Here is a short poem about the increasing virtualization of our lives, meme-ification of our minds, and shallow aspiration of becoming “influencers” in pop culture. NOTE: The poem is shorter than this description!
Rendered
What might be
The end of humanity
Sum type
Of cataclysm
Life rendered
Pic me!
As wee awe
Turn
Into memes
Having
Gone
Viral
Neutrality and wishy-washiness can be evil. I suspect most evil in this world is under the guise of: “I’m just doing my job” or “That’s not my job.”
Guilty As
“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”
–Revelations 3:15-16
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”
–Desmond Tutu
They were neither
Hot nor cold
Little was
Their own
As just
Doing their job
Or simply knot
My Jōb
As spit in image of God
They were neither
Positive nor negative
Guilty as uncharged
I love the John Lennon lyric, “Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans.” I find that awe the best comes to me when I don’t expect it. Expect to be surprised! This poem expresses this experience for me, especially about writing poems.
It’s Awe in the Shoulder
There
I am
Stuck
On aside of the wrote
Certifiably thinking
I don’t know jack
Nothing
Too spare
Then
Awe of the sudden
Hi jack
And after a while
Immaculately
Tired
With awe
That I AM
Accompliced
Here is a poem about voluntary simplicity. Poverty is brutal. None the less, seriously leaning into “more for less” can unleash deeper “values.” I have learned to relish having “more time than money” and shedding less satisfying consumer-oriented impulses. I have found great wealth in slowing down and letting life flow over and through me more sow than “making things” happen.
Udder Simplicity
Hear and now
Lean
Into poverty
And loan some virtues
Thrifty abundance
Thanks giving
Without stuffing
Timeless
Without
Pretense or tense
Priceless
Within
Transcending the buy and buy
And if you should find yourself
In cross country
Keep on truckin’
With semi voluntary poverty
What
The whirled takes
God returns
A gazillion times
“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools”
–Martin Luther King, Jr.
Dwelling on This Earth
I reflect up
On awe the violence
In this whirled
And what peers before me
As a sore lack of courage
And even amor
A soar lack of imagination
Of living together as won
It seems that at some point each of us ask, “Why me?” How often have you asked yourself, “Why not me?”
Whys Guise
Who no’s the troubles
I have scene
Is it just
A madder of time
As I find myself
More than prone
In choiring mines
Why me?
Life in treating me
Grate times for awe
And still I here
Of chorus
Enjoined
By a simple quest in
Why not me?
That mortal ask
Weather ascertain as can be
Or just smite due
A countenance
Of praise or preys
The secret of whys guise
Every wear
Box-ers
There are box-ers
Who are liable
Round
After round
After round
Too box you up
Don’t swallow that red punch
No madder
The jeers and cheers
Vacate their premises
Having
Gotten
Through won’s head
Privy to the inestimable can
Scrapping
That which castes a side
Surrendering up
What could’ve been
A contender
Roped in
Buy sellout crowds
Married to the whirled view
Of rings that are square
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
