A poem about an angelic visitation, in honor of Christmas day — comfortably unbelievable.
High Level of Confidants
I am an angel
In disguise
Fortunately, I can tell this to you
In complete safety
Since you will not believe me
Further, my veil is impenetrable
Because if you tell anyone else
They will not believe you as well
But wrest easy
And give it no mind
I can heartily believe it myself
This is a poet’s poem about the ineffable muse and singing her prays.
God Thirst
He was drunk
In poetry
An outspoken unspoken word artist
And still
Imbibe
Hymn
As well
I rarely go to meetings anymore, and when I do, the purpose it usually serves is to remind me why I don’t go to meetings. This poem adds another layer that gets at my lifestyle of being deinstitutionalized; that is, I usually have more in common with who are not at the table than those at the table. It also doesn’t help that I am usually the most serious person AND the most unserious person around a table.
Moved to Adjourn
I used
Too go
Too meetings
Until my soul realization
I had
More
In common
With those people
Not at the table
This poem is about the queer reality that if there were not homophobia, I would not have been born, as my Dad is gay. Only the rejection of his sexual orientation and the societal “need” to enter a “heterosexual” marriage made my existence possible. I joke that I am the incarnation of homophobia; the joke, of course, is on bigots, as I recognize gay equality and advocate for gay equity. Thank God for poetic justice! Thank God for a queer world!
A Queer World
It is a queer world
As it turns out
My Dad is gay
Borne in an era
Of homophobia
Of heterosexual sin
Near bastards
Yet hear
I am
Sired by a gay man
Marred by disguise a queer
As it turns out
I am
Homophobia incarnate
Made possible by the queerest hate
Telling it straight
A son shining on
Gay equality
And in valuable equity
This a poem about not being perfect but being perfectly enough.
Holy Enough
It is hard to brake illusions
Yet I smashed this one with ease
The illusion of me being holy
Evident to awe around me
And especially sow
My secret tell
A simple won
Of being wholly enough
This is a poem I wrote a while back when a state legislature proposed capital punishment for abortion. Perhaps a low for the so-called “pro-life” forces. Hey alleged “pro-lifers,” I raze you, an end to capital punishment and an end to war.
Capital Punishment for Abortion?!
The rabbit died
Death to all rabbits!
Theirs was a veracious appetite
Down the rabbit whole
When it came
Two life
There are pros and cons
Parently
Your womb is their parish
Abhor shun is their crime
The bats in their belfry
Are a real hit to many
A political monster
Demanding fetus
Fetus now!
Dam those moms!
And if that sperm and egg knighted
Make it not
Take the mom to boot
All the same
Lynching would be rued
A state in force meant
Is greeded wantingly
It’s all a bout, their base
There hollowed religion
A crucifix for every problem
Priestly oversight
Of every conceivable thing
And all creepy things unearth
Though if staffing doesn’t permit
You can champion choice
With a meager fry her
One crowning present
Her
And her last rights
Here is a very short poem about the wisdom of living in the present.
In Play Cache
Now
That moment
In play
Cache
Or other wise
This poem is a rare combination of my life as a poet and a public health worker. This poem juxtaposes the personal option of some to choose organic food but the collective difficulty of choosing clean air. Some times we can individually buy our way out of health issues through economic power but securing common goods, such as clean air, require much more collective actions. May we take a collective breath and work together to secure a robust public health for all.
Take a Collective Breath
So, why do you eat organic food?
Because it is easier
Than breathing organic air
And if you don’t get it
It is not my fault
It is our fault
Our collective share
It’s inspired
As our common good
Or not
This poem captures a funny perspective that I have on atheists. I definitely feel for people with agnostic perspectives; though I see it as a bit indecisive. On the other hand, I see atheists as carrying their certainty a bit far. This poem takes into account God’s purported dubious existence or job performance and posits that given awe of that, God is still, quiet, powerful…
Still Quiet Powerful
Wile he scoffed
At the mirror know shun
Of an omnipotent God
And such
On the Job failure
Sow silent missives
Re: lax
One might
Wont to consider
As give in
God slack
Of existence
God is
Still
Quiet
Powerful
Doing doing doing seems to be addiction in our culture, especially when compared to spending time in less goal-driven states. I suspect that relaxing and letting go could free up deeper harmonies in life with perhaps a surprising effect: making our actions better as well.
Re: lax
If there is won thing
That is over-raided
It is too due stuff
There is a flow
Of deep harmonies
That can only be
Joined by letting go
Cleaving to awe
That fine align
In the thick of
Shepherding abound
A mist rhyme and reason
Making us
Act better
Life is full of possibilities. Exploring them is an unending quest. Saying, “YES,” is a good start.
Yes
He new
That it was
A once
In a life
Time
Experience
Plus
One
May say
What he didn’t no
Could fill the hole
Universe
This poem is a commentary on ingenuously using overly complicated machinations and demagoguery to achieve simple and base desires of greed and power. This sad state of affairs is empowered by a sufficient pool of fools, or rubes. The poem’s title is derived from a Rube Goldberg machine, which is a chain reaction-type machine or contraption intentionally designed to perform a simple task in an indirect and (impractically) overly complicated way.
Rube Goldberg Rubes
I AM (sic)
Tard
Of cobbling won after the other
A soulless Rube Goldberg machine
Of unfathomable guise
Demeanor the better
Twisted at warp speed
That under
Lying order
A total bluff
Petty prestidigitations
In towering piles
As hole of the world
Plunging entrails
Well
Trod
What will it
Take
Too yearn my keep
Life longing
That whole knew level
Of awe reality
Over and above mirror realty
Flush with the holy possible
Baring our souls
To new heights
Inspiring life-giving heirs
Never halving
Too cross
A line meant
To bar no one
A salud to awe
This poem is a riff on on the Matrix movie franchise, of which one was entitled, “Matrix Revolutions.” This poem plays with the notion of incremental change as often inadequate when facing epic existential choices, and the daunting all-ternative.
Matrix™ Evolution®
He refused
To get with the program
His life as sum hack
As if some eve
Would deliver him
From his
Unremitting mess-age
Beyond making cents
Follow the rabbit
Shoulder some awesome
Response ability
Without question
What if
He can’t take it
Some pill
As if
Weather feeling blue
Or red
Only to efface awe
Other choice
And
Due the impossible
Down the rabbit
Whole
This short poem is a particular melding of my love of poetry and work for social justice.
It’s Time
There is a time for awe things
And awe things knot
There is a time for writing poetry
And for righting what is
Not poetry
A poem speaking out against monetizing useless or harmful clicks and against tribalism in all of its forms…
Clicks and Cliques
How ever unsure won may be
Regarding what is
The measure of a life
You can wrest assured
Is knot a bout
Clicks and cliques
Perhaps the best Dad joke ever told.
True Story
Won time
In Bible study
We were discussing the whether
A human can see the face of God
And live
The reverend said know
Buuuuttt
Being made
In His image
According to Jewish tradition
After communing with God
As God was just leaving
Abraham caught a glimpse
Of His uppermost buttocks
And having scene
The answer
I could only say
Of course, that makes perfect sense
If the son is a carpenter
That the father is a plumber
You don’t all ways have to believe in soul to have soul.
Not My Sole Brother
He said
My kind doesn’t believe
In soul
Well I’ll be
That’s knot allot of soul
Though fore
Assure abet
Call it
Rhythm and blues
Hope is an awesome thing, not for the timid. If we don’t find hope, hope may just hunt us down and swallow us whole.
Monstrous Hope
Hope is some kind
Of monster
Who metes us awe
With gaping jaw
Where the timid and hesitant lose
A hand, an arm, or much more
Who will only recount
To kin and stranger alike
Tails of loss and whoa
As hope moves on
Only to the innocent and uncowed
Those holy committed
Swallowed whole
And as Jonah’s wail
Find themselves
Threw the end
Sow tell a true tail
Though few scarce believe
Having had
Learned what they learned
In know other way
This poem goes out to all the women who made this world a better place. As a man in a man’s world, I can only say, I would be nothing without you.
As Opposed to De-liver
Thank you feminists
For delivering
This male
In this here somewhat United States, individualism breeds divide and conquer, leaving US, out standing in its field.
Wed to Individualism
Teeming with victory a loan
May the best man win
Baring that wring
That makes life worth wile
Face to face given the finger
Fore bettor or worse
Two too much
And just left
Buy himself
With mere age
Doomed to be dated
Never more than
The sum of they’re parts
