A poet once declared this method for deciding whether to keep a poem: does it improve on silence. Actually, this method could be applied to LOTS of things…
Improve Meant
He wanted
To improve
Up on silence
And still
He could not muster
Such a moving ambition
Even sow
In habiting
That sight
From whence awe commences
The vending machine of late-stage capitalism offers few satisfying choices…
The Vend is Near
His life was saved
Like coins in
Ajar
A compounding collection
Confounding selection
Of elegiac experiences
Rarely a meal
Eternally a snack
Full
Emptied
In a cacophony of change
Artists are sometimes cowed into spending most of their time on more “useful” things. May we live in days where making art is rewarded at least as much as flipping burgers…
Souled by the Pound – Owed to Flippin’ Burgers
An average practical man
Might in form
A poet
In a weigh
To step up
In won’s grill
And sizzle some flesh
Meting usefulness
Like some
Carrion baggage
In deferent
To holy alive flesh
And dear departed carcasses
Souled by the pound
Verbal profanities, words, are often simply a mirror reflection of genuine, real-world obscenities.
Dammed Obscenities
Words madder
Of coarse, it’s true
Butt sit with this
As you under stand
Power lessness
Makes all the deference
As you free that speech of your
Just
Wade
And see
That parent need for petty officers
As sum kind
Of civil wore
Or in the leased
A class war
And quiet telling
As the rich apprehend the poor
Expectorating pleasantry from the peasantry
As all they’re wanting
Big-ass manors wile others homeless
And propriety from the unproper teed
Off
Too the razes
In that question of fined your voice
As back to square one
Demanding pauper language
Fore both sides nothing like
Mainlining the Lord’s name in vein
What could passably be
A greed
More than
Choking aspirations
It’s a bout
Not mirror words
Rather what is
The real fucking literal obscenity
Under the Influence
When axed
Buy capitalism
Due you want
To be
An influencer
The quest in
As awe weighs
Offed
Delivering little wading
And no second thought
Hell, yeah
Well, I
For one
And one for awe
Won’t countenance mirrorly
Won in a million
And in case you haven’t herd
They are called
Unicorns
Of awe kinds
Knot living under influence
And threw and threw
Over effluence
REVEALED HERE: The in’s and out’s of life and death.
Taking Your Breath Away
They lived
In that dangerously beautiful
Plays
Between inspiration and expiration
As life never fails
To take your breath away
Does this apply to me: just asking.
Axing For a Friend
How ponder US
Me and mine feeling
Endangered
Buy a flailing economy
And the whirled’s resources
Being taken
Off the table
Or under
Duress
Suspecting my enemies
Knocking down my adore
When awe we knead is
A simple inquisition
An easy determination
To cut down a forced
Or due my doody
In sum fashion
Wear my concern lies
Not for me
I am just
Axing for a friend
I am a big fan of Gandhi’s call to “Be the change you want to see in the world.” I see this as the most basic building block of direct democracy. Plus, this simple precept reflects a seamless blend of means and ends, that can often be confusing in the whirled in which we dwell. Perhaps most importantly, this call can help lift us into a beautifully inviting way of living, beyond mirror “making things happen.” I invite you to read this poem:
A Choice Life
His life was choice
Stand in
Contrast
To what is round
That can knot be
Squared
A way
Illustrative
Soully
As the hi ways
And buy ways
Of life
Invitations
To be
Souled
On one
Or the other
Yet another perspective on the glass half full/half empty debate…
Spouting On
God is spouting
On again
Off agin
Less like a glass half full
Amor a firehose
Drowning me
In blessings
A poem for those of us who missed the Perseid meteor shower.
Stars Shot
They were out
Like a light
Stars shooting
Raining down
Wishes begging to be made
In their dreams
Before mourn
If only
They whir
A wake
Giving the whirled the bird…
Fly, Like a Dove
I fly
Like a dove
Silent as a breeze
With an olive branch
In my bill
Unspent
You can see it
In my eyes
Look, ma
No arms
This poem stems from the blind leading the bind in the asymmetry of crying “hostages” when all of Gaza is an open air prison bombed to rubble, where over two million Palestinians are under unhouse arrest — not to mention that thousands and thousands of Palestinians are helled by Israel under indefinite detention without charges.
Unhouse a Wrest
They cried
Out
Threw out
The land
Helled hostage
Helled hostage
Dozens on one aside
Millions on
The other
Helled without
Charge
Pain their bill
Unhouse a wrest
Restricted travailing orders
Schooled in rubble
God unmosqued
Waist deep in waste a weigh
Food only for thought
Crimes
Bye children and mothers
Left no rights
A circular logic
Re-siding in asymmetry
That prey tell
Of ethno-religious state-ing
As God their soul refuge
No awe to well
That water
Front property
Invested with German vermin
As my people and your people
Ruthless Judaism
That end most
Ism of Zion
Captive o’ Israel
Buy a rising tide
Or final solution
When it comes to Palestinians
They don’t like to be
Sow why’s unhow’s
Recused of genocide
Amor or Less
Ahhhh
Proximately
Life is amor
Or less
Wonder full
This is the caste to which I belong.
A Twinkle of Your No’s
Due you have
Time
To go to the plays
Where time doesn’t exist
Soully for a stretch
Fore what is just
A twinkle of your no’s
Won of the most magical of spells
You don’t have to crash to slow down. Then, again, sometimes you do.
Catching Up
I struck down
The hi ways and bye ways of life
Seeking the finer things
In an out-and-out quest
Willing to pay my weigh
Long that thorough fare
As square living
Just round
The corner
Looking forward too
Any brand of rush
And as I head down
That fast lane
In over drive
I crashed
In too sum thing
I couldn’t see
I found myself
Flat tired
Still
In cryptic silence
Having
Under
Gone
Awe that dear
Departed
In a singular sense
Experiencing
An udder route
Speechless
Taken back
As mum calling me
Slow down
Enough
For God too
Catch up
Formula Won Razing
They had
It all
Figured out
Plugged
In
What
They car a bout
And hows
The manor
They in habit
And whys
A voiding
Whatever
Uncomfortable
Accept for mine
Racing
We’ve borrowed from the future. I won’t be surprised if the future borrows from us. The future has a name: Bill.
Poor Tending
Show enough
Awe
That
The future wood be
They saw
Poor tending
A poverty
A cross
The land
And it’s people
Any weigh
You cut it
I see the most powerful spiritual truth in order to manifest awesome human life is living with simple fact that we are all kids of God and siblings to one another. I suggest that this means that we should not kill one another.
We Are Awe Kids
I have know problem
Killing kids
Accept those children of God
The Passed
How due you
Sail the see
You can knot
Change the past
Just the same
You can change
The weigh
You look at it
This poem is a reflection on the rich ruling and fooling the masses, while Christians routinely buy into the American nightmare of consumption as success, happiness and security. Mean wile, we are crucifying Mother Earth and abandoning our siblings of God to wolves.
Collusion Assurance
The moneyed
Assure their plot
In the anals of history
As long ass they reign
Their fans hitting
With wide I pupils
And idol acolytes
As collude and delude
With the elect fewed
The well heeled
The will of deep pockets
Crucify
In whatever
Manor
Suits
The daze
Awe the wile
Christians where
There crucifixes
Around their necks
Like millstones
Stumbling into the buy and buy
As altar natives wrestless
Better off
Flung
Into the see
Then reckon the whirled
