In the 1980’s we came to terms with “greed is good.” Now, pop political science seems enamored with “disruption is good.” I suspect this has more to do with the laziness and ease of knocking stuff down rather than building up. The ogre-in-chief peers to have perfected the club.
Trump Dump
They mistook motion for progress
In the swirl
Of a turd of a leader
In the orbit
Of a throne
White power shit-faced
Weapons offer little solace to anger, fear, grievance, and hate.
Sporting Won an Other
He had
An insufferable traction
To the blind
As long as he wanted
Looking cross
All that
He be helled
And regarding his aim
A shotgun his closest friend
His favorite plays
To be quiet and prey
In visible
Soully to himself
In what might be
A deathly subject
Just to those
Who
Say
Duck
Or posed to
If the world is deer to you
I see “random” as the most incoherent concept ever. I find “random” as the pinnacle of believing in nothing rather than anything at all. This poem is a parody of this pet peeve of mine:
Coincidence – I Think Not
On the whole
As luck would halve it
I am not superstitious at awe
None the less
I believe in random
It’s like believing
In nothing at awe
This poem is about my beauteous experience writing poetry that most people do not understand or do not have an interest in trying to understand — definitely a diction.
Crack a Diction
Eye harbor
A diction
To crack
In time
Space
Continuum
When I peer
Into a ledged abyss
Wear in the dark
Letting the light in
Riddles revealed
Soully to me
Unbounded see
The give and take
Caught up in a fathomless net
Inevitably washed
Ashore
A shell
Of a diction
A wee take
In the scheme of things
As I go on
A strike
Of spare words
Meager to please
As if
I’m potent
God
You crack
Me up
Looks like violence begets violence. Tanks allot for that vicious cycle.
Eye the God of War
“An eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth would lead to a world of the blind and toothless.”
Eye created enemies
Eye alone
Have the doody
To destroy them
A vicious cycle
Of hell’s angles
Grievous stares leading
To blindness
And that dear departed
Tooth
To be tolled
I often see patience as the mother of all virtues, though waiting can really suck! I find that trying to suck the most out of each and every moment helps a lot to pass the time wading for my larger-than-life dreams to come true…
Wait for It
Wait for it
Wait for it
Wade for it
Wait for it
Wait for it
Wait for it
Just
Remember
It happens
Though every now
And then
Knot in your lifetime
This poem deals with the theme of our increasingly virtual lives and the increasing challenge of what is close enough to reality to pass as a humane reality.
Post, Post, Post Modern
They had
Graduated from that small, small world
Modern to postmodern
Onto mirrorly post, post, post
Some fun hows
As all their dreams ricocheting
From the big, big screen to the little screen
Back
And fourth
Without place
That prevailing strategy
The modern mine virtual
As fact simile
Nay, love simile!
Though bad, bad copy
Wresting precariously on rare earth
A genuine whirled
For those who want
The most
Infinitesimal foundation
As if
A speck holed up
In tired universe
Bots purporting
As upside down
Pyramid scheme
The gravity of witch
May kill us for a spell
And awe for what
To consume
Bits and byte sized whirled
A virtual flower in the cloud
Some wear
When actually living a mist
Concrete and steal
Boxes
Of unknown mettle
That fool sell
Charged buy petrochemicals
All the wile
Know dirt
In our hands
To see passed
Planted fauxs
Weather leaves of grass
Or weed
Worshipping a semiconductor
A desert that dust nothing
Let alone
Breathe life
In a drop of water
Weather toil it
Or limpid pool
We are amor
Then animals
With feral arts
Yet we are apped
Rather living in a zoo
With maximal bars
Is it any surprise
Not being
Caught off grid
As we are awe
Soully looking
For what
A muse
Meant
As the balm
Rested for fragrancy
I try to err on the side of hope. Please pardon my enthusiasm.
Overdid
YES
That is true
In sum regards
I overdid it
I certainly hope
Sow
Often it takes time in life for things to sort out. I love being surprised with 20/20 hindsight and insights that make melodic sense after the fact. Like Kierkegaard infamously stated: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
Making Note
She made note
Of that great
Far a weigh
And hear
And now
Next thing
She new
A sound track
Of her life
Composed
Keep your eyes open. I may fly…
May Fly
It may
Knot be
A generation
Beached
It may
Be just
A day
A serendipitous flap
Look in the skies
Look before your eyes
I may fly
Trump tariffs have chaotically bounced around from the highest in a century to the highest in a century. The biggest tax increase in U.S. history is parently the new Republican ideal. This poem is a tribute to this taxing chaos:
Roll…er…Coast…er – Owed to Trump Tariff Wore
On
Agin
Off
Agin
Literally what due
You want
Yack knowledge
Not no’ing
Aim less
Ever more
Temper
Mental
Deficit
All a loan
In the whirled
Trading ripped off
For ripping on
Sow solicit US
Stag nation
Thee federal deficit
All a bout
Screw he
Getting it
The hugest election
Fool on
Ran
Dumb
All over
The plays
Endless
Taxes
Both in the red
And blue
States
Not with standing
Buying it
Taken
By percentages
The revenue man
Coming for US
For our own
Good
Or posedly
Lease of all
Foreign fares
Yet agin
Allies lost
Or per chance
The rallying cry
“Remember the fentanyl”
A line
Taken
Seriously
By the Don himself
Accept knot so much
When I quit my “regular” job two decades ago, I totally underestimated the quantum leap in my quality of life. Even with poverty-level earnings for decades, and that first decade with no health insurance, I felt that I won the life lottery. It took me years to realize that many people who heard this stood in quiet horror, viewing me as an epic cautionary tale, the precise thing to be avoided in life. So, I wrote a poem about it, cuz it’s what I due now that I have hole sale de-monetized my life.
Acquit My Jōb
I ex-tolled
With evangelical fervor
Anew life
Having one
The lottery
And decidedly jocund me
Snorting align of my values
With such glorious aside affects
Wafting into voluntary
Poverty decongesting my knows
As udder inter dependency
Won love
That gentlest bed rock
Reveling in amor
Be dazzling
That tough sell reliance
Then in escapably
Those come to pass
Buy enlarge saying
A posit
That I am
In point of fact
A terrible paper tiger
Chasing won’s cautionary tale
I would love to save the world. Fortunately, this does not depend on me alone. I want to join movements with others who savor justice, joy, and love. Here is a poem on this theme:
Missing an I
Hear
I AM
Sow wanting to be
That savior of the world
How am I to see
That I am soully to be
That savor of the world
Won among many
Sometimes life is a walk in the neighborhood. Sometimes not.
F-16
I was strolling in my neighborhood
Trying to avoid
The usual noise pollution
From technological whored
A roaring lawnmower hear
A gas weed whacker whacking there
A whirring leaf blower going nowhere
Then
A rare moment of silence
Over taken
By a supersonic rumble
From the loco air farce
My years war out
No’ing the score
F-16
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F
F-16
A eulogy of a different stripe
Silence not sufficing
This dude abides, as life is awesome and awe full awe of the time.
Ambitions Sunk
My ambitions are sunk
In the firmaments of the universe
And whatever verses arise
Yea, no madder what versus
This whirled stirs
Nay, I cannot betray
The art of awe
Fear not, wee are the many.
The Fewed
Wee are the many
They are the few
And the fewed creeps forward
As the few centralize power
Wee gather everywhere
Wee join arms
Arms that cannot be defeated
Weather by force or by farce
Wee unite hearts forever
Transcending mine, mine, mine
Each and every our
Joyfully welcoming the odds
Freaks won and awe
More than we kin
Imagine
The many verses
Money on fool display
The few falling on won’s efface
As wee united
This poem is about the tragedy of applying great human know-how to war.
No How
How fright
Fully billed
War ships
Fighter jets
Arms of every sort
As craft
As fly
As crack aims
As wreckin’ as kill
As wack wanting
Perishing thoughts
And burying dreams
A veritable dearth wish
Uninspiring any kind
Of awe important no how
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY AWE!
My mom, Lois Rutt, died just short of 90-years-old, on September 27, 2022. I wrote a set of 14 poems for her memorial service around the theme of one of her favorite Bible verses: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” [1 Corinthians 13:12]
These poems below are also available online in PDF format at: TopPun.com/Lois-Rutt-Memorial-Poems.pdf
Down With Upside
When I am down
With those occasional mourns
Needing to be
Re-mined
I awe weighs have this
Parently
I won the lottery
And holy sow
MOM
Is just
WOW
Upside
Down
That Mystery Spot
You are invited
To spot
Under stood
As inevitable
As death
And taxing
Where the holy mundane metes
Mysteries of mysteries
The deference sublime
Of divine raiments
Of putting on
That sacred sight
Wear the living
And dead meet
Through That, Collide-a-scope
I saw her
Through that
Collide-a-scope
Of life and death
Eternity and now
The presence
Of assurance and doubt
Incomparable gifts and cryptic lessens
Picasso-esque
With a thousand facets
A priceless gem
Studied in perspectives
Never only about mine
An innocent babe
A curious child
An exploring youth
An accomplished adult
A serene elder
Such an inscrutable seeing
Awe at once
Singular among many
Guileless in every forum
A daughter
A sister
A wife
A mother
A grand mother
A friend
A neighbor
A child of God
A grand daughter at that
Great, great, great
That cloud of witnesses
Mysteriously peers
So greatly mist
I AM, Cracked, Open
A son
Of another Mother
Shone softly
Gently in treating
Follow the light
Which may peer
Neither hear nor there
At first
But…
Fear not
For it is a reading light
In a tome you need never escape
And once cracked
Open
Just
In time
For a book signing
By the author of authors
The book of life
And as awe ways
The first edition
And wile skeptics might claim
“No way”
The beloved community
Is free to proclaim
In unison
“Yahweh!”
To What?
To what
A veil
A bride waiting
For that consummate kiss
And companion to the eternal
Holy known
Wear death
Is mirror shadow
And life alight
Oft Balance
To be won
We must halve
One foot on earth
One foot in another realm
Leaning back
Into that hardy hard certain
Offering of empirical probability
With its rewarded skepticism over awe
And its inevitable lessens
Falling forward
Into that hearty ardor uncertain
Offering of divine possibility
With that beloved trust awe embracing
And that looming what is frayed
Finding ourselves
As sojourners of truth
Oft balance
Betwixt
Light and shadow
Glistening to awe
That we are
When it comes to favorite Bible verses, you can’t have just one. Mom told me that one of her favorite parables was The Parable of the Two Sons, Matthew 21:28-31:
But what do you think? There was a man who had two sons.
He went to the first one and said, “Son, go and work today in the vineyard.”
“I will not,” he replied. But later he changed his mind and went.
Then the man went to the second son and told him the same thing.
“I will, sir,” he said. But he did not go.
Which of the two did the will of his father?
“The first,” they answered.
Here is anew and inclusive version:
Mothers Will [Notably Not Possessive]
Mother had
A trifecta of sons
A singular daughter
And some in between
Those awkward periods amissed
Birth and death
As siblings of God
Sow much more
Than miscarriages of just us
Raised right
And decidedly left
In no particular order
Set free into the whirled
Deferent at different times
Sometimes far aweigh
Weather going home early
To be apart of this hole-y family
Or sharing a vocation
And most certainly a meal
Breaking bread
And some say cheese
As it is written
Read into the book of life
Sometimes “Yes” and “No” in the same sentence
And those eternal questions
Generations of brethren
Abiding cistern
Wherever two or more to gather
Who did
Mothers will
Flipped
He was just
A rough draft
In God’s arm he
A dim reflection
A mirror image
Of what is
Truly sighted
As life can only be
Understood backwards
And a mist
Those seamingly endless
Daze
When God peers to have
Flipped off
As a madder of fact
She just
Flipped on
Memorial Garden
Awe roads lead
Back to the garden
Unearth as in heaven
Being there
More than
Chance
The fruit of joyful work
And greeted by son
And till
I AM called
A father with many names
As well
As mom
As sister
As daughter
Life springs awe
Weather a blooming weed
Or a garden of eatin’
Arose is arose
By any name
And perfectly agreeable
By those who tend
Just saying
I don’t no
Perhaps once agin
Breathing life into the dust
Of treasured city blocks
A perfect resting spot
Fore that Grand Circus Park
And Central to won life
What is it Awe…A Boat
At times
Life is a beach
And we shell
Sea phase to phase
What is it awe
A boat
A message in a battle
A harbor still
In salty waters
Weather one reading or a gazillion
Even a thirst addition
Is mere reflection
Finding our self
And perhaps something ails
What are we
Too due
Saying “Yes”
As know impart
And when effacing
Those fateful lessens
Fully no’in
That Upper Room
Brought up
That there is
An other side
To every tale tolled
The mysterious plays
A mist life and death
Raised up right
She new
More than a roomer
Of being grounded
As won of everything
In that upper room
Which is
Another story
Ω , It’s Awe Greek to Me
At the end
Of the alpha bet
In compassing Omega, Ω
More than sum lucky horseshoe
As fourth right as x,y,z
At the coroner of faith, hope, and love
Without spin
Lying in One’s
Grave coordinates to live by
And bye
And that daring die mention
Love the only realm
With any room
This Is Not A Poem: Owed to René Magritte – The Treachery of Images (aka, This is Not a Pipe)
The whirled is butt dancing images
Truly revealing
A mirror hint
Of what isn’t
Quite there
And get
A lode of this
When trolling for the reel thing
The same is helled true
Fore whatever is professedly herd
Know madder how a loud
Or scent your weigh
Such flimsy mettle
However powerfully smelt
Or all together snorted
Or even bettor yet
That tantalizing taste
Raided as miraculous
A savour of all
Is merely the flavor of the dais
Fashioning its own end
Saving the most sublime for lust
Can you feel it
For here is the rub
Being
The best of awe
Is simply a bit touched
And never the less
Their eye am
And if I
Portend
To ether
Under stand
Or over lord
This is nothing
More than
A commencement
Of being
A mother flicker
As just
When I thought
I could see
The light
At the end of the tunnel
My mind was blown
Like a wring of smoke
This is not a pipe
At awe
I am
Soully lit
The Point of Know Return
My eyes lifted
To the hills
From whence my help came
And there were no mountains
The way having been made smooth
And the road straight
What queer abet was this
A trillion points
Of light
One star among many
And just
A mirror preface
I AM
Light
That singular won
The point of know return
Here is a poem of expectant parents, especially first-time parents. If this is a current reality, a future dream, or a long a go memory, this is a Mother’s Day poem of sorts.
Due, The Math
When you have met your equal
One plus one is won
Even then, what more can you expect?
One plus one equals three!
Prepare ye the weigh
Fore more than won arrival
In such daze so grand, even great
Full of ma’s and pa’s
The advent of a mass
Greater than ever before herd
And with each their presence bearing
Are versed in anew addition
Yet on occasion
Hither two
Captivated by this Lilliputian spell
May feel sow small and overwhelmed
Cry
Uncle and aunt
And in a twinkling
Look what you’ve created!
More than two handfuls
The miracle of relativity
The energy of this mass multiplying
Buy more then the speed of light
Withal in due time
And no strings attached
Trade up wading for waiting
And still, you wish!
Yet in the present
Knowing how choice
Between ardor and ardor
Enough to give you pause (and the occasional hand)
Weather feeling blue or tickled pink
Engendering in tuition of life
Oh boy! A lass!
Ether weigh
The surest proof
That life adds up
Grasping what counts
This poem extolls the value of feeling deeply, both in sadness and joy.
Weather Sadness or Joy
I sea
In a soul tear
The whole whirled
And folks in choir
Am I
Awe right
And weather sadness
Or joy
Such salty tears
A palette
For life
And I wouldn’t halve it
Any other weigh
Quiet certainty
Not for a dry I
In the hows
