Hubris will take you down…
Punchy
He took a swing at it
That drunk punch
Right
On the knows
A simple solution
For every won
Of his complexes
Thirst out of the gate
Lust to finish
Sow fool of himself
Running on empty
Stuffed with stuff
His soul cry
Filler up
Convinced he was punching
Down
For it
The count
Flat out
Flooring it
“You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.” –Dean Martin
Indigenous peoples and ancient wisdom will save the world…
Arose Colored Glasses
They had
Survived
Revived
And even resurrected
Ancient cultures
Indigenous people
The weighs of death bared
As a poised to bringing life
A hallowed sweetness
To a soda pop culture
Hollowed by cynicism
In habited buy talking aheads
Dissembling eulogies
Lessoned manors
As have baked IDs
Even sow, those with humble arts sea amor
Teeming with one and awe
Even wile sum may claim
Such arose colored glasses
As half fool
Half empty
Real eyes sea
Through the looking glass
Not mirrorly through spectacles
As the water of life
Reigns
Over the world
Weather sailing turbulent oceans
Or a mist clouds
Violence is a grate invitation to our lowest selves…
Step Out Side
Low
I will be with you
Till the end of time
The cycle of violence
Remains
Bared in truth
Know madder
What
Your will
Dead too peace
Life like water
A fluid soul serfing
The gravity of every situation
How ever feudal to be helled
Buy any vassal
Have empty, half fool
You’ve got to
Serve somebody
Or sum thing
Sow wee are tolled
Being no bodies
Subject to no thing nest
Hour soul hope
To be picked at last
By the most power full
Aside
Eternal grateful nest
Collared in violence
Knot a quest in
Of mirrorly giving up
Heaven’s above
Abut just
Down to earth
Sect’s feat under
Know obligation
That perp pet you all
Invitation
As if
The invention of the we’ll
That menacing some in
And low
Bar swagger
That woo who invitational
Who can’t see beyond
Violence
Soully axing
Awe in the vicinity
Too join them
In their alley weigh
Impassable
To void
That mythical other side
One for awe
Super seeded by
That step out side
The only incite job they know
Supplanting our chants for peace
There are monsters about…
Dis Figuring
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
I’ve got it
Awe figured
Out
I see monsters
Every wear
There is no humanity
Wile me and my own
Carry on and on
Wear there is know humanity
What might it be
That I don’t see
In tiredly clothe minded
Robed of our humanity
In effacing awe that is
Dis figuring
And what may be bared
Wear clothed in empathy
What is helled in common
A mirror service
Chipped in buy enemies
What does it take
To spill the beings
Of our won
Fore awe
That is priceless
And mirrorly be
Down with what
Is up to me
I wrote this poem as a tribute to the anti-Valentine sentiment commonly experienced amidst the difficulties in life, particularly on the romantic love front. I debuted this poem at a poetry reading that happened to fall on Valentine’s Day. I am an unrepentant romantic on all fronts. I see the ark of life as awe a bout love. Even when the early stanzas are filled with rage and pain, the eternal story of love moves…
Every Poem is a Love Poem
“Poetry is the heart and mind making love.”
Love is a sly bastard
Skulking a bout
A creep
In every neighborhood
Humanly passable
Accessible in a flash
Wear ever
Heart and mind
Might make
Love
Hope fully gently
Yet sum time pronounced
And announced
As raw anger
And raging dis appointment
As thunder divines
The truer storm
The reign of awe
The soul awash
And holy re-nude
As clothes as you will
Never get
Taken
To the shed
De-fence
Less
Hapless
And helpless
Pray
Soully to be met
On a priceless journey
Awe ready for sail
Even when
That chosen won
Is not quiet scene
Love rights itself in
Beyond a mend
Aggrieve and a groove
In won’s soul
Undone
That which can only be
Time attested
A surpassing hear
And now
Inpatient in hospitable
Right action springs from well, being. Be well…
Right Action Springs
Water you going too due
Right action springs
From well being
Awe over turns
Illusions
Smashing
As just
Axing for resentments
You can get
Know bettor
Acting fuelishly
In Tao-ing thistles
Expectorating figs
As the err won breathes
Between means
And ends
Shorted on anew beginnings
In that perpetual temp
To cheat reality
Without
Awe of the peaces
How ever soully hoping
Abandon
That everlusting hole
As springing forth
Teeming
With water you going to do
From plays
Rightly unquenchable
Truth hurts and enlightens in the same breath…and breathlessness…
Truth As Much As He Could Bear
As much truth
As he could bear
He was grizzled
And yet those
Who fancy
Pricking up
Won’s hears
Beneath
His breath
A rambling man
Going on about being
A God fearing man
Such accounts bringing bout questions
The whys
Of fearing God
Illiciting a soul response
Can anyone no
The Lord of awe the whirled
As fear some plays
The haggard
Man answered
As nary a tattle tell
Set down his report
If you had
Seen what I seen
That might
Bear me out
And still
More than still
I have had
Moments
Beyond question
Of weathered
Can won go so deep
As to reach the unfathomable
As some manor of beauty
Yes
And no
In deed
Competition cultivates violence. Cooperation cultivates harmony.
Outing Competing
How could won
Out competing
When it’s in
Hour vary nature
I could knot hope
Too outcompete
A single blade of grass
A pristine spring
A towering oak
A squirrelly squirrel
I surrender agin and agin
Soully too fine myself
As won among many
In tiredly uncompelling
To be apart
From deep harmonies
Align I cannot cross
This poem is an ode to the degenerate view that “evolution” is somehow driven merely by sexual reproduction. The poem calls out the misanthropy of patriarchy…
Fucking Genus
He was posed to
Reckon it
As straight up evolution
Half original
As might he
Reproduction
Man’s soul measure
Buy thinking a head
Won or the other
In guttural in tuition
Glorifying random mutants
As guise will be guise
Sow they say
What is a man
Too do
Laying claim
Inerrant cockiness
And sure enough
Screwing it up
Consider it
Fucking genus
And that in alienable
Origin of specious
As sum kind
Of petri ark
As women dished
As mirror objects
What amor can there be?
It’s dam well sure
No woman
Would ever conceive
Such a misanthropic scheme
Screw the heartless algorithm. Let’s turn ourselves to life and the living. Is it worth razing a singular bird?
To Be No’in Buy You
I sow want to be
No’in buy the algorithm
That life less humanity
Getting
My number
As if it is awe
In the wrist
Demarcating
What might
Be soully
A freakish camp concentrated
A vainglorious offering
Me a hand without digits
There is no
Prosthesis fore such an immolation
Nothing passing
In the after math
Our daze numbered
In an unequaling flail
The big tree of data
Dividing us
Into what sum
Might state
As frag meant
Of corp or real bodies
In what peers
As a pile of single digits
Lifted toward heaven
De-manning that
Won way or the other
Pull the plug
Just. Enough. Day by day.
My Crumb-y God
I halve lived
On crumbs
Such bearin’ times
Until I came a cross
A speck of incite
I was axing
The wrong quest in
Can God make a banquet
Sow big
That I can
Live into
Any imaginable future
And just
Then
Show enough
A singular crumb
From God’s table
Fell like a meatier from heaven
Crashing
Into a million peaces
And that daily bred
Served as manna
Given mourning by mourning
For years unend
Food fore the journey
“Those who gathered a lot had nothing left over, and those who gathered only a little had enough. Each family had just what it needed.” –Exodus 16:18
On love and poetry…
Word Given, Worth Taken
“Love is the sickness and the cure.” –paraphrase from movie, “Shakespeare in Love”
I give you my word
Sometimes scene
As dis ease
That soully I have
Proferring one too you
Witch may vary well
Be
Too frayed to catch
And varily sow
Know one quiet
No’s
The cure rate
As I am
A mazed
Dumb struck
And agape
As love is
Mirrorly
The sickness and the cure
And if found
Never given
Up
To you
Awe
The bettor have
Of my poetry
Abet
Worth taken
Tribalism kills. It’s all about sects.
The Chosen Peephole
Tribalism is the ultimate fence
Steeling our humanity
In the vast nest of human kind
Seeing soully the hole
As our own
Peeps
A life stile
Wresting on
Just encase
Hedging every abet
As planet that weigh
Over-raided
Know ledge is power
Getting
The benefits
Of the doubt
And every bluff
A bull work
Getting to the bottom
Of every thing
Evolution as mirror sects
In sum
In farced buy
That solitary rule
Never dis member blind fold
Left with hope against hope
Too see it our way
As awe
A bout sharing
Blind spots
Fooly with
Won’s peers
A short fossil fuel and climate chaos poem for the dead of winter…
Coaled Hearted
The coaled hearted
Won’t stop
Until they have
Even robbed the snow banks
When in doubt, go flamboyant. Stoicism kills…
Something Else
Some of the buy standers took
Step back wards
Never the less
A small crowd gathered
Stairing into something else
Bigger
Then life
When it comes to
Drowning
In seriousness
There is buoyant
Then there is flamboyant
The real deal
Not too be
Miss taken
With something ails
Flim flamboyant
Yet awe the difference
That not sow subtle deference
Between giving fucks
And not
On and Off Agin
Regarding the One
My mom would say
I AM
On
A jag
Perhaps from the great
Beyond
And still
Fathom less others
Just
Might as well
Declare
You’re off
The wall
Yeah
The One
With the cracks
To let the light in
A joke
That still holes up
The firmaments
Best under stood
In darkness
And silence
Holy unreadable
In citing mere constellation prizes
To those bothered
Not even looking up
The power of peace within is the seed that is necessary to produce peace in this brutal and inane whirled.
The Measure of Awe Things
We should awe
Have a ruler
Incite of us
In holy weigh
A prays all
Choices just
I can make
Knot as soully subject to
The outer effacing whirled
Not as mirrorly deferent
To the powers that be
Aristocratic and low-brow
Bungling bossiness
Or sweetly seductive
Cheap and easy choices
The E’s of failings
And those awe in habiting vices
Entreating others
Taking it
Personal and not
Living beyond
The great divide
Wear one side fits awe
Discerning a bit crazy
In ward and out ward
Just to halve
A ruler inside and out
The blest surrender ever
Values coming at accost
In during lessens
To live within
And without
In the mist of means and ends
Finding won peace
Trump’s fascist dreams in tandem with the broligarchs, and his traditional Republican love of austerity, is quickly and brutally spawning a caste system where you and I are expected to accept being relegated to lower and lower status. Let us cast out this and every other caste system…
Central Caste-ing
The Trump regime
And his sycophants
Are right
Far right
Out of central caste-ing
A king
His trifectas of stooges
His rank
Of henchmen
And the wrest of US
We are the leaders we have been waiting for…
Un-Presidented Times
We occupy
Un-Presidented times
Thousands of crimes uncounted
A mob on steroids
As cracked
The legal code
The ruse of law
Paid in fool
In the land of oligarchs
Buy the executor-in-chief
The Don
Where only that which can be bought
Madders at awe
Even sow, the people
Come from seaming know wear
Agin and agin
Rising and razing
From unbroken places
Where the usual suspects
Ever anew
Some times I feel like I am in the running for the miss understood pageant, even with those closest to me. Defending the light in each person, even our enemies, is inescapably intertwined with our fight for humanity, and often just, as dangerous…
In the Outs
I am
Sow over and over
The light in my enemies
Bared deep
With in group identification
Too sides
Too con versing
That fatal err
We breathe in
And out
As I maid the mistake
Of having empathy
For my enemies
For which I cannot
Undue
That which seams
As won mirror aside
Which turns out
Holy fits
Awe
Of us
