Pushing Buttons of Intellectual Property

I occasionally run across my graphics on the web, swiped without permission; sometimes even on products for sale.  I have yet to take much action, let alone sue anybody, regarding any such nominally illegal use.  Most of this is because the mission of my busyness is to maximize prophets, and maximizing profits is much less close to my heart.  Plus, I don’t suspect that anyone else is making much money — either —  on such efforts.  If I should incidentally be a job creator, then so be it.  I’m not actually much of a fan of intellectual property, particularly when the primary purpose of that work is the common good.  Insisting on privatizing profit in working for the public good seems like a cumbersome barrier to transmitting work for the public good.  Soul Proprietor -- Too Small to FailThis is part of my being the change I want to see in the world.  If I should find myself working for more than poverty wages, expect a tsunami of free buttons, etc.  Now, like righteousness, expect merely an ever-flowing stream.  As soul proprietor, I take pride in being a terrible businessman in most any traditional sense.

I occasionally get requests to use my graphics for a web site or other purpose.  I have had no objections yet to these requests, though I often ask for a link or some modest recognition of my work.  I suspect for every one of these requests there is a thousand uses of my copyrighted work.  If you are going to copy, copy right!My basic request is declared on my website: “If you are going to copy, copy right!”  Or, as even more congruous with my mission: “All Writes Unreserved!”All Writes Unreserved!  I find great compensation in seeing my work strewn throughout the web, whether used with permission or not.  As the unattributed saying by my favorite author, anonymous, goes: plagiarism is the highest form of flattery.

Yesterday, I got a call from Sela Moser, who was active in the Occupy movement in Kentucky.  She had made a sign (pictured) which reportedly went viral: “I don’t mind you being rich. I mind you BUYING MY government!”  Actually, I’m not a big fan of being rich in a world with so many material needs, so I’ll definitely give her primary ownership of that sentiment.  Of course, what struck a chord for me was the abomination anyone of buying a government intended by the people, for the people, and of the people.  THANKS, Sela!  She proffered some attachment to her intellectual ownership of this slogan, so I offered her 20 buttons with this slogan as recompense.  She gracefully accepted.I Don't Mind You Being Rich, I Mind You Buying My Government - POLITICAL BUTTONI searched my sales records and it looks like I have not sold any buttons with this design.  So, while electronic memes in the virtual world may be become virulent, when incarnated into the real world, incurring a cost greater than a click, they travel much more slowly.  May these first of a kind buttons in the real world stimulate productive thought, discussion, and action — even nowhere near the vicinity of a computer.

 

UPDATE — February 14, 2017

I had a quote in my peace/anti-war design collection, “War is not healthy for children and other living things” which I attributed to Lorraine Schneider. This quote was popularized in the 1960’s as part of an infamous sunflower graphic created by her [image not shown without permission]. My quote design was simply a solid color background. This illicited the following e-mail:

Dan,
You sound like a righteous guy and your website is very entertaining. BUT you cannot use Lorraine Schneider’s work. She donated it to Another Mother for Peace and her design and words are trademarked… since the 1960’s. Please stop selling AMP trademarks. Want more info? Let us know, but you have take down everything on your website with our trademarks. Bill Donnelly, AMP Treasurer

So…I had a little fun with it. Here was my response:

Bill,

After consulting my illegal department, I am delighted to obey your demands regarding the offending quote. As a long-time peace profiteer, the competitive environment surrounding peacemongers is legendary. Providentially, with the mission of my busyness as maximizing prophets, I am notoriously poor, concerning maximizing profits. You may be pleased to no that I have failed completely to transmit the aforementioned graven image on any of my products hawked to confederates. If you further judge that in virtual reality I have perpetrated some additional harm, please let me know how I may dis-harm you. I trust that your intellectual property rights will find more value residing solely in the rich environment of Beverly Hills, CA, as opposed to sojourning via the impecunious Toledo, OH. It has been a pleasure not doing business with you.

In parity,

Dan Rutt, alias “Top Pun” (it’s just, my pun name)
Soul Proprietor & Another Fodder For Peace
TopPun.com — Maximizing Prophets

First Place - Noncompetitiveness

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POEM: A Star To Be Borne — People Knot Looking Up

In dozin’s of dozin’s
They were engrossed
Fueled time and time agin
In con founding sow a ware
Their tension helled by their idol busyness
In pitches black to looming executors
As orderly
As dark
Knot knowing her
Under stand
Oh so only
A pinpoint of light
Maid awe
The brighter
Bye her dark surroundings
A soul star
Hardily seen
By fortune it few
Wile spacey masses
Worship the knows on their efface
As oblivion too her
As if
A gazillion miles away
Holy unappreciated
Yet in good accompany
Uncounted others
As bidding awe
To glisten up
And down bellow
To those untoward souls
Doody bound to knot look up
The bind leading the bind
As eyes razed
Awe through the night
Dreaming of eight hour daze
And might as well be
Taken for granite
Ahead stone
In concrete cubicles
And dead lines
In deed missing
Hi noon
Starring you in the face
As you were
Out to lunch

This poem tells a story of lives lived in such a fast and concrete way that awe is mist.  Weather the gently glistening star unseen from mansions suitable for slumber or the noonday sun unnoticed as out to lunch, people make due knot looking up.  Threw out most of human history, people looked up to the stars as entree to the eternal.  Unshrouded by big city lights, beacons of planetary possibilities bound only by imagination lucidly invite us to feast from such a contemplate.  Even in the light of day, when our own earth beckons hour attention, original peoples looked to the sun in their measure of time, as the nightly heavens did their seasoning allot.  The latest version of humanity, with each precisely distracted digital watch, now combined with a wring tone of our favorite bland, solicits us to look down time and time agin.  Fastened in a virtual reality, the only looking up we due is Googling.  Sow trying, to keep up to speed!   Who can resist such a lure?  Perhaps a generous summon from a heavenly place can raze our efface.  May the ponderings of countless stars, or a singular sun, be sufficient inspiration in life to look up without flail.

POEM: Plodding Vivacious Nature

While I was busy
Doing my busyness
Over taking
My competition
Nature was successively
Undertaking my previous busyness done
Supplanting my decomposing legacy
With crop worth feasting on
In treating me
As patience heel
Going
Won better
Nature calls
Barely distinguished from my sorry solicitations
Yet as summon to love
Plodding nature never climaxes
Nevertheless, it will undoubtedly come for me
In my ruin us substitute for vivaciousness

This poem was inspired by working in my backyard this Spring and being struck by how much nature marches on, particularly if you haven’t been paying that much attention to it for a while.  The bulk of nature seems painfully slow compared to the fast-paced lives of highly evolved, huffing and puffing mammals that we call humans.  Man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself --Rachel Carson quote POLITICAL BUTTONNature has a plodding patience that meekly, yet overwhelmingly, with grate irregularity to many, surmounts our well-kept yards and fields of concrete.  There is a gentle awesomeness as nature unassumingly yields our very lives.  Though, if we are too attached to sow called civilization, nature may creep up and out like that proverbial monster painstakingly slow but steadfastly only a step behind and foreboding.  The veneer of our suppository importance is made bear as we do our busyness in the woulds of life.  As we routinely pooh-pooh nature, nature brushes aside, as over bearing, such inattentive buy products.  As nature’s patients, such hospitality and heeling is often times not welcome.  Wile we unwittingly billed our own creation, nature rejuvenates with an irrepressible vivaciousness.  Without won assent, nature secedes in making us hole.  Perhaps it’s time to buy avowal or a singular consonant, that which would be, a whole.

Feel free to browse my nature and environmental designs here:

The Environment Is Over-Raided - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTONA Savage Is Not The One Who Lives In The Forest, But The One Who Destroys It POLITICAL BUTTONDo Not Worry About The Environment - It Will Go Away POLITICAL BUTTON

LOVE MOTHER Earth POLITICAL BUTTONEvery Day Is Earth Day - POLITICAL BUTTONMay The Forest Be With You - POLITICAL BUTTON

POEM: In A Family Weigh

The future looms
Sew large
As we seam
Sow singularly stranded
In the present
Weave heir
A parent
With know designs
Beyond
Sum won ails
And grater still
The mine wandering
Too what end
As life goes
On and on
In and out
Adding up
One’s soul contribution
The pit or pattern
Of little feat
Never apart
Of the family busyness

This poem is about solidarity and hope.  At times, each of us may feel alone, facing an uncertain future.  This poem sets such worries and fears in the context of being part of the human family, children of God.  You are not alone.  While our individual actions may seem futile, they are an undeniable thread in the fabric of the future.  Even when we feel screwed, the future is pregnant with possibilities.  Not Your Obligation to Complete Your Work But Not at Liberty to Quit--PEACE QUOTE BUTTONThe Talmud wisely states, “It is not your obligation to complete your work, but you are not at liberty to quit.”  Change is ongoing — such is the nature of life.  Works worthy of the human race (versus the rat race) cross generations — even races!   Worthy hopes and dreams often need to live on across generations; thus, our hopes and dreams must pass the test of being in a family weigh.  As native Americans might put it: the arc of our lives should be aligned with the lives seven generations from now.  The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice--Martin Luther King, Jr. BUTTONFurther, as Martin Luther King, Jr. assured us, “The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice.”  Wherever your journey takes you, may you find courage and hope in the company of others, and do your part taking care of the family busyness.

 

 

Feel free to browse courage designs here.

The Opposite of Courage In Our Society Is Not Cowardice; It Is Conformity -- Rollo May quote POLITICAL BUTTONCourage - The Other National Deficit POLITICAL BUTTONHatred is the coward's revenge for being intimidated. George Bernard Shaw quote PEACE BUTTON

POEM: Present Daze

God invented the eight hour day
But buy popular demand
Parently beyond what could ever be yearned
The ardor one tries
Only leaves won
With more or less
Wanting more our
In their daze
With each re-quest
First off with nine hours
Fallowed by ten
Bye and bye 11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
And sow on and sow on
Till 24
As sum backward count
Down with freedom
Until divine enough
As full, filled with presents

This poem is a bit of storytelling regarding hour ever-present knead for more time in our daze.  God is portrayed as a permissive parent granting immature children the never-enough request for more hours in the day.  This poem is an object lesson about “divine enough,” where both God and humans have to set boundaries and limits to move from merely an adequate quantity of time to a full, filling quality of time.  	 They deem me mad because I will not sell my days for gold; and I deem them mad because they think my days have a price -- Kahlil Gibran quote POLITICAL BUTTONThe freedom we seek requires adequate time but can only be “enough” when we learn to experience a sufficient quality of time.  This is the transcendent freedom emanating from mastery of experiencing the “eternal now.”  Of course, humans need a certain amount of time suitable to their nature and the tasks before them.  This poem plays with the notion that this amount of time may be somewhat arbitrary — a storytelling device to accentuate the governing importance of the quality of time — but humans were made, evolved befitting to a 24-hour day.  And of note, in our weakly existence, God instituted a Sabbath day to set apart the wrest.  Rest and re-creation are as integral to life as any work set before us.  This poem first imagines God as creating an eight hour day.  This is not arbitrary.  The eight hour day alludes to the successful workers’ movement in response to nearly unimaginably exhausting work schedules: “In 1890, when the government first tracked workers’ hours, the average workweek for full-time manufacturing employees was 100 hours and 102 hours for building tradesmen.”  Work, Buy, Consume, Die (repeat as unneeded) POLITICAL BUTTONThe eight hour movement’s slogan was “Eight hours for work, eight hours for rest and eight hours for what you will.”  This movement was deeply rooted in the hard work and sacrifice — boundary setting — necessary to respect our human nature and human rights.  The defining moment in this movement, the birth-pangs of American labor, were police killings of strikers:

“On the evening of May 4, 1886, thousands of workers gathered in Chicago’s Haymarket Square to protest against the police killing of six strikers that had taken place a day earlier. As the rally wound down, a bomb exploded among a phalanx of policemen who had moved in to disperse the crowd. In the ensuing melee, seven policemen and an unknown number of civilians died.

The ‘Haymarket riot’ triggered the first American red scare. Media reporting was one-sided and vitriolic. Even though most casualties resulted from policemen’s bullets, the event was used to condemn the labor movement and its cause. Authorities quickly moved to pin blame for the event on Chicago’s working class anarchist leaders, who were arrested, tried, and convicted in a case that made a mockery of jurisprudence.

After the trial, an international campaign was waged for reversal of the death sentences, led by literary figure William Dean Howells, a close friend of Mark Twain. Of the eight defendants, four were hung on “Black Friday,” November 11, 1887: Albert Parsons, August Spies, Adolph Fischer and George Engel.

Will Work For Worker Rights POLITICAL BUTTONHaymarket is of enormous historical significance. It was the bloody culmination of the eight-hour-day movement, which had mobilized hundreds of thousands of American workers. And it was the direct origin of May 1 as the international holiday of the working class—celebrated virtually everywhere but in the land of its inspiration, the US.”

The trinity of work, leisure and sleep may be rooted in our human nature, yet there are many who would rob us of such a birthright.  The struggle continues in our culture of busyness and work/money as the alleged determiners of our identity and worth.  May we find a more balanced way, in harmony with our nature.  And in each moment, may you “divine enough/As full, filled with presents.”

POEM: 24/7 on I-75 — Owed To Trafficking Noise

24/7 on I-75
Only herd
In the mourning
Quiet scarce
With the engines of freedom
Racing vicious cycles
In know way asking, “who cars?”
As you whirr
The buzz of the high way
The humdrum of civilization
The muffled rumble of capitalism
Consumerism trucking along
For what too commute
A bird’s eye spew
Of see oh too
Few
Know reason
Fore petroleum free way

This poem blends the high octane themes of noise pollution and petroleum pollution.  I typically notice the rumble of traffic in the morning as I am waking up and lying in bed.  This reminds me that silence really doesn’t exist in urban settings; we just tune out background noises during the busyness of our daze.  Passing my one-year anniversary without a car, I find automobiles and traffic increasingly alien to my preferred modes of being.  Someday, I hope to live some place where deep silence is easily accessible.  I suspect that the leisurely whispers of God may be best designed and intended for lovers of silence.  As it stands, the earth seems more populated by riotous dudes.   May you find the silent spaces in your life full, filling.

POEM: My Proffered Busyness

My proffered busyness
Is riding poetry
Wherever
It takes me
And even as sow many
Times come a bout
The heist spot in the whirled
Strong-armed by incoming
Dealing with lives steel
As sell sum
Pilfer everything
As if
Following racing rats to a loot
Or tender my resignation
And well come
My big amble
Out performing
Peddling vagabonds
At any prize
Wear happiness too spare
Rambling on

This is a poem about a poet’s joy in writing poetry — that would be me.  This is yet another ode to the muse which strikes without warning, though with overwhelming warming.  There is little question that writing poetry is a way for me to work through living in such a surreal world, where grave injustices and serendipitous joys reign over my life.  This tension between the often heart rendering work of social justice and profound gratitude for the many blessings in my life is a familiar theme in my life and poetry.  May you work for justice with a grateful heart; and may your joy be deep enough to sustain you in the most difficult times.

POEM: Shown Up

The last time
He punched
A time clock
It was time to stop
A feudal gesture
Accept that
It got him fired
Up to his passions
Eyes wide open
After halving it awe
And feeling dread
In the mirror mourning
Shuddered into pieces
Having watched
His life
Go bye
As hows divided
Against won self
But now
Happening upon him
To be
Re-billed every moment
A knew
Yet know longer
Buy
Sordid clock suckers
And boorish time machines
Transporting too distant years
Never wanting
Such promise
A-trophy
Re: tired
Too due much
As everything ails
In the passed
Having shown up
Today

This is perhaps an appropriate Monday poem for many of the wage slaves working out there.  The first theme addresses one of my grate pet peeves in modern capitalistic culture of most daze experiencing the violence of an alarm clock to get out of bed, usually to work for someone else.  The evil genius and efficiency of replacing a human taskmaster with an electronic device in which wee dutifully assure our appointed time as “shown up,” speaks the the successful internalization and colonization of our lives by bosses.  Most spend most of their waking hours at a job, or jobs, that most would leave if they felt they could.  Many would rather be sleeping.  Some may find it difficult to find the difference between a-little-too droning-on working and a-little-too fitful sleeping.  We sell ourselves wholesale, some might say prostitute ourselves, for the promise of what remains.  This poems overall theme is about trading now for the future.  This can be a dangerous busyness — sometimes as dangerous as living fully in the now!  The strange paradox here is that the danger of seeking predictability and security in life is often the very thing that robs us of life; while a passion-driven now may bring a careening future routinely beyond prediction, such a future is a more lively and life-filled future than the promise of conventional wisdom’s financial security and touted freedom from uncertainty.  The present is uncertainty, and the freedom this entails.  Inasmuch as we recoil from uncertainty, we make ourselves vulnerable to the purveyors of branded futures, featuring proprietary properties, that are designed to convince you to sell today for tomorrow — or more commonly, a paycheck every two weeks.  Granted, a few folks experience the serendipity of their passions now lining up with their various bosses (or co-conspirators).  Still, the inescapable equation is that quality of life is directly tied to how often you show up for your own life, that is compared to pawning your life for money or a boss’ designs on your own.  May your life be shown up by an incredible series of presents.

P.S. This is my 500th blog entry.  I better watch it or I may be considered productive.

POEM: Speaking With Spoken Sword: Owed To Hungering Fore Anew ProMedica

The profit tiers
Some how a peer
To set the captives free
Going won after the other
Like mammon and famine
As to somehow heel the ravenous
As fiend and faux
As sow appetite for the pauper reproach
With such lack luster assurance
As hungering for
Corporate solutions
Like KoolAid™
For the poor
As food desserts
Like a cock tale
Wagging the dog
For mirrorly fucking bitches
The same owe same owe
As prophets of ode
Rapiers by daze
Templars buy eve
The paltry of knights
With chicken shit
Offering
A hundred and fifty bucks
Posing as dear
As if
Doing its doody
In sum fecund foundation
For just us
As financiers of poetic justice
And diets high in irony
For its undeserving marks
And omnipresent logos
As going in kitsch in sync
With awe that cannot be stomached
Paving roads with good attentions
In know name
Butt there own
Sitting a top the whirled
Of hell care
Reigning
Pennies from heaven
As coppers too familiar
To the indignant
And indigent
Of that speaking with spoken sword
Offering crumbs
Leading know where
Their droppings
As little balms
As met a sin
Requiring heart surgery
And prescribing
Take two aspirin
And call me in the mourning
And if that is not enough
Tact on
Take care
Your own
Busyness
Such self-determination
Only too be food agin
As so much on won’s plate
For what is whored
As up rightness
Only to be drug
By profits of owed
Living on exorbitant feeds
As the CEO my God
And the staff buy his side
Dis cuss policy
As their weighter
Serves there well fare
Wile others
Dine in the streets

Here is my decidedly unofficial entry in the ProMedica sponsored poetry competition so unintentionally named, “Revealing Hunger: Spoken (S)word.”  While it is the Big S poetry competition they are currently sponsoring, I’ll pass — though I’m quite sure it will be a gas.  ProMedica was sure to eventually reap the madness of my poetry, sow here it is.  ProMedica is always in the running for trying to coroner the market in buying good will to which it might be able to attach its moribund name.  Though the pathetic $150 price for a singular winning poem betrays how little they truly value good will and poetry.  If my words don’t speak well enough for me, then I invite ProMedica to eat me, should their hunger for justice suffer in digestion.

POEM: Annoys Pollution

Every wear but hear
Beeping phones
And nobody at home
Impossible to a tone
Even with wringing personally
With poor timing
Watching volumes
A little too lewd
Mindless won
And awe the artless
With every bell and whistle
Ears unplugged
Irking their responsibility
In all do coarse
As a pester chide for
Every imaginable
Impertinent busyness
Craven for unsound practices
In the face
Of boorish applications
Inane games
Of hashtag
One trivial hi
After another
As drug nowhere fast
My only resort
A pun with a silencer
Putting on
Quiet a show
Only now
As if
Stuck up
Harass
Muted
To match
The best of them
Dumb typists
Trans mitting
Techs massages
Ghostily beyond their reach
Inescapably com posing
As virtual monkeys
Only slightly more
Than shake a spear
Pointing fingers
At key boreds
As some incanting spell
And in such easy fancy
Imagine many fates
Worse than deaf

This poem is about one of my pet peeves: noise pollution.  This is some indication of how wonderful my life is, that such a first world problem lingers near the top of my list. The mental and spiritual pollution of unwanted noise and glaring lights captures my attention far too often.  Free Range Human Being - POLITICAL BUTTONAs a free range human being, I am cell free (exceptions made for civil disobedience).  The long tentacles of Western civilization purport freedom as being wired without wires, in sum sort of civil religion.  Such annoys pollution is closely related to a leading candidate for the biggest myth of modern progress: that multi-tasking improves our lives.  Multi-tasking may make sense if the point is to make a race of better virtual monkey slaves, but multi-taking is the enema of mindfulness and how trying it is to do too much shit.  Perhaps the most useful definition of Zen that I have ever heard is this: do one thing.  When smart phones are employed as multi-tasking machines, such so-called technological progress is analogous to the infamous anarchist slogan: Bigger Cages, Longer Chains - FUNNY POLITICAL BUTTON“Bigger cages, longer chains!”  If this is smart, then I prefer dumb — or perhaps, shut the f__k up!

I wrote this poem while on a long bus ride with plenty of multi-tasking smartphone cyborgs.  I was largely spared of such an invasion due to my sage employment of a low-tech solution called earplugs.  Plus, witnessing people trying to do too much shit provided fertile ground for an even lower tech resolution: writing poetry about whatever issues emerge from my life at the moment.  Or, as poets are apt to say. “It happens.”

POEM: A Musing Co-Mission — Nein Poems! Owed to Know One

This is nine separate poems comprising one poem, each and all on the theme of the muse mercilessly striking in the middle of the night with irrepressible inspiration from God knows where.

God bid me
Higher than I
Was willing to go
Only to in
Form me
Of whys infirm a meant
That I am
All ready
Hear

He slept
Into conversation
With that God of dreams
Where I’s are not necessary
Only more acute
And in their wake
Brake loose
Countless dawns

Apprehending
I am
A kept man
In my place
Beyond my own
Yet as if
More than
A game
Playing only
For keeps

In the mettle of the night
God has a Lot to say
In that language of silence
A partner
Worth more than
One’s salt
Never looking back
In a God so forward

He said “YES”
To harvest time
In the land of nod
Where more dreams are forgotten
Than anyone could ever “no”
Those fated few under
A night’s protection

The muse strikes
Beyond mirror daze
In the we ours of the night
Where there is know work
And never clothing for busyness

My hand rights
And awe that is mine
Mirrorly follows
Giving
One
A pause
Word
Without sound
Of won hand
Clapping

Amid night rambler
Beyond what is still
Drunk in slurs
Of lucid dreams
Never to be penned
And in mourning will
Be for gotten

The wrest of the night
Is yours
The muse supined
And you knead not worry
I will take care
Of hour many
Fine appointments

I wrote these nine poems one night over the course of a bout two hours.  The singular theme of a poet’s helpless relationship with a muse was not designed by me but a mirror reflection of this relationship.  My futile resistance was to know a veil, and pun in hand, I consider this my formal certification as gloriously disabled.  With the sole of a poet, flat on my back, I have long a go matriculated to the knead to get up and answer the muses booty call.  It is simply the write thing too due!  Sow, a light bulb goes on, and as pen is in hand, what comes is worthy of the papers.  A lass, what may be fodder to some is a parent only too me in sharing presence of what is awe to gather hours.  May you find yourself a basket-case of poetry like a sickness and a cure to gather.

POEM: And Love Comes, However Inconceivably

There I stood
I was in
That not so thin line
Between getting
More than I could ask for
And more than I bargained for
The distinction of gratitude
Or the convergence of thieves
Still born
Of one accord
I went to the free market
Fore sum
More
Faith, hope, and love
Only to find myself
A loan
The busyness of life
Having
Souled out
What I kneaded
Only awkwardly grasping
Elusive presence
Fore me
It was
I am
Mine too
In vest
Awe the wile
Selling my wears
In what too due
I will
Caste out
This ward robe
Such a flat attire
And commanding duds
As the spruce
Following suit
In the sparrow weigh
And a will scant due
Compared too
Trends figuring
Brighter than bright
Shining like a son
Without be getter
Unable to look
In the face of Goddess
And live
As kin udder boobs
Possessing womb to grow
Nor looking back
Staring into the abyss
Proffering doubt
Up front
That the hole is greater
Than the sum of the parts
Bought to you
Buy a hire power
A savor of experiences
Made passable
Of awe that is gratuitous
As invalid
Inexorably pro cure
As if
Dogmatically heel
Only to that witch is
But a wrestful silence
In the face
Of free dumb
And drawl conclusions
A cross the lyin’
Thinly veiled
And will
You bye it
When fair it out
A world without heir
Oar a descent living
As kin dread spirits
Ascertain as death
And more taxing
An undistinguished life
Seized
Except for inaugural bawls
And conclusive wimpers
Stand up!
Arise from your grave condition
And deathly accommodations
A veil your self
Of divine under standing
Aura new day dawns
Illiciting epiphanies
As learning on the everlasting alms
Faith found
Hope secured
And love comes
However inconceivably

Love cannot be stopped.  Love under-girds the beneficence of reality.  Love can be plausibly denied, just as God can be plausibly denied.  Focusing on other things, lesser things than love, may seem more productive in everyday life.  Of coarse, the busyness of life is often more repetitive than re-productive.  Love, as is God, is a gentleman, amongst other things, and heels in the presents of unimaginable patience.  A similar sentiment is sublimely expressed by Rumi, a beloved poet to millions, a beloved poet to One:

IT’S RIGGED

by Rumi (as translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

It’s rigged – everything, in your favor.
So there is nothing to worry about.

Is there some position you want,
some office, some acclaim, some award, some con, some lover,
maybe two, maybe three, maybe four — all at once,

maybe a relationship
with
God?

I know there is a goldmine in you, when you find it
the wonderment of the earth’s gifts will lay
aside as naturally as does
a child a
doll.

But, dear, how sweet you look to me kissing the unreal;
comfort, fulfill yourself in any way possible — do that until
you ache, until you ache,

then come to me
again.

 

 

.

POEM: Nevermore Contrived

In the distant future
But not too distant
Man fashions
A machine
That does every thing
For us
For the trees
Imperceptible
To awe but sum
Living in passed tense
Eternal re-pose
Holding sway
In make believe lives
And unexamined lies
So bold over
Weather manner machine
Companied buy nerves of steel
No more tempting stripped ease
Fore incalculable futures
Re-buffed completely
In surging acts of sedation
Knot in any weigh
Quiet getting
What
We came for
Never more
Contrived

This poem is about the many falsehoods being sold as truth in the marketplace of ease and predictability.  Such calculating contrivances pawn the notion that two half-truths are of equal value as a singular truth.  While many such a fool’s formula are accompanied by beguiling animations, the lively hood they occupy is a barren busyness.  Life is not a package deal that can be souled by gimmicks and machinations, no matter how inventive.  There is no technology that can substitute for the disciplines of the heart.  There is no security system that can supplant the the counsel of courage.  There are no makeshift maneuvers that can unseat sacrifice.  There is no peril that does not shrink before wisdom.  There is no coercion that can do a way with liberty.  There is no worldly power or unequaled minions that can equal trust.  There is no status or celebrity that is the match of intimacy.  There is no brand identity, fan club or religion that can replace true solidarity.  There is no ploy that can stand-in for play.  There is no narcotic that can super seed hope and dreams.  There is no outsourcing of accountability.  Reality will have its weigh with you. We must throw our counterfeits into the forge of Mordor, as the hollowed ring of power leads us to false thresholds, revolving adores that steer us to idol pastures and perpetual cowing.

POEM: For Shadowing a Life

She had saved
So much time and money
Only leaving
Too much too due
A well honed busyness
Yielding the best of the bust
A treasured chest
In hard times aplenty
Never the less
Predictably taking
A rugged helm
In a cagey realm
Plotting a cross
Lives less fortunate
To a steer
Clearing millions
For leaves of clover
And first class vocations
Such ruminations milking
To be cowed by no more than won
A gingerly bred man
Running as fast as he can
From what would eat him alive
So telling
In dropping old fox tales
As crossing too
The other side
Like a fish out of water
Or a scorpion getting a head
Of their fabled nature
A version of croaking
A pare for all time
Only to be left
A loan
Know matter
What shrewed investments
And generous self-helpings
She found herself
A sieve
Not the sort she counted on
A full colander emptied
Her labor saving devices
Gave birth
To so little
A listless family planning
Orphaned buy
A catalog of unequalled possessions
For shadowing a life
Reflecting on buy-gone delinquency
So quickly passing
In habiting exquisite coffers
Now coffin for discreet recognition
Mirrorly a pall bearing
In her high tech death bed
Stubbornly sterile
The best care money can buy
As in firm nursery
A weighting her delivery
As an empty car go
A body of controvertible evidence condemned
As howl I get through it
A void
A fading bellow
Of such eternal apprehension
I’m mortal
A rapidly reproaching sunset
Fallowing the light
Oh my brightness
And savvy hews
Will never be herd above
This inferno racket
Of contempt late
Ever wandering about the evil won
I can’t even
Here myself
I’d give
My hole life
Too take notice
Of any body et al
Letting out
A friendish laugh
In compassing
Nay gating
The presents of cloved feat
The beast of burden
Due another’s work
Seeking too earnest
For see
Forever dwelling
Wear you can’t take it
With you
All that
You don’t have

This poem is another reflection on the epic choices we make in our lives.  The would-be heroine in this poem settles for the heroin of a profitable job and a trophy husband (who eventually dumps her), only to find herself, perhaps too late, with failing health, facing death with a certain emptiness commensurate with her life.  Given busyness passing for worthiness, and material wealth passing for success, what passes for life fades into death.

In this poem, I allude to the fable of the scorpion and the frog, which goes so:

A scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream and the scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on its back. The frog asks, “How do I know you won’t sting me?” The scorpion says, “Because if I do, I will die too.” The frog is satisfied, and they set out, but in midstream, the scorpion stings the frog. The frog feels the onset of paralysis and starts to sink, knowing they both will drown, but has just enough time to gasp “Why?” Replies the scorpion: “Its my nature…”

Most would agree that this cynical tail really stings!  Deathly self-destruction reverberates potential destruction to any in the vicinity.  Whatever constitutes such an irrational nature is a black hole for any logic or reason; worse yet, it resonates with a primal fear of the unknown (death being the great unknown), the proverbial abyss.  As long as we live in the shadow of scorpions, we must confront such deathly fear.  Of course, death comes to us all, but the river in which we are crossing over to the other side is denoted “denial” on many life maps.

Perhaps the highest state a human can attain is to face one’s own death with equanimity, particularly if it involves laying one’s own life down for another.  Most of us deal with our fear of death by justifying the death of others to preserve our own life, or ironically, our “way of life.”  This is not truly facing death, it’s trading another’s life for your own; thus, postponing your own facing of death.  Avoiding death by dealing out death to others is considered eminently rationale by most.  Preserving your own life, avoiding your own death, is viewed as a near-absolute value by most.  The right to self-defense is considered common sense.  Few would assail it.  Though some, like Jesus, Gandhi, or Martin Luther King, Jr., would make poor use of it.  The right to surrender one’s life for a higher purpose is considered noble, but beyond expectation for common folk.  Nonetheless, transcending one’s self is the only death-defying, even deathless, territory to reside within.  Inasmuch as humanity resides in the robustness of life, humans must transcend one’s self.  Humanists might consider humanity itself as the larger self to serve and in which to participate.  Transcendentalists might consider the larger self to transcend humanity, even transcending humanity plus nature. Either way, only through the whole can we find peace.  Accepting that life is bigger than us, and bigger than our death, can give us peace — provided that we are a true devotee of life, not death.

Scorpions, real or perceived, force us to confront our own nature and devotion to life.  The proverbial scorpion is perhaps best personified by “terrorists” in present-day America.  Terrorists are routinely and conveniently oversimplified to be scorpions.  Their nature is portrayed as both intractably irrational and completely predictably self-destructive.  In short, subhuman, unable to behave rationally, even in regards to self-preservation.  Those scraping the bottom of humanity at least send others to death to protect one’s own version of rationality.  We call these folks “generals” or even “Commander-in-Chief.”  Labeling that which we feel compelled to kill as subhuman is the only rationale way to preserve our notion of humanity.  This shot-full-of-holes rationale is an inhumane shortcut to deal with deathly fear by choosing death, for others

However, any dehumanization of others is a disproportionate focus or complete fixation on the scorpion nature present in humanity (and every human).  The potential for manifesting the scorpion nature is part of our nature.  The notion of “self” destruction simply rests on our notion of self.  If terrorists are not part of humanity, then we are free to kill them without killing part of our “self.” If terrorists are part of humanity, then we are not free to kill them and rationally claim “self” defense, since they are a part of the “self” of humanity.  No doubt, some would easily settle for maiming part of humanity, their humanity, to preserve their maimed image of humanity and have a hand in shaping which numerical portion survives the battle.  However, life is even larger than humanity, a point that probably has to be conceded by both humanists and transcendentalists.  Life does not need humans.  Life existed before humans.  Life could exist if humans become extinct (probably in grand gestures of “self” preservation).  To pay proper homage to life we must choose life as a whole, even if it happens to result in one’s self’s “premature” death (a death brought about by those less than mature).  Trusting that the whole of life is more important than our own self creates a harmony that propagates life.  Trusting that death is a more expedient way to preserve life is our scorpion nature!  One of the beauties of an ordered universe is that some things predictably follow others.  Paying homage to the whole of life brings peace to the piece we are.  Bringing death continues to confront us with repeating lessens, that death brings death, and killing others is killing our largest self.

Most simply put, from a more highly evolved point of view, killing is “self” destructive.  The irrationality of killing is our scorpion nature, a potential actualized when we can only see necessity and are blind to our freedom of choice.  Since freedom of choice is a part of human nature that must be manifest for us to be considered human, the denial of this freedom is a denial of our humanity, the death of humanity.  It is inhuman to deny that we are free.  It is inhumane to deny the freedom of others. Life bids us to more than we merely are.  Feel free to choose life!

POEM: The Autobiography of Tao Rex

The opening lines
Of the autobiography
Of Tao Rex
Alias Not Neil:
Neil was a man of substance
Who was not waiting
For it to come into style
If in the course of life
He should cross
Kingmakers
And Job creators
He would not settle
For being a part
As sum illumine knotty
Though some might
Say naughty
Whatever could be said
Of such calamities
Or calumnies
It is not about kneel
Or similar conventions
The rest
Rights itself

This poem is a tip of the hat to the Tao, and a hybridization of the eternally one Tao with social activism.  An appreciation of the wisdom of the Tao recognizes the unique, ineffable, and dynamic way of life.  This way does not mistake mere style with deep truth of the Tao’s reality.  Living into the unity of the Tao does not settle for being a mere part of the whole of reality, but dynamically seeks harmony of the part and whole.  The Tao’s connection to social activism springs from this unity, giving rise to human rights shared by all.  Those who would parcel out reality for their own individual gain may be clever, and even powerful in their own right, but such behavior impugns the shared character of humanity.  Kneeling, or bowing, to such powers is often considered simple, conventional wisdom.  Nonetheless, the Tao is not about kneeling to convention, but seeking the deeper spring from which all life arises in harmony, even perfection.  And from The rest/Rights itself.”  Not surprisingly, The rest is a pun, meaning both “all else” and “the state of resting.”

The rest begs a spiritual perspective, a transcendent perspective, because reality can never be fully tapped by the mind and/or heart.  This endless reserve, The rest, can be viewed as the source of all being, a higher power, or God.  East and West meet with The rest of the Tao and the sabbath of Jewish and Christian spiritual practice.  Honoring the Sabbath is the fourth of the infamous ten commandments.  The sabbath commandment is the culmination of the three commandments; they go together.  The first three commandments are about a proper relationship with the one true God, the highest and most sacred reality.  Beyond the “I am” of the first commandment, we are instructed in the second commandment to not reduce the sacred to mere images, “graven images,” daring to reduce the whole truth to a partial truth.  The third commandment is similar in that it warns of taking God’s name/character in vain, to impugn the very power of God, the sacred source of all being and moving.  Trusting, putting your faith, in this sacred source, parallel to the Tao in Taoism, is demonstrated behaviorally by respecting/honoring rest, recognizing that there are far greater powers than ourselves from which life’s bounty rests and springs forth.  To disrespect the Sabbath by trying to rely exclusively on our own power is idolatry, putting ourselves above God, The rest.  Translating the Sabbath day commandment to modern-day capitalism and its relevance to social activism is basically God calling for a work-stoppage every week.  Honoring the Sabbath witnesses to the primacy of God, The rest.  This radical act, an apparent non-act to some, is a powerful threat to capitalism’s constant assertion of perpetual busyness to grow and thrive.  Capitalism’s worldview, basic operating assumptions are idolatrous.  Capitalism is idolatrous because it regularly discounts the sacred act of honoring The rest.  In capitalism’s equation, The rest, is a barrier to maximizing profits and productivity.  Even the more sophisticated view of recognizing that rest may be needed to maximize worker productivity reduces The rest to mere utility, a means to an end, not a honoring The rest as good in itself, a gift from God.

Related to the modern fixation on utility, the practical, secularized mindset of postmodern culture usually skips to the last six commandments which deal with more easily recognizable behavioral elements (though “honoring mother and father” seems a transitional commandment for moving from a proper understanding of the order of things in heaven to earth).  The remaining commandments deal with murder, adultery, theft, lying, and greed.  Of course, focusing even only on these commandments leaves plenty of critique for capitalism, with its inevitable warring over creation’s bounty, siphoning wealth from the weak, lying to self and others to cover one’s dishonorable tracks, and perhaps most infamously and audaciously arguing that greed is good!

May you find rest in the sacred source of all being.  And may you fight restively for justice from such a bounteous place.

POEM: Running Like Chickens With Their Heads Cut Off

POEM: Running Like Chickens With Their Heads Cut Off

Have you ever looked a chicken in the eyes?
Most of us city folk probably never have
Where are you?
Chickens can look quite different in the city
Just the same
Their bodies run around
Like death will catch up with them if they slow down
Their heads flit about
Ensnared by nothing at all
Abiding mirror fax of life
Who has got one’s back?
Missing only you, won’s greatest faux
Possessed by a vacancy
That will soon enough be dismissed
Wading for something more
Unable to see what’s beneath their own feat
Where we are grounded
Still, six feet is better than two
When it’s not yours!
As if one May fly!
To live but for one day
Today
Even four proves oddly better
Fore what can thou dust do, in turn?
Don’t you see?!
Chickens re-member!?
They are almost everywhere
Though they are practically invisible where I live
So I am bound to run into more than a few
Even more so if you cross to the other side
Just, please, don’t bother asking me why
I must
Have chickens
Incite me
To a whirl
Without
Chickens
Running about
With their heads
Just being
Cut off
Like trafficking enflesh

I wrote this poem a while back, but thought that it might be a good poem for the month of May, given the reference to the short-lived May fly.  Nonetheless, this poem fits on a long-standing theme, particularly for those living in Western civilization, of busyness and not being present in the moment. Like many of my poems, you may have to read it several times, because it involves a lot of puns and multiple meanings depending on how you read various phrases.  It’s difficult for me to comment on longer poems, because I end up commenting way, way longer than the poem itself.  Sometimes I like to leave the poems to speak for themselves.  Still, I think it’s probably comment on one strain in this poem.  The phrase: Still, six feet is better than two is a reference to being buried 6 feet underground and a reference to a chicken with its head cut off lying on the ground looking at the 6 feet of three other chickens and taking some small comfort that it is not their two feet that they see in their last moment of life.  Also, this is an allusion to the apparent ease at which we will trade other people’s lives for our own.  If you find this somewhat morbid, then take some comfort in the line: Even four proves oddly better.  In our fixation on the quantitative in our culture, it might seem odd that four is actually better than six.  However, the four refers to two sets of feet and a pair of chickens or people.  This refers to the comfort that we find in companionship with one another.  This value of companionship strikes a sharp contrast to the hurried busyness that tramples our presence of any given moment, and rushes by authentic relationships with others.  In this crazy world, which may seem dangerous and short at times, especially if you are chicken, companionship and solidarity may prove to be the reason or purpose in our lives.  I guess the message is: pay attention to the people around you.  Oh yeah, you may want to pay attention to the chickens around you as well.

POEM: Morning Prayer, Waking Up

I say a prayer of thanks every morning I wake up

Except about the whole having-to-wake-up thing

This is a simple one of my short poems.  The first line of the poem strikes a very traditional chord, dealing with morning prayer and thanks.  Of course, the every morning I wake up can be taken two ways.  It can be taken as a wordy way of saying every morning.  Or, it can be taken as a reference to giving thanks for those mornings that you wake up as opposed to not waking up.  Combining these two potential interpretations contrasts what may be a mundane routine of morning prayer with the profound gratitude of being alive at all.  Then, not surprisingly, as is given my style, the second line of the poem is a reversal or a contrast with the first line.  The profound importance of a morning prayer of thanks for being alive is contrasted with the mundane and often unwelcome chore of having to get up out of bed, which of course, requires waking up.  I recognize this conundrum mostly from past experience, as my present life is of a leisurely pace and structure that typically does not require me to force myself to get up at a particular time, which my mind and body might deem arbitrary and unwelcome.  I have largely solved this conundrum that is commonplace in our culture of busyness and structured time.  For this I’m extremely grateful.  I get a double dose of gratitude by getting the wonderful opportunity to wake up in the morning and to take little time to appreciate that by not having to worry or be pressed by having to get out of bed.  In fact, calling this a double dose may be short-changing the reality of the synergy of graces of getting to wake up and not having to get out of bed right away juxtaposed to one another.  I highly recommend it!

POEM: Getting Your Ducks in a Row

I once put all my ducks in a row
Only then realizing
What am I doing with all these ducks?!

Getting one’s ducks in a row is an idiom or metaphor that most people are familiar with, meaning that we should get our business in order.  The twist in this poem is a reversal of the typical order that my poetry takes.  In this short poem, I take a common phrase that is not intended to be taken literally, and then take it literally.  Predictably, this leads to absurdity, and the ensuing absurd question of what am I doing with all of these ducks.  Of course, the absurd question is actually a question intended to jar one into a realization that getting one’s business in order is not always the most important thing in the world, though it often seems so.

Perhaps ironically, the pervasive idea of getting one’s ducks in a row, getting one’s business in order, can be a stagnant or deadening proposition that actually kills a higher order in our lives.  Life is messy.  Like John Lennon said, “Life is what happens when we’re busy doing other things.”

The question here is not whether one is for order or against order.  The question here is one for a higher order or a lower order.  Increasingly, my experiences in life lead me to believe that one of the most fundamental issues is achieving some clarity about following a higher order over a lower order.  Again, this does not negate the value of lower order stuff, it simply puts it in its proper place, puts it in its proper perspective.  Given that lower order stuff is typically more clear, concrete, and easy to see, it is little surprise that we give an inordinate focus to such things – they capture our attention (and us).  After experiencing many dis-orders in my life, I have come to the realization that the best way to reorder my life around those things which are most important, those higher order things, is to practice simplicity.  What I mean by this is that I need to be aware of those relatively few things in life that are most important to me.  Combined with an actual commitment to these things, then I can use these few important things to better order the many lower things.  More simply put, the higher should lower the order, and a few more important things should order the many less important things.

Another major reason that I see lesser things getting a disproportionate amount of attention versus greater things, is a common confusion regarding what is urgent versus what is important.  Our culture value busyness.  Busyness is seen as an indicator of productivity.  Also, busyness is a way to avoid being seen as engaging in a cardinal sin of our culture, which is laziness.  I think this confusion leads to a systematic bias that often runs over truly important things in our lives.  Given the attachment to busyness, busyness actually becomes a surrogate for urgency.  Thus, the confusion between urgency and importance.

Now, actually, there are many things in life that are both urgent and important.  These are the most important things to which we should attend.  However, there are many, many things that seem urgent that are not really that important.  Likewise, there are many things that are very important but do not seem very urgent.  I believe it is in these very important things that do not seem very urgent that we get lost.  The Achilles heel here is that attention to these most important things that don’t seem very urgent, requires a more relaxed perspective, a broader perspective in relation to time.  Most great things in life require a substantial investment of time.  Also, most things worthwhile require some effort on our part.  But let me deal first with the time issue (the most important thing here).  This gets back to the laziness issue.  Our culture reinforces the notion that relaxing our views about urgency is somehow lazy.  If you are not dealing with the commonly accepted stuff that is seen is urgent, then you are viewed as lazy.  This is not necessarily true.  Now, while truly lazy people don’t deal with what’s in front of them, whether it is urgent or not, important or not, to deal with the important but not urgent things requires some way of being that is neither characterized by mere busyness nor laziness.  This is the difficult counter-cultural work of dealing with the most important and often most overlooked stuff in our lives.  It takes a great amount of discipline and work to slough off the avalanche of seemingly urgent stuff in our life in order to attend to the most important things.  In fact, it is this lack of developing such discipline and boundary setting that is the more important and urgent form of laziness to address.

Laziness is definitely an issue.  This gets back to the issue that most things worthwhile in our life require effort on our part.  Being fully human requires a lot of effort.  This reality requires that we overcome a certain lazy inertia in our lives.  The status quo, the way things are, has a certain stability, momentum and inertia to it.

If we keep going the direction we are headed in, we will probably end up where we are going.  However, equally true, the past is the best predictor of the future, but if you use the past to predict the future, you will always be wrong.  Or more eloquently put, by Yogi Berra, “Prediction is very hard, especially when about the future.”  This is because people are not billiard balls.  People are not simply determined being.  People possess freedom.  People are subjects, not objects.  Certainly, as long as people are involved, predicting the future with complete accuracy will be impossible (actually, this is true for so-called “things” as well; this involves a discussion of the inherent probabilities necessary to understand quantum physics, which I will gracefully save for another day).  This is the way it’s supposed to be.  This is not chaos; this is simply uncertainty.  This is the way the universe is ordered.  This is a higher order, not to be subjected to a lower order.  This takes us full circle, back to our zealous clinging to stuff that is more concrete, seemingly certain.  Our felt need to substitute certainty for uncertainty plays neatly into the hands of confusing the urgent and the important.  Life is uncertain.  If life were not uncertain, it would not be life.  If life were not uncertain, then life would simply be a quest of learning everything and then being ordered (notice the use of the passive voice, and the same language that we reject often from the bosses in our lives) by the ultimately determinable (that which can be reduced to certainty).  This would inescapably lead us to our endgame of being all-knowing and totally impotent (not free).  If this strikes you as a concept of God that is rejected by the vast majority of humanity on this planet, then you must be paying attention.  This so-called God that so many people legitimately reject, is not God, but the vain and enslaving-ourselves project of trying to be God ourselves.  Neither can God be reduced to simply “everything.”  God is more than “everything.”  This concept arises out of the paradox of subjectivity and objectivity, the difference between subject and object.  In this case, the difference between people and things, and between God and “everything.”  I hope that I’m not getting too far off course by getting straight to the heart of the matter.  If you want some additional commentary on these matters, and subjects, I would suggest browsing scientific reductionism.

So, now that I have put all of my ducks in order, I can get beyond the whole “duck” thing. In the end, for all this to work well, this means having our lives ordered in a way that is consistent with what we consider to be the most important, then we must actually know what is the most important stuff in our lives.  Do you know what the most important things in your life are?  If so, I would suggest that you make a list of such things, and while doing this may be of the utmost importance, I would recommend that you take your time to get it right.

Now, if you really want to blow your mind, and perhaps blow the lid off your heart, I recommend meditating upon this poem from the Sufi poet Rumi:

A good gauge of spiritual health is to write down
the three things you want most.
If they in any way differ
you are in trouble.