This a poem highlighting the barren view of life that rugged reasoning can impose on the awesome experience of consciousness. Life is much more than sterile propagation of the specious.
Dogged Reasoning
He wood
Knot know
Consciousness
If he
Saw it
In have
Sum magic trick
Where the john doesn’t know jack
His nerves
Firing him
From some inescapable Job
A backward god
Making life
A bitch
And then sum
This poem is about recognizing and appreciating that we rest on the shoulders of a thousand generations and that each moment can take inspiration from this long arc of our existence, powering us forward in ways worthy of our ancestors.
Heir to a Thousand Generations
Have you ever
Found yourself
Heir
To a thousand generations
Wholly inspired
Taken
In
Invisible premises
Buy some
Breathing is
As life
To others
As water is
To those who live under see
This poem is about moving forward into the future, looking up, not looking down, living holistically, not partial to tribalism.
The Weigh Forward
Awe ways ahead
Sum times behind
Never beneath
As earth is before me
I may know
What is behind me
Never the less
I cannot no
What is ahead of me
And may I have
Nothing
Too due
With that beneath me
As heavens above
May I sojourn
More than just
A part from the whole
And for all one knows
Find oneself
Way way forward
This poem addresses the Gazan’s plight of living under siege in an open air prison, under massive military assault, including widespread bombing of civilians and civilian infrastructure. This poem highlights the genocidal assault, particularly the mass starvation as a result of the siege and inability to adequately deliver what limited aid is available when operating in an active war zone. The poem employs the metaphor of Gaza being on the menu and takes to task the state of Israel on the chasm between the ambitions of a Zionist state and the ethical practice of Judaism, with references to worshipping the golden calf, an empty chair traditionally left empty for the prophet Elijah, and a scapegoat used to bear the sins of the Jewish people and sent into the wilderness. All of culminates in US being the founder of this beastly feast.
Gaza, Eat It
Gaza
On the menu
Of militaristic goaled
Israel orders
Calf
For an idol celebration
A full coarse meal
A full plate
When you include all the scapegoat
Amidst an empty chair
For sum won
Fourth right prophet
Staring in the winnow
Palestinians
With there own in tents
Witness US
Picking up the check
Soully wanting
Just deserts
With aside of genocide
Republicans continue to cling to a policy-free zone, crammed with demagoguery.
Pokey Politics
Republican politics
Is like poking you with a stick
To see what you will
Due
What we can get
A weigh with
And I can’t help
But ask
“What’s the point?”
This poem is about racism and nativism, our propensity to dehumanize the other, to write other humans off, to find room aplenty to throw under the bus or imprison in won weigh or an other.
Which Neighbor is a Keeper?
It takes
A village to raze a child
Every won for themselves
Or as a klan
Knowing the deference
Between black and white
That neighborly tribunal
Ruling
Which neighbor is a keeper
As much as we Cain
Like a serpent in the garden
Talking the talk
“Un-Abel”
To walk the walk
The deference between outliers
And out right liers
Recounting the truth
So it adds up
As much as we kin
At least relatively sow
And when it peers strange
Particularly alien
Wee
Go
The nativist imagine Abel
A narrow brethren
And stingy cistern
Sow
What
A bout
The wrest
The remains
Scrapping fore help
As goad Samaritan
As if
Mirrorly thoughts and preyers
Bring them
Too heel
Or send them
To the hinder lands
The inscrutable ruse of engagement
Oh happy day
Marred to the mob
The obscurable
A veil
Bettor to be kissed with a lie
Then hit with the truth
Rather hitting them
With a switch
On the oft odds
Help
Might be
Immanent
Right them
Off
Sow short
And so long
Their soul rec
If you need
A hand up
We will deliver you
Just arms up
And further if
Hope springs
Wade to Fall
Humanity is bombing. Let’s end the violence.
Bombing
Bombs a way
Bombs aweigh
Bombs a weigh
Bombs away
Here is a poem about our nation’s recalcitrance in welcoming immigrants and refugees. Wile we use cramped legalisms to incarcerate our hearts, many speak openly in racist and violent terms. I strongly suspect that we would do better as a nation and a world to purposively welcome immigrants and refugees, and recognize that no human being is illegal.
Seeking Haven: Deed On A Rival
I am an immigrant
From God knows where
Every language unspoken
Arriving in naiveté
And no room in
Only to be tolled
By those of unsound mine
To get my asylum seeking as
Taken aback
To wherever I came from
My advent
Only to mete
Impassable boarders
To be borne here
As if a different specious
Unlike me
Illiciting aliens
Subject too
Anal probes
Foraging
A head
For paper work
Unregarding unsubstantiated birth
Finding only tall tails
Questionable monkey’s uncles
And least of these
Hapless to see the plight
Knot willing
Too believe
In such a never never land
Of the free
Mark it
Won’s words
In sentries of precedents
Elected freely
And now defend on them
For citizenship
Feigning brave bull work
Wear hear
We warship as wee pleas
And fence liberty for huddled masses
Whose flag waving
Is uncolored properly
By the book
In accord with the clink
That might
Give hard one angles
Wings
As deed on arrival
This poem ponders the fact that hardships and trauma can lead people away from religious and spiritual seekings as well as leading them to such seeking. I find that while darkness can be powerful, even overwhelming, light has a way of seeping in.
The Incalculable Weighs to Prey
Borne astray
He had
Learned his lessen
Right a weigh
Halving life
Since he was a boy
Razed by the church
And a mama trying
Double-crossed by fighting chance
He missed
Every opportunity
Every won
He could knot
See himself
Threw
Awe weighs
Crossing align
Weak after weak
To the end of daze
Would any won
Get his barings
Averse perhaps
Array of sunshine
Scarred out of his mine
A whirled of under standing
In spite of
Life is becoming
Ardor and ardor
And ardor still
Until it peers
Alight
Like know other
And hither two won
I find comfort in the persistent reality that life keeps happening. As I keep learning to let go, I find that life flows more gently to whatever the next thing is that life offers up. I continue to be amazed that adeptly passing life on creates more life available for everyone.
Life Keeps
Life keeps
Happening
A mist
A see of death
And tragic lessens
The best of us
Cries
Why
Me
And rarer still
Why
Not me
As we meat
Our maker
Hear
I AM
That life keep
Only bye
Letting go
And passing on
According to family lore, when I was a very young child, I gave my toys away to other children. While this may have been a good way to make friends, I suspect that it was an early sign of me preferring to play and commune with the source of all, the “toy maker.” Many decades later, allegedly an adult, I continue to see humans as much more interested in playing with their “toys” than relating to this deep source of awe. If this strikes you as a bit fabled, that’s fine; though in this case, for me, it’s not Santa or Satan.
Knot The One in Red
Legend has it
I gave my toys away
As a child
And then
As awe ways
I just
Proferred to play
Not simply with a toy
But rather
In stead
With the toy maker
And know
Knot
The one
In red
This poem is a bout the hypocrisy of me me me, and and a perpetually truncated version of we we we, where “we” win and you lose.
One Standard: To Rule Them All
I only
Halve
Two standards
For me and mine
For you and yours
Truly won standard
We we we
In consider it them
My soul culpability
Just following
The ruse
And as it turns out
Know standard et al
Only crying
Author Author
This poem is about slowing down that racing mind and mining that quiet repose and relaxed contemplation.
My Mine Racing
Oh my
My
My mine
Raced
From that first
Slap
On the bottom
Lyin’
Welcome too
A whirled
Up side
Down
From mourn till dusk
From dusk till mourn
My only break
My heart
A tact
Still
Beating
Me
As mine
A rest
For those grasping
Paws
Fining the subconscious
Is knot what I think
As just
Quite the mine
And repose
That con template
Awe that I
Had
Urned
This poem is a call to avoid running down those who seek to lift up. The poem has a tip of the hat to Dorothy Day and her infamous quote, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.” Perhaps ironically, she also called each of us to be a saint. She was always about accessing deep morality, and she sought to bring that all.
The Run Down on Lifting Up
There is awe weighs
Won more attest in life
How due
I deal with belittle
The peer ins
Of avatars of the good
Incite and out
Libel to pose problems
For us
And idle chasers
That morality tail wagging
The DOG
GOD
We’ve got this
Awe backwards
What we aught
caught up in capitalizing
on it
Pain that hefty flee
Fore that soul need
More all
Less on me
All ready
A page from history
Delivering us
A message in a battle
Perhaps a challenging quote
Dotting the Day
Voiding temptation
Don’t right
Me off
As a saint
The only thing
Keeping you
Humble
A worthy scape
Unlike seeing our way threw
With marginalize
Flailing to look up
When looking down
What are we
Frayed
Of loosing it
Awe
This poem is inspired by an elegantly simple recounting of what is a true friend, as told by my former wife — that is, when you are walking with a group of people, the one who stops and waits for you when you have to tie your shoelaces.
Walking the Walk [Owed to My Friend Tarry]
Weave got
Places to go
People to see
Things too due
Talking the talk
Walking that walk
And still
My posse
I found myself
At one’s knee
My shoe unfastened
Learning that benchmark
Of a true friend
Who cools won’s heels
And bides one’s time
Near my sole
If you find me loitering around my sweetheart, be mindful that I am working…
Underemployed
And you are who?
Oh, I am just
Here to kiss her
Now and again
Threw out our daze
Sow that
She knows
She is loved
Please keep your qualm
I’ve got this
The best job ever
The title, “Underemployed” is an allusion to the fact that such a job position goes unfilled, or underworked, for so many.
This poem ponders the “water we live in” as most humans are routinely heedless of their lives deep ending on eating flesh to survive.
Soul Sushi
Once upon a time
Creatures of the see
Looking up
A barrel
In countered
A more tasteful course
A cut above the rest
Can no longer
Flesh and bone cleave
One soul poors out
Joining countless comrades
Halving
In a sense
Meating out
That slice of life
An other life lessen
A bit of rapier
A razor-sharp flank
As kill full roll
A luxurious due
Prized precisely
Being as that
More rare than rare
Raw raw shish kum buy ya
Living for a wile
In a whirl
Wrapped up in luxury
Consumed buy indulgences
Unable to sea
The consommé we live in
This poem ponders the boxes that we put one another in, weather conservative or liberal, and how money and our own interests get in the weigh of our shared humanity. May we think outside our boxes and always put humanity first in our politics.
Box Set
Conservatives are more likely to put you in a box
Liberals have more boxes to put you in
Respecting such a subject
Either weigh
It has
Something too due with their own, welfare
Though generally re-guarded
As a fare reckoning
Just encase
It turns out
Such contents
Might be
Misfits of sum sort
Theirs awe ways the risk
Of humanity unearth
As it
Is in heaven
Weather the so sophisticated
Ore the unrefined
Both undermined by well, bread
So ponder us
What makes us
Crate
And what will it
Take
To think out
A side
The box
Can we let go of the stale, moribund notion that money will give us security and somehow not come between us and our humanity.
Dead Precedents
He could not handle change
So he only dealt with folding
Money
And that kind
Which
No one can touch
In life, I have learned that going down rabbit holes in not voidable. I have learned to welcome them as portals to new worlds. Regarding the title, for those who may be overly-citified, a warren is an area where rabbits live in burrows, or a colony of rabbits. May you boldly wander and stumble up on many wonders.
Call Me Warren
Warren possessed
A twisted mine
Of rabbit holes
Unfathomable
Inviting and daunting
Going down
And ending up
Who no’s wear
That naked truth
Timeless and timely
As bunnies never dating
Springing eternal
They just
Due it
Call me
Warren
If you want a more traditional poetic take on such matters, here is the poem, The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost:
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
