POEM: Vegan?

Here is a funny poem about my aspirational veganism…

Vegan?

They asked the fated quest in
Why are you a vegan?
Well, as a recovering nutritional fascist
I try to be a hospitalitarian
Eating whatever someone offers me
Butt
The Buddhist in me calls out
Have compassion on all living beings
And yes
I literally ate a Buddhist
In a slip
In eating flesh
Not my proudest moment
And not being
Vary sentimental
A bout animals
I took a stand
A small concession
Without hotdogging
To not eat them
And now that I think of it
As a big fauna of Mother Earth
I’ve not herd
An animal say, “Eat me.”

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POEM: Nobodies Calling

We can be alone in a crowd. We can desperately want to be an “influencer.” We can get lost in the future or the passed. We can feel disconnected from a higher power. We “nobodies” should get together…

Nobodies Calling

They had
Wanted
Sow badly
To be somebody
They could knot
Here
The calling
As if
Nobodies there

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POEM: Antifa – Owed to Anti-Fascists

The Fascist-in-chief Donald Trump posted that he will designate Antifa as a “major terrorist organization,” despite the fact that Antifa is a movement, at best, simply signifying, “anti-fascism,” and lacks a distinct leader, membership list, or structure. Such farcical social media-ochre deserves Jedi-level parody…

Antifa – Owed to Anti-Fascists

There is a whirled
Called out
As antifa
In a galaxy
Fa fa fa away
The supreme leader
Bought avowal
In his awe cap
Pounding away
At his truthy post
Razing his ante
As if it were
Like anti-madder
To what matter
Weather be
Fascist or anti-fascist
What counsel might
Wee seek
Masters of the universe
Quiet pronounce
The farce is strong with this won
Assertin’ weigh of knot thinking
The threat
Anti
Fa fa fa away

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POEM: The Accost of Free Speech is Going, Up — Owed to Jimmy Kimmel

“Jimmy Kimmel Live” has been pulled off the air “indefinitely” by ABC. The offending material: Kimmel said during his opening monologue, “We hit some new lows over the weekend with the MAGA gang desperately trying to characterize this kid who murdered Charlie Kirk as anything other than one of them and doing everything they can to score political points from it.”

Parently, the paternalistic FTC reckons the monologue as a big log, enormously offending material…

The Accost of Free Speech is Going, Up — Owed to Jimmy Kimmel

The shit
Has hit
The fans
The accost of free speech
Is going
Up
In the taking down
Of any parody of powers
As the political wins blow
There is allot of pissing
Into it
Open
Too say
A mouthful
As congregants and confederates
A mass
As shit flies
And urine trouble

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POEM: Don’t Yuck Another’s Yum

As we awe have different tastes…

Don’t Yuck Another’s Yum

An imminently practical
Maxim yum of life
Is don’t yuck another’s yum
As savor from bad taste
Just keep it
Too yourself
Though time, and time, and time again
My yum yum yum
Brakes free
As a yuck yuck yuck

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POEM: Nothing Stranger, Then Enemy

I find the greatest and most practical challenge, as well as spiritual practice, is to love one’s enemies. I find this challenge as the most mine stretching, art enlarging, and soul in lightning discipline that I have undertaken. In practical terms, I see this as ever expanding circles of what we consider kin and neighbor, plus courageously confronting my “in groups” to include and welcome “out groups.” The practical effect of success in this madder is to live on the fringes of many groups with generous servings of creative tension. In some, I would offer as the art of life.

Nothing Stranger, Then Enemy

He outlined to me
His fatherly hierarchy
Which he in formed his kids
My wife is first
Then mom
Then kids
Then grandkids
Then neighbors
Then strangers
And sow on
As the balance do
So I asked the quest in
To give
The benefit of won’s doubt
And given
The right situation
Would you not die for any one of them?
Well…
Halving arrived
At that deep well
He uddered
His doubt
His honest take
And I in choir
Of the lord of awe life
Does knot God
In form His kids
Too love their enemies
As there is
Nothing stranger
Then enemies
What are we posed too due
Other
Then
Taking life literally
Or making our own
Weigh
In idol speculation
And leaving us
To hour worst
In stinks
And udder ruin
Leaving Dad
As numb-er won
As mouth agape
As agog
Fearing man

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POEM: Strengthen Weakness

There is an inescapable Yin and Yang in life. Our personal strengths and weaknesses are a powerful example of this…

Strengthen Weakness

It’s awe Greek to me
That beautiful
Symmetry
My greatest strength
Is my grate-est weakness
And vice verse
As my utter weakness
Is my udder strength
Schooling me in tuition
And pain dividends
Cultivating anew perspective
Connecting me to others
Weak to weak
Awe for won
And won fore awe
Sow moving
In mysterious weighs

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POEM: Comfortable

John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, decided early in life how much he needed to live on, and for the rest of his life gave away anything more than that. I see this as one of his most practical manifestations of living the gospel, the good news — simple living and radical generosity to the downtrodden. I admire this disciplined melding of heart and mind. I yearn to live in a world awash in such practice and witness to security beyond money.  Today, in America, we call financial security “comfort” and can never seem to get enough of it…

Comfortable

Rachel Chu: So your family is, like, rich?
Nick Young: We’re comfortable.
Rachel Chu: That is exactly what a super-rich person would say.
— from Crazy Rich Asians

I just
Wannabe
Comfortable
A certain under standing
Of riches
Helled buy most
Yet never enough

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POEM: Dis Illusioned

Getting rid of our illusions seems to be one of our most vital tasks, yet I have not yet met another person who welcomes becoming disillusioned…

Dis Illusioned

I’ve only ever herd
Disillusionment as
Sum thing
To be voided
As if
We were posed
To run the other
Direction
Dis illusion
Dat illusion
Is it awe
Just the same
Is it wrong to shed
Illusions and delusions
The accost of exorcising
Or idol escapes
Regardless weather
Wee under stand
Or holy unaware
The whirled is what
It is
Beyond belief
As it
That plays
A myth
Mine and unmined
A mist
What we can know
And not no
A missed
What we tend
Or don’t tend
That plays
Between what
We can
And cannot
Due
Between the lyin’s
In the art of life
Stuck in the mettle of
In a sense
And a guilted age
A mid good and evil
Totally taken
To the would shed
Soully to ponder
I wince reckoned
That disillusionment
Was a lame thing
To be warded off
Knot embraced
As I hung
On too having
Holy lost
As God ignore ant
Yet threw out my daze
Dis covering
And uncovering
That deep dive
In too
That succor punch
For the yoke is on us
So join me
Bellow
Awe hail
Disillusion meant

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POEM: Mirror Crack in the Wall

There are tectonic forces at work. Sometimes you just, have to wait for it…

Mirror Crack in the Wall

“There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
–Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

The whirled was frayed
That they had billed
A wall
Impenetrable
Or sow they in cyst
And wee the people
Were ghosted
We’re scarred
That we were
Too little
Too late
A mirror crack
In the wall
As udder bad luck
As we were
Just
Not enough
The soul decree
Came down from on high
Release
The crack in

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POEM: Pour Communication

I prefer to err on the side of too much information in a relationship. I would rather sort out too much information than too little…

Pour Communication

“Communication assures nothing.”

Communication
Sure’s nothing
Con fused with prose
Reserved for every occasion
The less
You say
The bettor
Off dread
Sharing two much
In a cryptic relationship
The right thing left
Unsaid
Non-communication
Sure is something
Though I don’t no
What?
Am I just
Getting too no you
How ever say
Be my guessed

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POEM: Sick Sense

There is more than one way to be dead, or mortified by dread, especially if you don’t see your own deadness, dreadness…

Sick Sense

“I see dead people.” — from the movie, Sixth Sense

She was diagnosed
As pre-morbid
Fixated on
The dread
Hanging
Around in the obit
Of dead people
She saw
What others
Did knot
Icy dead people
Who could Nazi
Their own
Dreadness

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POEM: Peek Blindness

Power and hubris live in the same hood…

Peek Blindness

He was at the peek
Of his power
Curtains
Blowing in the wind
Pain no tension
To that behind
Ass you were
Get wile
You can
Throne his hat
In the wring
Meting out every face off
Too no a veil
A top the whirled
He knew no peer
Just won of the guise
Soully fooling himself

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POEM: The Free Market

After being slapped up for a wile buy the “free market,” many realize that the “free” market is far from free, and closer to accostly…

The Free Market

Who has the means
Too afford
The free market
Wanting won’s sweat
Ignoring one’s tears
A reel education
Wanting
To higher brain
And lower heart
Dissembling
Awe that witch
Is economy for most
In loo of first class
For sum
The soul ruler
A loan subject
Awe the wile
Crediting
It as just
Common cents
The free market
Worth every penny

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POEM: Raggedy And

Raggedy And

Rumors had it
I was a bit
Theatrical
A bit ragged
Being subjected
Too sum type
Of puppet master
A mirror caricature of the creator
And if true
My edges frayed
Garb worn
God treats me
As raggedy and

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POEM: Stationery Mode

The reason I don’t get out that much…

Stationery Mode

I am
Holy still
Quiet petrified
That a singular movement
Would unleash a symphony
Of words
A cascade of ideas
A tsunami of visions
Beyond any thing
I ever metaphor
An avalanche of see’ds
In the ground of my being
Crystals forming
In some super solution
Of sweet
Of salty
Gems of mine
Mine!
Mine!
Digging it
Transporting me
Too far aweigh
Lands
Meting new hommes
I find myself
Word
To ether
Pen to paper
I am in
Stationery mode

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POEM: Amor Tell Life

Light heartedness in efface of death…

Amor Tell Life

He couldn’t keep
A straight efface
A terrible bluff
Amor tell life
Soully a butte
Assents of humor

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POEM: Bank on It

Between two thieves…

Bank on It

The thieves of daze gone buy
Brandish their blunt motive
For robbing banks
“Because that’s where the money is.”
Peaceable resisters of a Christian persuasion
Exemplify their venerable inspiration
For going to jail
“That’s where Jesus is.”

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POEM: Free Will

This poem is an origin story for mortality…

Free Will

In the prequel to life
That staging ground
Fore a lonely planet
There seamed to be
What peered to be
An endless lyin’ stretching
As wend round blind coroners
Ending with a singular booth
To be souled
Presented
With the ability to ax
A single question
In formed by a lone sign
“Free wills”
To witch every body
Answered “YES”
The grand commencement
Of a mortality play
And the berth
Of life mine

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POEM: First Not Lasting

If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together --African proverb

Playing the long game takes patience; and I sow long for patience…

First Not Lasting

“If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together” — African proverb

“…and the first will be last.” — Matthew 20:16b

First
He was fast
Not built to last
His life was lived on
His own
Due, due, due
He like do
In the mourning
Not even mist
At the end of the day

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