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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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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