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I find laughter a beautifully open space for awe good things to emerge.

Pastoral Posture

I stumbled up
On God
Laughing in a field
And before long
Found ourselves
In strange plays
A staggering experience
Solidly grounded
As couldn’t help
But laugh

Think bigger, in large life…

Thinking Outside, The Box

Know matter
How hard
They had knot
The wear with awe
To fashion a box big enough
To whole my soul
Thankfully, an ever expanding universe
By enlarge
Suits me
Deeply well
Within and without

This poem emerged from a dream that I had. The dream was of a herd of lemmings racing toward a cliff. A single lemming froze in place like a single frame in a movie.  The other lemmings continued largely like lemmings do, and, as they approached the cliff, the ground beneath them crumbled. The lemmings fell in a mass of dirt and lemmings, nearly indistinguishable. As this was happening, a multitude of butterflies descended onto the single frozen-in-place lemming. After the butterflies completely cover the lemming, they flew the lemming into the distant sky.

I see this dream as a metaphor for mutual aid, particularly for those who break away, for any reason, the suicidal mob that is our nation. Be a butterfly. Fly with the multitudes of butterflies.

Masses of Butterflies

The lemmings scurried
Razing forward
Nose to tail
Untoward a cliff peering
When a singular lemming
Had a stroke
Of unusual genus
Frozen in place
Inaction hero pose
Not with standing the species carried on
Most other lemmings were rankled
The odd lemming was intrigued
Even as the ranks hurtled bye
Simultaneously
The bluff beginning to crumble
Beneath the lead lemmings
And the wait of the uncontemplated
An inescapable fall
Where animals peered indistinguishable
From the dust
It came
Ground into the sky
Death wading below
Making more than mountain of mole hill
Still
That soul lemming
Eyes fixed
Above
Hi noon
About to be flocked
Eclipsed by a swarm of butterflies
Which separate light from dark
In the mettle of the day
Sow little
Won after another
Alighted
That inscrutable statue to the unmovable
That shield to all that would blank it
Uplifting beyond what can be seen
Completely taken
Wherever butterflies freely assemble
And call home
An open question
What to make of awe this
Yet certain onlookers
Sharing such fate
Can lonely say
Amoral of a story
Of lives and souls shuddered
In efface of
Any out landish worship
Of masses of butterflies
Befalling us awe

One way that folks avoid deeper awakenings is by settling for “good enough.” I suspect that the disturbing nature of seeking higher goods, by their claim on paying a cost for our “values,” is one major reason that we lean into denial and “getting by.” This poem lifts up awe as the payoff for fully “funding” our values…

OK Corral

They mustered and catch up
Awe the relish of life
Yet the masses
Mostly settled
Merely for good enough
Collected and caught
In the OK corral

In post truth social media, we must be vigilante, my friends!

Relax, Into Propaganda

Red in
Their sacred texts
ALL CAPS know less
For whom much is give in
Much is re-choired
In
His image maid
Such hollowed ground
As grave in
As craven
An echo of truth

There is overwhelming public support for increasing taxes on the richest Americans. This stands in sharp contrast to Trump’s proposed second round of huge tax cuts for the richest, mostly paid for by borrowing, that is increasing the debt, and a portion from cutting public spending. Since we don’t really have a democracy that enacts the will of the people, this doesn’t surprise me. However, I am vexed by the popular sentiment of wannabe-ism when it comes to wealth; especially since upward mobility has nearly evaporated in the last couple of generations. This vain sentiment does seem to interfere in the body politic holding the rich to paying their fair share — which isn’t another huger tax cut for them! This poem arises from this…

Eye Wannabe Rich

In a see of losers
If there is won thing
They want
It’s awe a bout
Loot
The I con of billionaires
It could be you
No surprise as all guise
As idol eyes
The all might
He buck
And Bambi trophy wife
Show me the doe!
Weather two
Three
Or four
Who keeps
Score
If only
At any rate
A king’s ransom
Or soully dead presidents
In your buy and buy
Is his in vest
And in your foolness of daze
Down right left
Right left right
Only wanting
Just
Comfortable
That conundrum unbeat

One of my pet peeves is illustrated by the phrase, “throwing the baby out with the bathwater.” We seem to be in a reign of babies as severe critiques of a problem are adopted and the labor of birthing a reasonable alternative is casually subjected to infanticide. Tragically, America’s absurd first agenda is grotesquely grave.

A Sorted Tale

Speechless
I couldn’t say
I was surprised
At the rain of bathwater
Yet nothing compared
To the rain of babies
A final solution of sorts

The rubes are lining up for the bounce back…

Rubber Ball

Welcome
To the rubber ball
What
Bounces
Off me
Sticks to you
Words will knot
Hurt you
But the stoned will
Using
Conned ‘em
Screwing

There is more than won way to respond to winning the existence lottery…

Post Lottery Win Syndrome

Halving won
The existence lottery
I could know more
Complain

The profits speak, for themselves.

Make Moses Grate Agin

Trump ass ends
His throne
Of porcelain whiteness
And what can
A profit say
Butt
Let my people go
And do do it
Rashly
In the end
Won
Among many plagues
In doo coarse over
Throwin’
All that he can

Unlimited money in politics guarantees that the rich will run US, and assure that one person, one vote is contorted to the point of knot democracy.

Lucky 13 – Owed to Being Played

The Trump regime
A poisonous glut punch
Of 13 billionaires
And countless confederates
What are the chances
Of a bettor America
Gambling on oligarchs
Self-fulfilling profits
Run!
The government
The effluent
Of corruption
Living up to its repetition
Of awe white men
Born of others’ labor
Fat cats with un-exorcised possessions
And endless means
Too own capitol
On top of capital

A head full of dead white men’s thoughts can be a dangerous thing. Perhaps we should diversify into a whole new world. This poem also is a tip of the hat to Winston Churchill’s comical but useless quote: “History is just one damn thing after another.”

From Shakespeare to Churchill

He had
Collected himself
A skull full
Of dead white men’s thoughts
Of history
Won dammed thing
After
An other

I see God as too big for any one religion or worldview. I discover truth in so many forums, of awe kinds. I see a transcendent abundance inviting me into overwhelming gratitude. The wrest is details of any given branding project.

That Most Slalom Prey

My God
Isn’t
Big enough
Fore won religion
To be fare
A perennial brand
Like Coke
Or IBM
Awe the same
Patently falls
As truth begs
Me ails wear
In treating me
Stern and aft
To what
It’s awe a boat
In a fathom less see
As ponder us
As wood be
Soully axing
That wee
Follow the ruse to the maxim
Wile drunk on port and star bored
Just saying
Know soliciting
In pre-paring
For the buy and buy
A veritable alms race
Of never enough
Calling up
On me
That most slalom prey
Of undistinguished power
Peaked
As summit
Afar a field
Wear heaven metes earth
Until holy grounded

Loser that I am, I have learned, often the hard weigh, that not getting what I want can bring forth good, even better. May we not be suckered into that tempting bettor of insisting on winning all the time.

Pre-Mature Ends

He wanted to win
Sow bad
He could almost tase it
Daring you
To have too
Pry it
From his cold, dead hands
And awe involved
Holy for gotten
The point
As means
Overreach
Their buy way
There pre-mature
Ends

A phrase oft repeated in our household is “Some people have too much money.” I subscribe to the ancient wisdom that you can’t serve two master: God AND money. The dividing line between these two worldviews seems to be about “deserving” when it comes to money and about overwhelming gratitude when it comes to serving God. Here is such wisdom in a more poetic form:

De-serving

Sum people
Have to
Much money
Parently not
Having received
From above
That memo
Re: can’t
Serve money
As well
As God
And what
A greed
Buy awe
Concerning
De-serve