
Going won better
Awe that life has
To offer
Of life and death import

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POEM: Beauty Skulks

Beauty Skulks

Beauty skulks a bout
Content to live on the fringe
Beyond the frayed
Gently weaving our story
In the margins
Not lured buy the bait and switch
Of the spot light
Rather bathed in that savory light
Illuminating awe that is homme
Inundated by the common scents
Of the streets
Leapfrogging that in trance
Of the fragrants
Abiding the seats of power
And voiding
That too effaced ruse
With back to beauty
We live in plays
Without fences robbing us
Our soul boarder
Cultivating hope
Growing peace
And harvesting just us

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POEM: Desperation Not Suiting

The opposite of faith is not doubt, it is desperation…

Desperation Not Suiting

Weave awe confronted
Hopelessness looming
When hour best is dammed fear
A posit of faith
Mortifyingly making degrade
My basis uncovered
As sensitive embody ensoul
As lonely craven
And sow wanton
Hear I AM
In jeopardy
Categorically for a gazillion
What is God’s udder goodness?
Down right effacing
Libel to God’s will
Holy unguarded
The naked truth
That desperation
Doesn’t suit me
Well
At awe
Overflowing
As amor
Then weather
Frayed of life or death
Awe a bout
Willingness
To be
Cared through
What might
Follow

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POEM: The Shape of Water

This poem is a meditation on life being a fluid situation…

The Shape of Water

It was a fluid situation
Matched soully bye
That mettle
Ground
Staring at his naval
He was blind at see
Taking on water
Flailing a bout
Every scene without
An act
Making nothing of awe
Down for no account
Soully to find
Know madder what
He was
Out of shape
And fore what?
That moment of surrender
The wrest at sea
Aft loosen it
Only then
Real eyes
That third act
Caring us with the wins
The shape of water
And common ground
Oh what would give
To take
It with you
Getting wind of won self
And holy grounded

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POEM: Amoral Architecture

Yesterday, a group of eight Toledoans met with the staff of Ohio Senator Jon Husted. This visit was a follow-up from a visit last month where we presented several specific questions to be answered in this visit. There were no answers — not even whether we would or could get answers at some possibly defined time. Part of our quest was to ascertain if and what hard boundaries the senator might have on some of the key issues of the day, e.g., genocide, sex trafficking of minors, deporting our neighbors without due process. None identified. The sense of the group was that we are beating our heads bloody against a wall, of, at best, impotent staff, and a presumably intransigent senator nowhere to be found. We will persist, though eventually these monthly meetings will likely end up with a protest outside the senator’s Toledo office — where the staff can meet us at our office. This poem is my first shot across the bow.

Amoral Architecture

Infrastructure weak
Infrastructure weak
Infrastructure weak
The infrastructure bill
Is due
Unimaginably passed due
Our moral architecture
What remains
Of what is right
And left standing
In a no standing zone
Soully whispers
Herd in dark coroners
Of our body politic
Ever lusting echoes
In eternal silence
Of those who didn’t make it
And those who did make it
Fallowing, the sociopaths
Well trod on US
Even sow, we question the same
No answer
Know answer
Passing the buck
To the poor
The good news on the cheap
Wile corporate prophets
And corrupt politicos
Say buy buy to public goods
And dearly departing common cents
To be discontinued
Buy the way
The human raze
They lamely posture
What are we, maid of money?
Taken, the goaled
As neighbors made strangers
With coppers
The faceless and nameless
And what is the lessen?
There is no mettle, class
Soully taut propaganda
Chaos and corruption
Or better yet, just incompetence
Mean wile
The rich get richered
And the poor get dick
Always going back on
Word
Their final solution
Taking leave of US
And never budge it
As moral document
Without papers
Taking out verbal contracts
On us
Not worth the paper printed on

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POEM: Monkey Kings

This poem employs an image the pops into my mind concerning our body politic, that is, poop throwing monkeys…

Monkey Kings

Proud to a fault
As they whir
Citizens
Of sorts abiding
In a banana republic
Run by poop throne monkeys
A hit!
They were fans of it
The warm comfort of familiar feces
Of what they were
Very culpable
Due
Whatever
They want
And if things go south
Go wiled
Fore they have
The ultimate gag
Their klan destined banana
Amor perfect union
With broad
A peel
Courting disaster
Butt given the slip
Awe too often
Falling for it
Obeying
Unlawful gravity
Creating won cries after an other
Making other monkeys uncle
As the poop flies
Gathering
These somewhat united states
Of riot and wrong
Disheveling it
With just their over head pleas
What’s dung is dung
Be for the awe might he
The king wading fore his foot stool
Never peering
To be pooped out
And the subjects
Of daze gone buy
Shrug it off
As best they can
Clinging too
In every weigh
At least
They do do something

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POEM: No Thy Ideology

I suspect that we are moving into a “black pill” era in America, where deep alienation, learned helplessness, and nihilism corrodes much of ideology of any sort and left-right divides provide less and less explanatory power in our body politic. Perhaps the new slogan will simply become “politics madders.”

No Thy Ideology

He didn’t really care
To shop for an ideology
But what he did no
Was that he only wanted
Won with fringe on it
Afar right will do

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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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