Winning certainly isn’t everything. Loss, and vulnerabilities of all types, teach us stuff that untrammeled winning cannot teach us, and actually gets in the way of learning such stuff…
Having It Awe
It was a sloppy mistake
Often maid
Wanting it all
Only to find won
Losing it
Awe
Offed called
Amid life cries
Simpler times
Quiet weighs
Equaling having it
Awe
Perspective matters.
An Indigenous Peephole
I live
In abandon
In awe that is
A parent
Razed
Bye religiosity
In the plays
Where reverence metes irreverence
Truth lives
In the neighborhood of paradox
As an indigenous peephole
Peering
Into awe of realty
Where life abiding
And a boding
It’s better to give than receive. It’s even better to give and receive freely…
Given a Way
He couldn’t take
A hint
That he was
On the right track
Soully the weigh he was billed
Bettor to give
Then receive
Abetting awe
That is good
He had
That given
A way
As soully like
Thirst things thirst
That everlusting
Presence
We live in an awesome universe. Partake.
A Pitcher Worth
The creator cradled
The big dipper
A pitcher worth
A thousand worlds
Full of mothers
Milky way
Life blanketing
What might
Vary well be
A parent darkness
Lessed wee not look up
To the heavens offering
Presents night and day
I suspect that one’s attitude toward the unknown is at least as important and revealing as one’s attitude in organizing hard facts. I suspect that staring into the unknown is closer to staring into the heart of life than the abyss…
Acting in a Certain Way
He materialized from
An irreligious order
Monk he see
Monk he do
A proselytizer of mirror facts
As bare in reality as possible
Acting
Exactingly
To what is
Knot what may be
Having a billiard ball of a time
Gloriously rigid
Never deifying possibility
And certainly knot
Lo, probability
Occurrences
Awe is determined to be
Grave deeds
In forumed alone
Buy that lifeless
As awe other subjects vacated
And what remains
That unsatisfying status quo
Perfectly under stood
To be
Played by
Sow called objectivity
Celebrated in difference
As ultimately dis interested
As dis member every know good other
All the wile
Enjoining that
Lowest common denomination
Idoling in neutral
As helled fast
To what
One cannot
Believe
Allege
Peering into
Something beyond
Holy passable
Homeland Security is compiling a digital database through facial recognition of legal protesters exercising their constitutionally-protected rights. Worse, such data is used loosey-goosey to compile “domestic terrorist” lists to further violate our rights. Will you raise a single finger to this…
Federal Eyes, Thugs
Big Brother
Faceless
Lurches through the streets
Federal eyes
Thugs taking pics
Of the efface of democracy
Fascist hacks
Having maid the list
Of domestic terrorists
Somewhere on cloud nein
Where fore
I will gladly riposte
Yes
I will raise a finger
To digit eyes
Here is a funny little poem about the dirty lies we are tolled every day…
Fax on the Ground
The machine is plugged in
They have maid
The paper
Fooly, loaded
Running atop speed
Pay know mine
To the fax on the ground
As rolling in the sheet
With reams of iniquity
In a flooring coverup
A forced
Beaten to a pulp
Fiction
As in difference
Between wooden will
And feat on fire
Sisyphean Poetry
Is it passable
Too make that grade
Steeped
In word plays
What
Say you
I awe ready
Have a pun name
So you can pass
On calling
Me big D
In a class by myself
You may only want
Too audit
Such a Sisyphean tsk tsk tsk
Overly passable as it is
To even
Madden the gods
Flailing in its own
Particular joy
I suspect that “winning” our humanity has far less to do with “winning” than simply responding to inhumanity with humanity and letting go of the outcome. As aptly put by Albert Schweitzer: “Not only is example the best way to teach, it is the only way.”
Who is Flailing as a Human?
They loathed
That suffocatingly small
Coroner
Of their life
Where those who no you
Could careless
As cool and cruel
Seaming awe the same
Knot!
Living in a flog
Unable to pass
And the E’s
As batting a lash
Without adieu
Or quiet unbelievably
Even less class
In vane looks
At the lessor
Of too evils
I‘s piercing
Like stuck pigs
Who can
Live on
The lowest forum of spam
®®®®®®®!!!
Is there a groan up
In such plays
And what kind
Of choices
Does won halve
As taken
Buy the lyin’s share
Every won
A victim
As caste
A side
And what passably might be
What is
Wholly
Their lessen
The poor and disenfranchised will gather together and defeat the rich and mighty…
Might Verses, Mite
The widow showed up the rich with her two very small copper coins – term mites to what the rich wood know. –from Mark 12:41-44
The farces of death
In a greed mutuality
Dissemble
To raze up
The whirled
In the soul weigh know how
As if pro-seeding
In a mass funereal
Still born agin and agin
No-ing this in life
And this a loan
Assure wrest weigh
To improve won’s reputation
Is to dye
With a pedigreed shroud
As laud as they can be
Giving only their ordained elegies
And far-flung reps
Storied in the shit
And kingdom’s maid
Abut a lass
The mighty will
Be bought
Down
To their Lilliputian devices
Assure as mite makes rite
A widow’s generosity and sacrifice
Trumps opulent means
A mite as a mote in the eye
Sum kind of poetic just us
Verses the most grandiose planks
Politicians ever be helled
With every mote
A storm’n the castle
And when we find ourselves
Weather many or few
Even
In the mettle
Of that minority of won
In pesky persistence
As a mosquito
A mist the dark
Disturbing the peace
Of king-size knuckle aheads
So so trying
Too wrest
In their shady manors
That wring in their years
The buzz that madders
One people
To rule them
Awe
Resistance takes awe kinds. Social change is messy. People of good will come in a wide variety of forms. I ask that we be gentle and patient with one another, making space for all who want to move forward. This poem is a reflection on a dynamic in activist circles of “eating our own” where we may fall short on lessening us/them, in-group/out-group barriers in seeking justice and peace for ALL in the long-run…
Corn Cope Ya – Owed to the Cornucopia of Resistance
The just us warriors
Had
Their well yearned dreams and schemes
Having pain their dues
And precious little time
Fore patients
Mostly in knead of heeling
As project
Their plans
And the urgency of pissing off
In well warrin’ truth setting free
Owed growth forced
On fire
With what wood be
Wear I deal metes self-dealing
If we just
Eat the seed corn
Wee can push threw
Afar a field
And win the coming daze
As knew growth trampled
In the grapes of wrath
No time
Fore the storied plays of fate
In pastoral nature
The see’ds still
Underground
And the growing
Masses of tender feats
And messy rage of scorching sun
That germ rooting
Peering soiled
In hidden depths
And growth beyond
What wilt thou due
As well within
Those vexing spells of time
Generations churned and spurned
In the gaps of experience
And youth fullness
Bringing a bout
What is knew
And what is new
The salt of the earth Minnesotans will melt ICE…
Minnesota Nice Verses — Owed to ICE Out for Good
Minnesota nice
Verses
That storied ICE
That lies
When snowflakes packin’
Too much
All a bout
Leaving
Their mark
As exhibit
A
Tell tale yellow
In efface
And up the knows
Of peace full protest
Effacing public executions
As cross paths
With flash bang gang-ers
As exhibit
B
The stunning cowards
With their hire power
The riot wing of the party
Inaugurating terror
With ski masks
Robbing democracy
And due due process
As exhibit
C
The citizenry’s brilliant ID
Of combatting broken adores
Brought by faceless men
How grate thou heart
Questioning
Authority
How many federalized thugs
Must it take
Too screw in the dark
Or scene only in public spectacle
Wherein their rubber
Bullets for their soul protection
And saving truly led
Buy their worst of the worst
The body politic
Dis peered
In the bag
As red punctuates
The winter of our discontent
Culling for
An elephantine snow job removal
As afar as Mideast is from Midwest
In the state of the state
As backup against the Walz
Minnesota nice
Never be little
The salt of the earth
Melting ICE
Rising up too
Minnesota Spring
And what will
The future spawn
America crushing it
Silence — bring it!
Silent Move He
“Don’t talk unless you can improve the silence.” –Jorge Luis Borges
Annoys
What would it take
Fore me
To keep quiet
Passably some hush money
A bit
You know the drill
As my brain leaks
Pissing off
Some won or an other
As a rambling a praise ill
As sum catty schism
On this attest
I afar too often
Flail miserably
A fence to awe
As steel poise
And still
Soully wanting
Wrest foolness exorcised
Living in abandon
That serenity dump
For getting my re-treat
That see of tranquility castaway
On bringing it back homme
Softly being
The change
I wont to sea
In the whirled
I’m prove
Up on silence
As due quiet well
This poem is an ode to those middle-of-the-night times, timeless times not yesterday and not yet today. I consider these stolen times, gifts of presence, that I can share with my best friend and lover. NOTE: the prologue to this poem is the overly quantitative, scientific definition of what the duration of a second is, in sharp contrast to the qualitatively awesome experience of time in this numinous space of “extra ours”…
Extra Ours
“The second is the duration of 9,192,631,770 periods of the radiation corresponding to the transition between the two hyperfine levels of the ground state of the cesium 133 atom at rest at a temperature of 0 K.”
God fulfilled
The tallest order
In the whole cosmos
The undeniable rhythms
Of night and day
The cycle of seasons
And years going
By and by
Every second
Billions and billions flickering
Of a cesium atom
24/7/365
Every moment so fine
And still
Every once in a while
Between yesterday and tomorrow
Dusk and dawn
God throws in
A couple
Extra ours
For lovers
Sharing dreams and schemes
In quantum entanglement
And wear soully one
God couples
With that yoke sow light
Going one better than dusk
In supple portending
Of untolled dawnings
Here is a poem reflecting times when nothing is going well…
Letting It RIP
In what
Must have bin
A bad dream
I was shitting in hell
Wading in what was
Mine mine mime
With a pitchfork
And a tale
You don’t want to
Here
Bedeviled
Soully wanting to be
Any wear ails
If only
Whir able to
Let go
Ass I was
Once up
On time
Only to have agin
Another won RIP’ed
In culpable
Of miring
Anything at awe
Unwilling to accept
In a thousand pickles
The hole sh__bang
Of everything going
My weigh
The lonely way
Too learn
That shitty lessen
NOTE: On a more hopeful note, wade for it…wade for it…wade for it…
This poem goes out to all of those hooked on The Don’s chaos and corruption whirled tour. Trump’s addiction to his own, malignant narcissism, will require billions of lifetimes of rehab and recovery. Trump is a user…
Blow Back
Peering
Into that fund house mirror
With his coke bottle glasses
Half fool, half empty
He snorts another lyin’
Waste deep
In that snow job
Of his knows candy
When he C’s it
And when he doesn’t get it
That joke of white supremacy
He rails and rails
I want to get
My blow back
I hope that my poetry is more than just, pretty words…
The Prettiest Words
They mirrorly wanted
A proving poetry
Soully in ploying
The prettiest words
Without shadow cast
Out and out
The flatter
The better
And if truth fully knead be
Turn off
Poetry
Light
Years
A way from obscurity
Trump’s so-called “Board of Peace” has been chartered by right-wing heads of state. Though, all we need to know is that Israeli Prime Minister “Bibi” Netanyahu, a charter member, skipped out of the signing ceremony because he feared being arrested by Swiss authorities under his war crimes indictment. Make war criminals fear arrest again…
Bored of Peace
The savor of capitalism
Resurrects the East India Company
The ultimate real state deal
And all we need
To no
Is the indicted war criminal
The second biggest Bibi in the whirled
Weasels out
Of the Inc’ing ritual
To a void being
A wrested
More at home
With his own
Corruption
Charging
It all against
Occupying territories
Here is a short poem for those feeling overwhelmed…
Give Me a Brake
Here is the run-down
Pleas
I just
Want too
Make it
STOP
Give me a brake
We should cultivate people over things. We should seek first that which money cannot buy. Or else, things will consume us…
Sow Over Consumption
I peer
Into the whirled
And its debilitating lessens
Razing that infernal question
TB or not TB
As tolled of owed
Consumption
Soully to be
Re-vealed
As a well-fed calf
Of the goaled strain
Cannibalized buy my peers
As sum breed of ghoulish fix ate
On swallowing me
Hole
And as so much meat
I hurl myself
Into oblivion
And just
At that moment
I find myself
Peering
Beyond flesh and bone
Soully then
Surpassingly reaping
Beyond grim and barren plays
Even that witch grave
Sow over shooting
Into that fecund place
Awe abut
That putrescent whirled
And what remains
I laughingly ingest
Awe proscribed
In that inexhaustible realm
Of fertile eyes
Buy enlarge described unearth
As sow over consumption
