POEM: Proper Preying

This poem is based on a traditional Zen story of two very different perspectives on what was seemingly a straightforward thing, revealing the importance of our inner lives. The story pits two Zen monks, one who is a monk smoking, and another Zen monk who is anti-smoking…

Proper Preying

Fore seasons unend
At the break of daze
Two monks sat in the courtyard
One with his cigar
Resting in hand
And rhythm inhaling
For seaming eternity
The other more well versed
In mourning prayer
Wrested his mine
With thoughts of smoke
Desiring to clear the heir
By weigh of their mutual master
With separate metings
The master showed compassion
Toward the complainant and his perspective
Giving him satisfaction
Then taken aback
As the one monk peered
As well
With parent satisfaction
The one monk said to the other
Seeing his dis affection
Pray tell, what was your quest in
Which was razed?
The other pro claimed
“Is it proper to smoke while praying?”
To which the master replied, “no.”
Did you not take such a rebuke to heart?!
Well for me, that was not my quest in
I inquired, “Is it proper to pray while smoking?”

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POEM: The Beat of Exclusive Clubs

Other than for hardcore atheism, my spiritual beliefs ran the gamut, something for everyone. I am a spiritual mutt. Probably the most apt description would be “unorthodox.” I detest fundamentalism. I was raised Christian and spent most of my life practicing Christianity. I am deeply infused with Christian perspectives, imagery, and sacred texts. I find truth and God as far too big and mysterious to be adequately captured by one, or even all, religious/spiritual perspectives. If some may consider this a cop out, I say, “Out with cops!”

The Beat of Exclusive Clubs

The other day I got kicked out
Of an atheist’s exclusive club
Tolled in know uncertain terms
There is science
And no other!
Wow, where did that come from?!
I was razed
A Christian
A long story (some may say tall)
Which makes some short
Red chapters
Heavenly verse
To love
One, an other
To bless
Not curse
A Palestinian Jew
Called Jesus
We could do much worse
I once heard as Muslim
Of five pillars spoke
Coming down to one
And as a Muslim
I woke
Then along came Buddha
Who said: Don’t follow me
Experience it first
Which made me want to follow
This unslakable thirst
Too fined compassion and justice
A home
Hear
On this suffering earth
A little man
Called Gandhi
To kingdoms united
He spoke
I am
A Hindu
A Christian
A Muslim
A Jew
And undoubtedly a Sikh he
So many will accuse
Well
Me too!

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POEM: A Head of Belief

I’ve heard that the longest distance is from the head to the heart. This poem is one take on this. I’ve been known to get stuck in my head, even well-intentioned, disconnected from my heart.

A Head of Belief

He stood
Up on his belief
Only to find his head
The furthest from its foundation

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POEM: A Mirror Student

Looking at myself seems to be a common denominator in successfully working through interpersonal issues. Reflections from others and the world around me can be very instructive on the nature of my inner life and its knotty workings. Taking care of by own busyness with honesty and grace frees me up to be a better me, which quiet reliably improve my relationship with others.

A Mirror Student

When the student is ready
The faculties peer
Only too make an inordinate seeing
In the mist
Of those knot ready
With sheer class
And silver linings
Sow thin
They are only culpable
Of reflecting
Won self
At a time
That is right

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POEM: Job One

For a job I be looking…

Job One

My job
Is to see you
As God sees you
Nothing more
Nothing less

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POEM: Dawning of So-called Civilization

Uncertain daze I am not such a fan of civilization. I am learning to value disillusionment. Who needs illusions? Seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly seems like a better way to realize our dreams.

Dawning of So-called Civilization

Then it dawned on me
What is it
A bout?
More sow
Called realization
And less so-called civilization

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POEM: The Dance of Life

Enjoy the dance!

The Dance of Life

Two steps forward, one step back
Two steps backward, one step forward
One step forward, three steps back
Three steps forward, one step back
Right
Left
Right
Left
Right, right, way too right
Left, left, left again…and again and again
Left
Left
Left, right, left
Left
Left
Left, right, left
Two steps forward, one step back
Volunteers take one step forward
Non-volunteers take one step back
Curtsy
The dance of life

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POEM: Barren His Soul

I wrote this poem in 2018 when the Donald Trump hush money case with porn star Stormy Daniels was being investigated as a violation of election laws. Unfortunately, years and years later this case is just coming to trial. When it comes to the U.S. criminal justice system we have a choice, in true American fashion: broke or fixed.

Barren His Soul

Barren his soul
Too the world
Know need for nondisclosure agreements
He’ll
Get his
Won weigh or the other
Weather the system
Broke
Fixed

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POEM: Hope Ungraduated

This is a poem that plays with the fact that I graduated from Hope College. I have literally graduated from hope! Of course, hope is not simply something that can be metered out in a “graduated” fashion, and neither hoard not whored. Hope abides, springing eternally.

Hope Ungraduated

I am
Literally
A graduate of Hope College
And I have the B.S. to prove it
In the first degree
After hi school
That is
Hope would be
A religious school
If schools could be
And men were of letters
Word
Incarnate
More sow
Than what can be
Given berth
After a few semesters
Of liberal arts
Only to find won self
Hope ungraduated
In countering
Life as a vocation
You must
As well
Pain the tuition
Endure mean wile
Hope simply abides
Thirst and last
The alpha and omega
Besting every succeeding generation
Unleashed with that which is
Forever
More

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POEM: The Lessen of Mirror Nihilism

On occasion, when someone thanks me for doing something, I have been known to say, with a bit of satire, “If I didn’t do it someone else would.” Of course, in a great many instances, this is not true. My response is meant as a reminder that what we do matters. The response of “If I didn’t do it someone else would,” when one is doing something sketchy or questionable is perhaps one of the laziest rationalizations we have. Such a well-learned helplessness is a vote for nihilism and a small ducking of an opportunity to exercise our moral force to make the world a little better of a place to cohabitate. Please feel free to exercise these small helpings. Even the smallest acts of courage and kindness matter.

The Lessen of Mirror Nihilism

Thank you
That’s really great
What
You
Just
Did
∅ that
If I didn’t
Due that
Someone else would have
∅ those Lilliputian victories
Every won no’s
Nothing madders

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POEM: An Artist And

This poem is a reflection on the tension between an artistic vocation and the pull to become a commercial success. Creating art and monetizing art are often extremely different things.

An Artist And

She was a consummate artist
Sow she could wrest
Assured
That she was in know danger
Of commercial success

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POEM: What is De-served?

In a grievance-filled whirled, there is often attention brought to rights violations, particularly when it is one’s own rights that are violated. Of course, rights are meaningless without responsibilities to secure those rights. This is where the chasm in securing such rights emerges: devoting prodigious energy on securing one’s own rights without a commensurate effort on securing the rights of others and all. I am a huge fan of human rights and consider developing a culture of responsibilities to secure those rights for all is a foundation for all of my social action. I view the U.N. Universal Declaration of Human Rights as the best cross-cultural and secular expression of rights and their commensurate responsibilities.  If we do not strike a fair balance of securing rights for ourselves AND others, then we will undercut our own ability, and moral authority, to secure rights for ourselves. This poem reflects on this reality of humanity failing to serve up the responsibilities required to secure rights for all resulting in an insecure world that we de-serve.

What is De-served?

In the heart
Of life
There are rights
And responsibilities
As well
Fore awe
That can ever be yearned

In the mine
Over yours
There is a whirled
Of consequences
And that what should happen to
Comeuppance

With respect too
Human rights
There are
Responsibilities too
Due the same
As well
Such potable virtues

When it comes down
To human wrongs
As far as you will
Weather getting even
Or grieving be foul
Karma runs over
Our three-legged dogmas

And what due
We get
What we serve
Or de-serve

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POEM: Baby-ize

We awe start as twinkles in someone’s eye’s. Reflecting on this may help us recognize our common origins and shared destinies.

Baby-ize

She looked at me
Without pretension
In two me
That soul window
As easily won
As lost
From that eternal place
Re-leasing
Undivided
Tension
From where babies emerge
And we awe
Ultimately merge

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POEM: A Walker, Please

My Dad got out of the hospital yesterday, after falling on his butt and crushing a vertebrae and a disc last week. After a successful surgery to stabilize his back and reduce the pain, he was transferred to the assisted living unit (“The Harbors”) of the independent living community that he resides in. By the time the hospital discharged him and arranged transport, it was after 5 pm when he arrived. He was prescribed a walker, but the appropriate staff was not available “after hours” to professionally fit him for a walker. So, the staff told him in bureaucratic detail why they could not provide him a walker as ordered. This was unsatisfactory and unsatisfying, to say the least. To make a long story short, I skulked about and found the rehab room unlocked, where there was a pile of dozens of walkers just wading for a purpose in life. I borrowed one and snuck it back into his room. Fortunately, after the deed was done, the staff were fine with such a miraculous delivery. I was glad to leap the seemingly impassable chasm between talking the talk and walking the walk. This poetic act simply assures that my Dad is both suitably equipped and quipped.

A Walker, Please

Exiting a hospitality
Of a different kind
And still
Needing to ambulate
He sought safe harbor
With a prescription
For an assistive device
Abetting man
To take crucial steps
In rehabilitation
Of this nursing homme
Of which he got their too late
Except for their can’t do attitude
Unable to bring to heal
Such a bureaucratic chasm
Only making cross
Bye talking the talk
Such a spiritual infirmity
Incompatible with his physic
Begging to walk the walk
Fortunately, that kin due
Was awe ready there
Being
The walker you want
To sea in the whirled
And safe harbor secure
Just
Feat away
In a soulless rehab space
Was a stock pile
In riched by dear departed patience
Of dry bones crying out
For the most skeletal of purposes
Wading there
For even the sparsest of flesh
As say an 89-year-owed
Holding up
Yet won more time
As in this instant
The son shines
Through such murky daze
In an end run
Bye not just
Talking the talk
But walking the walk
In a we weigh
Delivered
No bones about it
As order doctored
Heal and tow
The possible now
Incarnate
Fully quipped

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POEM: People of Consequence

Our actions have consequences. We are people of consequence. The ends are determined by the means. Unfortunately, the inanity in our culture, which may, much of the time, seem harmless in it meaninglessness, meets up with epic crimes against humanity. My question for today is this: Will our inane culture have enough of what it takes to pull back from genocide and famine in Gaza?

People of Consequence

You go
Too Armageddon
With the inane culture you halve
Knot the inane culture
You want
It’s not the end
Just
The beginning
Of a fete
Blind sided
Breath taking
Heart stopping
And dumb founded
A death sentience
For far too many
And sum
Having reaped their stay
Teaming with means
And ends
Of all sorts
People of consequence
And knot so much

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POEM: Rat Race Religion

This poem is a meditation on the banality of evil that arises from good people doing nothing when it comes knocking at their doorstep. This accomplice-ment is aided by a blinding enmeshment in a rat race offering, justification for ignoring our siblings of God and voiding our solidarity as a sacred human family.

Rat Race Religion

The mass of deaths
In rat race religion
Cede the sap of humanity
To the war
In security
As haven unearth
With hope only Abel
To be delivered
By grave planting
And full groan souls
From wither hour weigh of life
Or wents we knot worth beings
Sow it goes
As life blood
For gotten
A hole life of have too
And we prey
For a little mettle
And how might
Wee pay
For such rent
As knocking death
And its many accomplice-ments
That will
Come to pass
Not from the passion
Of fiery spirits unleashed
But cold calculation
From mostly good hearted people

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POEM: It’s Awe Poetry

This is a poet’s poem, particularly for those poets who employ free verse, which might not be recognized as poetry. Personally, I can guarantee that my free verse is worth every penny.

It’s Awe Poetry

He said
“I don’t see how that is poetry.”
I said
“It helps if you see everything as poetry.”

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POEM: The Hole of Life

Sometimes life leaves you only shitty choices. Of coarse, in many cases, making at least some choice is better than doing nothing or living in fear. Fortunately, whether we make a choice or not, a new set of choices arise, and then another set of choices. May your days be choice…

The Hole of Life

He made his mark
Shit-stain that it may be
Though just
Perhaps
Arguably bettor
Than being scared shitless
Fore the whole of life

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POEM: Love is Never Having to Say “Thank You”

Community organizing can be difficult and thankless. I am grateful for those who do such work. Thanks! Still, at times, won’s work can become a bearin’ place, yielding cynicism and skepticism, even of those who appreciate you. Tossing aside potential allies because they don’t measure up to your own epic work is self-defeating. I suspect that carrying the torch of what we are fighting for should preserve and grow gratitude and generosity — not torch it. WARNING: This poem, a cautionary tale, is based on a true story.

Love is Never Having to Say “Thank You”

He is a model activist
He is a leader of all
He humbly declares his true intense
Don’t thank him for his work
You will not like his response
So so sorry
Just
Follow
Him
Into that promised
Land of thanklessness

The title is an allusion to quote made infamous from the 1970 movie, Love Story: “Love means never having to say you are sorry,” which is one of the stupidest movie quotes ever.

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POEM: As The Whirled Goes Bye

When I look out into the world, I often get the image of chickens running around with their heads cut off. I see an addiction to “winning” that disconnects us from creation, others and ourselves, and in supreme irony, races us to a world of losing awe that matters.  There is a deep and abiding order to creation. There is an awesome, eccentric, sacredness of every life. In a descending nihilism, there is a flurry of opportunities to embrace deep meaning, embrace one another, and embrace anew world. We are the people we have been waiting for. This is our gift — to ourselves, to each other, and to the world.

As The Whirled Goes Bye

There I was
Pain attention
To the whirled going bye
In the specious choice
Of being
Won or the other
A chicken with their head chopped off
Running a bout
Awe over
Or the undead
The most vacant of presence
With in-the-box unthinking
Vainly building AWOL
Wile humanity dissembling
Wear nothing madders
Like some wholly ghost in a dead religion
Only too flail where others secede
As change peers random
In what seams natural selection
Baring
That fucking life sentence
Or stay
Of execution
As being right is halving left
And still
I am
Perhaps not
Means
To an end

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