Monday, July 16, 2018

The Order of Things

I sit and watch as mankind blindly gropes
Its way to patterns that the cosmos found
Itself, self-organizing wish to hope
And placing everything on patterned ground.

Did life, like mankind, fight against the trend
Within the cosmos that gave rise to it
And all it needed to survive and bend
Environments to thrive, not merely fit?

Release yourselves into true personhood,
Become unique by showing that you flew
With others and rebelled to do your duty.

Release yourselves so that you do the good
In a society that now is true,
Emerging to the just and sacred beauty.

Monday, July 9, 2018

A Better Time

We all are searching for a better time--
It drives the restlessness of feet and mind--
It is the reason that creators find
The newness in the world that is their crime
And on whose wooden steps the world must climb
Even as they are burning it and bind
The makers and discoverers, unwind
This complex world and return to grime.

A world of beauty--that is each one's aim--
Some want a Rothko world, so simplified--
Some want a Dali world, a nightmare scene--
Some want a Michelangelo to flame
The world in deep complexity denied
By those who fear what isn't pure and clean.

Monday, July 2, 2018


Important are the fleeting things--
Enduring things we leave as nought--
More gossip in our ear will sing
Our souls to do things that we ought
Not do because we think our friends
And enemies have us in mind--
But honestly, we're not their ends--
Peak at their thoughts, you will not find
You there when you are out of sight.
Yet we neglect the work we do,
For few will learning dare delight--
And almost no one loves what's true
But only listen to what feels
To them supportive of belief,
Ignoring medicine that heals
In favor of a lying thief
Who tells them what they want to hear--
Why do you want to believe hate,
Embracing those who peddle fear?
Why do you think destruction fate
When all the evidence is clear
That life is ever everyplace
Rejecting all that you hold dear--
That is what lifts the human race.
Important are enduring things--
The fleeting things, please leave as nought--
Allow the truth to always sing
Our souls to do things that we ought.

Friday, June 29, 2018


The kings by every name--the bureaucrats,
The legislators, presidents, and queens,
The Secretaries, all the true fat fats--
Devour all the children. Moloch cleans
The flesh from off their bones, discriminates
Against them all, accepting no debates.

The children in the belly of the beast
Are roasted and their screams turned into moos
As gentle as those cows before a feast
Who feast in ignorance that they will lose
The peace of pastures in the morning sun,
Milk-suckled veal before their life's begun.

The sacrificers hear the sounds of peace
And virtue emanating from the bronze
God's lips--they know these children's souls' release
Will bring the jailers to release the bonds
That their imaginations bind them by--
Contrary facts they always will deny.

Their bonds are gone and have been gone--they bind
Themselves and feed their children to the flames
And lift their blackened bones in hopes they'll find
A place where they'll deny their secret shames,
Where finest pheasants fly, cooked, to their plates
No one has placed before them, perfect fates.

They only have to feed Moloch each child
They nurtured at their breasts--the sacrifice
Of all the future's worth it--they're beguiled
Into believing evil can be nice
With just enough burnt flesh and bones made smoke
For Moloch's hunger you cannot revoke. 

Monday, June 25, 2018


The new, the strange--these things the people hate,
And have to hate to have a healthy home--
Creators of new values, virtues rate
As evil--burn them on the gate you'll roam
Right through in celebration as you pass
The body smoldering, the hero dead
Who opened up the date to bring the mass
Into a future beautiful, the bread
Of life available to all. The bones
Interred into the columbarium,
A statue raised, we hear the mourners' moans,
The mourners who could never make a crumb
The hero made now praise, indeed they hail.
The meaning that the nihilists reject,
The everything-has-meaning folks bewail
New meanings that he made, while some reflect
And think the changes obvious and true.
A brand new gadget? Please protect the old
No matter who it hurts--it's what is due
So some are safe from brand new wealth untold.
A brand new style of art? Reactionaries
Reject it, claim themselves the avant garde
And poison all the sweet-singing canaries
To warn off people from the gold the bard
Uncovered to enrich our souls to health.
But all protect the order that they know--
Except the hated makers of all wealth,
Who plant and water, make each person grow. 

Monday, June 18, 2018

A Prophesy from the Holy Spirit

Veni creator spiritus
Yes, Holy Spirit, come
Without You I will have no words
Without You I am dumb

The world's unveiled when you arrive
The shadows slip away
The stones begin to dance and sing
And interact in play

The rocks enring me, spread and loop
To almost-living shape
Yes, living things and thought itself
Are atom-pattern apes

The holy world's revealed to me
And you, if you'll but look
If you can't see it it's because
God's love you have forsook

God offers everyone a gift
But he won't beg or plea
Some gifts are simple, full of ease
But mine's of prophesy

And prophesy's the land of truth
You think our lives are worse
But we're protected by the gift
Of telling truth in verse

But like Cassandra whose each word
Was true but all thought lies
I tell you this, but each of you
My prophesy denies

So do not listen carefully
These words I wrote won't matter
The world of misanthropists soon
Will dissipate and scatter

For hating humans brings on hate
Of God and love and joy
And those who love mere power fate
Will fool and then destroy

For envy is the evil loved
By those who hate mankind
Resentment is the killer who
The haters love to find

Deny the men who love to rule
Embrace what nature gives
For that's God's order--paradox
Is why the cosmos lives

Monday, June 11, 2018

The Enthusiast

This gift that God has granted me must grace
My life in living fullness--such a gift
Should never be neglected, nor a rift
Emerge between us such that I'd embrace
The world--I weave words to a living lace
That in joy or despair are wont to lift
The soul into new ways of feeling, shift
The mind to rhythms of a different pace.

God grants this gift to wake the world with words--
In the beginning was the word which breathed
The world to life one logos at a time--
The poet is the master of the words,
And through this power God in love has wreathed
With laurels poets' metaphors and rhymes.

Monday, June 4, 2018

The Two Are One

Take the woman, get her naked
Now's the time for something sacred
Toss tradition, time to break it
Time to open up the gate

Strip to nothing, vulnerable
To yourself--don't prick the bubble
That you live in--face your double
Now's the time to tempt your fate

Now's the time to paint your body
Matching patterns, bright and gaudy
You and she challenge the haughty
Complexify the all too straight

Bare her breasts to bring the dawn-light
Dance to lure out sullen sunlight
Love each other under moonlight
Sing with joy and celebrate

Celebrate your very being
From your soul to what you're seeing
Bodies, souls are not for fleeing
Love is one, division hate

Monday, May 28, 2018

Domesticated Animals

We're off to work where we make just enough
To almost pay for modest comfort here
In this suburban solitude--we fear
We cannot carry on for simple stuff
Like paying bills--we fill our lives with fluff
To starve our souls of all that we hold dear
So we can just maintain. Some turn to beer,
Some turn to self-destruction, think they're tough.

A few of us are simply stubborn, wild
And undomesticated underneath,
And feel there's nothing comforting at all
In comfort--yes, I am a restless child
Who wants to dance and sing among the heath--
I hear the Sirens' song, the Muses' call.

Monday, May 21, 2018

The Artist's Life

Until you're twenty-five, the world's a dream--
And then it's a No Exit nightmare seen
In black tree roots that just refuse to mean
And life turns into an unchanging meme.
You age and age and nothing's as you seem
To think that it had been--there's nothing clean
And you can't make it pure--you're feeling lean
From everything that's fed on your life's stream.

I know the average person lives in peace
With school and work and friends and family--
Each day the same until their silent death.
And I, too, love these things as well--release
From all creative drives would make me free,
But kill my soul with every labored breath.

Monday, May 14, 2018


Enfolded in your arms, my sense of space
And time are gone--and in your temple cave
The little death will bring me to the grace
That lies in you until I find the grave. 
The welcome warmth of love that brings delight
Will bring me to the light, your noonday sun
That dissipated all the threats of night
That others bring, where ignorance has won.

The only thing I want to do is fold
Myself so fully into you that we
Are one--the more we make this true, we'll flee
The uselessness, stupidity untold
Of all the rest--our hate of them, our pull
Toward each other make us both feel full.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Mother, Moon, Serpent

The serpent sheds its skin eternally--
The woman sheds her blood and is renewed--
The serpent bites its tail, eternal ring
Illuminated by the changing moon.

Oh, sacred source of life, eternal life--
The brand-new baby sheds its mother, drinks
Its life and growth from her--she is the door
Through which we enter, open life to life.

Life sheds the dead--from life life comes--
From death all life remains--both feed us all
And make the way for life eternally
To live--the serpent sheds death on the ground.

The cavern of the underworld leads down
To death and darkness, out to light and life--
The source of creativity, creation,
We enter to the ever-changing moon.

The crescent moon shines subtle on the water--
Six petals of the floating lotus open--
Beginning of becoming--way of water
That flows like blood and gains its power flowing.

The seed that's shed onto the ground will shed
Its coat when watered by the moon's clear tears--
Then, trembling, the shoot spears the sky and spreads
Its roots into the soil--leaves grasp the sun.

The father joins the mother, moon eclipse
The sun, the serpents twist around 'til struck,
Their magic making singers of the soul
Transform so we can know what we can't know.

How can you gaze upon the beautiful,
Not wish to reproduce it--vivid paint,
In dancing words, in double helices--
The sun will catch the moon and light will burst.

The permanent, the ever-changing merge--
The source of life, the source of death the same--
The seed must rot before it can be born
And we must enter in the cave again.

This constant change unchanges everything
And entropy negentropies the world--
The key unlocking beauty into life
Renewed opens the door from its shed skin.

The serpent slides among the stars to eat
Each night the moon until death's black fills in--
But woman cannot let life die  and she
Renews herself, is pregnant with the future.

The moon in virgin white displays her grace
In beauty and in truth--sometimes her truth
Bleeds through and she sits red low in the sky--
The blood moon bares herself, her mystery.

The moon triumphant leads the poet home--
The lightning lights the vestal fire whose heat
Reminds the dancers what they've never known--
In mystery and in magic we remain.

Monday, May 7, 2018


The ore is brought into the factory
And smelted down to take away the slag
So only iron purifies.

The gold. the silver, platinum will see
Themselves removed and tossed without a lag
So only iron purifies

The diamonds, emeralds, rubies find they'll be
Discarded as a waste so none can brag
So only iron purifies.

The smelter cannot see the value we
Should see in all that we discard and gag
So only iron purifies.

Monday, April 30, 2018


You, sun, the center of our system, source
Of heat and sunlight--you were once a god
And now you're just an object. In the course
Of thought, invention, and discovery
We came to realize that it was odd
To make an object subject to fancy.

You, dawn, are not a goddess baring breasts
To dazzle every eye--we rise from bed
By photons shifted red--all rooster's crests
Are raised as they begin to crow by light
That bends across the earth's horizon, fed
From our near yellow star to end the night.

You, earth, are not the goddess who is mother
Of life and gods and humans who have turned
Away from seeing spirit in the other
That's object now, now we object our kith
And kin are random-process products--spurned
Are any explanations from true myth.

You, reader, do not let yourself be turned
Into an object--let your love embrace
The beauty that remains more true--you've spurned
Too long the love that life is offering
And think ourselves reduced to quantum space
When truth is found when we laugh, dance, and sing. 

Monday, April 23, 2018


The names, they come and go--we label men
And women well before we know them--known,
The name forgotten--I would need a pen
To pin it down on paper scraps, then thrown
Down to the ground, up to the wind they're strewn.
Perhaps a scraps will soon return--but when?
My name-amnesia's only ever grown--
I recognize you, don't know where it's been.

Sea turtle names are easy, names of sharks
And orchids spring to mind with awesome ease--
I'll tell you who or what I've read and show
My knowledge--meaning, memory--embarks
On nothing but well-traveled trails--but please
Don't ask me for your name. I do not know.

Monday, April 16, 2018

Becoming of Thought

It's easy to think nothing (not for me)--
It's how most people live (but I am plagued
By never-ending thought--what luxury
To think about nothing). I've often begged
For silence, thought's inaction (it's an act
Performed by neurons using what they're fed
And thus thought has no being) to refract
Us to a state I'll only meet when dead.
When thinkers think to concretize their thought
To become being, being-thought, at last,
They turn to making, poetry, not nought
Embraced by nihilist, iconoclast.
And yet unthinking order guides each mind,
Unthinkers, thinkers both, to all they find.

Monday, April 9, 2018

In the Swamp

I know there's something sitting in the fog
The water droplets densely swirl
I wonder will these waves uncurl
I haven't seen the sun for several weeks
Or is it months here in this bog
Black water ripples from the log
That seems to slowly float beyond my sight
Where is the road my foot now seeks
Is that a nail in wood that creaks
I feel out for a solid form but feel
An unknown witness bringing fright
When was the last I felt delight
I do not know the last time I felt warm
I almost trip I only kneel
I hunger for a warmer meal
I wish I knew which way where I could hurl
My body to escape this swarm
I'd settle for a cleansing storm

Monday, April 2, 2018


Our modern concrete crumbles over time--
We must maintain our buildings, monuments
So that we do not tumbles while we climb
From tower to transcending tower, rents

Within, beneath, which cause a caustic cost
Upon the structures we're depending on--
We cannot factor everything we've lost
By calculating only what is gone.

The Roman concrete only grows more hard
To stand thousands of years as tombs to men
Whose minds remain as monuments to guard
Traditions and the texts of what we've been.

What will the future read out of our tome,
And will our pages past as long as Rome?

Monday, March 26, 2018

The Goal

I got an education for a job--
I want a job so I can pay the bills
And buy the things I like and buy things for
The people that I love--all for a goal.
What is the goal to end all goals? Why lob
Myself into the expectations, wills
Of others? Why go through that opened door
That only ever seems to take a toll?
For buttered, salted sweet corn on the cob
And for a loving smile that gives me chills
I cannot think my life has become poor
Because I've taken on this social role.
This goal, this life, the values we embrace
Is how we leave our everlasting trace.

Monday, March 19, 2018

To Build a Creative Soul

The shamrock, with its trinity of leaves--
As modeled by St. Patrick--helps us see
The Godhead's trinity--the Father heaves
The Son to earth to live and die--a plea
That we believe--the Holy Spirit sent
To comfort us--and yet we know that three
Brings chaos to the world and won't relent
Except you change through creativity
Unleashed within you--there's no simple line,
Just fractal ferns unfolding endlessly
From this new strange-attractor center--sign
Of all the turbulence that makes us free.
I say this though the world refuse to hear it--
This comes from God, the Christ, and Holy Spirit.

Monday, March 12, 2018

The Art of Life

I spliced the gene that codes luciferase
Into the great white peafowl chromosomes
And all I got was glowing legs below
A resplendent spray of white -- new gene tomes
Of biologic art are bound to grace
Museum zoos, and sooner than you know.

Monday, March 5, 2018

Vitamin C

The folded petals of the dusty rose
Are making quite a surreptitious pose
Attracting every artificial nose
And each forgets a hip is all that grows
In ruby red like tiny little toes.

Monday, February 26, 2018

The Roses

A pair of roses--color of my blood--
Two torn tickets to my heart--I desire
The coppery taste that's mixing with the mud
That's smeared across my face--you'll taste the fire
That sears the blood, that lights the bush that will
Not be consumed, but speaks upon the hill.

Monday, February 19, 2018


Utopia is poured out on the land
From books, from fiction and from poetry,
To make all airy nothings into grand
And beautiful new possibility
That guide the thinking into branching time
That stem from words in patterns, rhythms, rhyme.

Monday, February 5, 2018

To Potential Poets

You enter the abyss to gain a mask
So you can tell the truth in rhythmic rhyme
That's given to you as you make the climb
Into the world---but now you have the task
Of making words into a crystal time.

Monday, January 29, 2018


It's time alone that rots and breaks all things
And dissipates all loves, relationships
Into mere piles of  memory which brings
On loneliness in cool entropic drips.

To simply keep things as they are you must
Maintain and pay attention, add the oil
To joints and surfaces and be a trust
To realize mere sameness in your toil.

But if you are to make things grow in health
And beauty, you need more than maintenance--
You need to feed your love with growing wealth,
Your actions need to always make, enhance.

 Indifferent aimless boredom make you die--
Your love, intention, beauty multiply.

Monday, January 22, 2018

This Autumn

I'm on a path I do not want to leave--
These frosty mornings killing chlorophyll
Exposing red, orange, yellow as the bill
We all must pay. This Autumn, just believe
Your goals are worthy, and you will not grieve.

Monday, January 15, 2018

The Poet's Task

I sing a goat-song -- Dionysus begs
Exploding swirls of singing out of me --
I have to lift my voice and lift my legs
To dance the golden out of muddy dregs
So that my music can make people free.

Time Flowers

Time crystal in violet erupts in violent
Enflowered patterns showing the deep rhyme
Of all the cosmos--nowhen it is silent
No matter where this growing fractal mime
Empatterns everyone with fuller time.

Monday, January 8, 2018


The soul is winged in scales of black and white--
Don't pluck your psyche's wings, but let them lift
You into floral flutters of delight--
You are a worm? You have the sacred gift
Of transformation--hatch and grow each wing
And let the people hear you laugh and sing!

Monday, January 1, 2018


The lady sits upon the seed that swells
With all the future--her children helped save
What feeds us all--the parasite that dwells
Among the leaves creates an early grave--
We ought to thank the lady for our bread
That keeps us wise and knowing and well-fed.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017


When we see only surfaces, we miss
The complex life below, which we deny--
But in our dives below, we should not miss
The patterned flocks that glisten in the sky.

Monday, December 18, 2017

Heart Rings

Perhaps I have a wooden heart--the light
Shines through it's sliced so thin, and every wind
Will wind the thread on which it hangs--the sight
Of you delights--never your heart rescind.

Monday, December 11, 2017

The Devil's Walking Stick

The Devil's walking stick is crowned in green
And growing in the woods---its thorns, tipped red,
Await their master's hand whose grasp, obscene
In every movement, prickles skin to dread.
An adversary to all touch, the stick
Resembles its dread master, adversary
To beauty, virtue, and the good, his trick
Is making you think he's these, unwary.
The shadows moving in the woods bring death---
The stream brings life and flows and darting fish
Beneath the surface---careful, catch your breath---
And careful that you don't get all you wish.
Go step into the forest's shading stream
Where you will find a land of dappled dream.

Monday, December 4, 2017

The Shirpa

Behold the god I froze in fractal time--
He now survives forever in my rhyme.

Saturday, December 2, 2017


Before you look at angels with delight
Remember Lucifer is one, named "Light."

Thursday, November 30, 2017

By the Granite

Beloved, whose spirit is dancing at night,
You glitter and glisten and bring me delight--
You never have left me, you dance as a star,
A victim of hatred, a victim of war.

Monday, November 27, 2017


We are an origami of space-time---
A massively complex enfolding held
In place by constant change---some think a crime
Committed by our presence---we're no weld
Of metal made inferior---we crown
The cosmos with our consciousness---our gold
Is pure and glistens---misanthropes can drown
Themselves to save our coinage from their mold---
There is no virtue in their hateful fold---
They only want to drag all beauty down
And do not know the preciousness we hold---
They stare down awe with their ironic frown---
It takes expansive love to see we meld
With all the cosmos with which we all rhyme---
You do not take the fairest, strongest, geld
It---nature absent us is but a mime.

Monday, November 20, 2017

Bone Dance

My feet are flipping up the bones that lie
Beneath---a wreath of ribs is spreading out
Beyond a pyramid of skulls that sigh
As western winds are winding through, about
The empty eyes and sinuses--the jaws
Are spreading teeth in fairy wings around
The metatarsals sprayed in spirals---laws
Of patterns penetrate the piles the ground
Is trying to absorb. The backbones bite
My soles---I slip upon a femur bone
And listen to the rattles with delight
As past my lips pass my last weary moan.
The bones have played me into sun-washed bones---
I dance around to all their twinkling tones. 

Monday, November 13, 2017

The Epic Monster

The hero stared into the monster's maw--
The darkness and meaningless emptiness
More terrifying than the purposed claw,
A comfort like a nihilist's caress,
Denial that we ever ought to try--
The woods were dark and  none would hear his cry.

The stench that poured from out the monster's breath--
Would this foul odor be his final sense?
The anxiousness of nothingness is death
Before you're dead--live only in past tense
And nothing lives in you--you only die
Before you learn that you have wings to fly.

Saliva glistens in the sudden moon
That breaks out from the clouds of ash that fall
As warm, gray snowflakes. Breezes drift a dune
Of ash along his feet, against the wall
Behind him, adding gray to granite gray--
The hero's certain he'll be dead by day.

And then the hero comes to understand
That he must slay himself to truly slay
The death of meaning his life will demand
Of him--remaking meaning, he'll betray
His past to make a future where he's slain
His monster, transformed joy from death and pain.

Monday, November 6, 2017


Alarm and snooze, alarm and snooze, alarm.
The rush begins. The shower, breakfast, clothes
Thrown on, the kids awake and dressed, their teeth
Are brushed, their hair is brushed, their shoes are found
And lunches made and matched with backpacks, out
The door and off to school and off to work
Where all of the incompetence of school
Is magnified at work in everyone
You're working with--you think you must protect
Your job and their jobs, taking up the slack
They make, you are the wall protecting them
From their mistakes and the administration--
If you complain, then you're the ass--just work
Until the evening comes and then go home
And work some more surrounded by your kids
You see for dinner, doing homework, practice--
Piano or their sports--, to clubs and meetings,
Before they go to bed and in those few
Short blissful hours without them you ignore
Your spouse to work some more--and you're behind
On work and all the TV shows that you
And those you love would love to see and sleep
And relaxation, rest of any kind--
The doctor tells you you have diabetes
And high blood pressure, deep anxiety--
Your stomach hurts, your head is aching, pain
Fills every joint--you're angry at your kids,
You're angry at your spouse, you're angry at
Yourself, your job, your boss, your co-workers,
The morons on the road and everywhere--
This isn't life, and yet you chose this life,
Afraid to make a change as constant change
Accelerates around you, random rules
That contradict, your arbitrary bosses,
A stupid butterfly with brown and orange
And black and yellow patterns on your arm
That flits and folds its chevron wings and stares
A moment up at you, or so it seems,
Then flies away to taste a flower sweet
To smell and taste and see--it's judging you,
Or you are judging you, but you project
That judgment, hatred onto other people,
And who could blame you?--not the others who
Like you are driven off the cliff by fear,
By debts you owe so many in your life,
And by the madness that this culture makes,
A madness that is growing, you embrace. 

Monday, October 30, 2017

Abandoned Bicycle

A woman's bike in dusty rose appeared
One day right on the corner lot--it flaunts
Anachronistic bars slung low, a weird
Retention of a time of dresses haunts
Us as arational tradition bent
Across such time that reasoning is spent.

The bicycle is sitting by the road
For days--unmoved by owners (who are they?),
Unmoved by thieves--unsung but by this ode
Which seems the only thing that wants to play
With this pink bike beside the broken street
Absorbing the October summer heat.

Monday, October 23, 2017


The rocks crunch beneath my soles as cruel black heat
Ascends, sharp against my calves--it won't defeat
My dull drive to wander--to my feet repeat
Their blue-black soul beat.

A thought tempts, but obligations gain the ground--
My walk waits, perhaps forever--life will bound
And bring back ambitions to harmonic sound
Which swell songs around.

To go slow and gather all I see and hear--
That goal grips me, trips me--down the road I fear
I will wander, will not dare to go nor steer
That far future near.

A breeze, balmy, blowing through my thinning hair--
A grim grackle calling from the ground, its stare
Demands more from me--the dandelions wear
My down, dancing fair.

Is this truly what I want, a homeless life--
The earth's girth my home, to live without the strife
Of hard human expectations?" That's the knife
To rend reeds a fife.

Monday, October 16, 2017

A Chinjikijilu

A poem is a crystal made of time
That's built out of the future, made in sounds.
Emerging out of the unsayable,
Where I have known all the unknowable
And proven all of the unprovable
And reasoned through all the irrational,
I brought to complex order all the chaos
And disconnected the connectedness
That disconnects the future where I'm from,
In all the beds and shadows where I sleep,
In all the coffee houses where I dream,
And after I've returned to you from death
I'll bring to you the undefined, defined
In lines of rhythm, rhyme and patterned time.
I come upon the river of the blood
Of all the ancestors that fill my mind
And wade across it, slip to be baptized
By all the echoes they make from the future
Where truth is all that's spoken, if in rhyme.
The rest is all prosaic lies. The ground
That rises brings me back to Athens, life
Here in the city where the sophists lie,
Deny the past and future, beauty, good,
Light and shadow, complexity, and love,
Are hostile to the makers of time crystals,
To anyone who brings dead back to life,
To anyone who triumphs over death,
Emerges pure and clarified and true.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Narcissus o Christos

The egomaniac declares he's "woke"--
Parading through the town to his own tune,
Impressed by his own narcissistic stroke--
He's certain all will see his Truth real soon--
He's certain that his every thought's a boon.

He wants to strip down every woman, man
And cut their hair to his, dress them like him
And make each one conform to his own plan--
A plan that's brilliant just because it's brim
With him--your difference his blades will trim.

He thinks the world and he must be the same--
They are the same, except the evil parts--
He'll cut the tall down--better they are lame
And following behind him in their carts
And worshiping his ego in their hearts.

He wants the world all "woke" like him, with eyes
Of adoration for the things he's done
For them--and who'll lay low and terrorize
Those who refuse to see that he's their sun--
Through him a brand new world has just begun. 

Monday, October 2, 2017

White Bird of Paradise

A blue boat with white sails taking turns to ruse
Beside sailors indigo in dress that sail
Among massive fans of green banana leaves--
In sharp shade he grieves.

The tree twists into the sky and butterflies
In brown breathe a baby's breath into the blue
And strong-streaked canoe that's destined not to flee
The cool canopy.

The swift sunbird, iridescent scarlet, tastes
The sweet syrup cargo of the ship, is paid
In gold given to this thirsty mesenger
Whose wise words recur.

The blue boat will boldly lift its sales of white
So swift sunbirds, butterflies can bring the words
The tree twists into a son the wind will fail
To sing strong to gale.

Monday, September 25, 2017

Truth or Ideology

I took a break from madness, then returned
To find I could not stand to patronize
With willful ignorance, all knowledge spurned
For ideology. Contempt the wise
Show for such wastes of time--an awful crime
With life so short--we should despise demands
On us that drag us low. Come smell the thyme
And rosemary, a virtue that commands
You to devour fragrant meats to fill
Your stomach with true nourishment, breath deep
The true aroma, clarify your will
And then you will be ready for a leap
To all the joy that knowledge, wisdom bring
When unified to beauty and then sing.

Monday, September 18, 2017

The Burden of the Ass

Why grieve to have the burden lifted--lift
Your hands in joy--no harm can come when all
Your grievances are answered--it's a gift
That you reject, to raise you when you fall.

You want to wallow wet in your misfortune--
You want to play the victim in your wealth--
You never want to bravely stick out your chin,
But live a life of weakness, war, and stealth.

You cynically reject the beautiful
Because it leads to virtue, truth, their source--
You'd rather make sure that you're seen as dull,
An ass who thinks the world needs simple force.

Extend your hand to mine and let me throw
You through the source of all you think you know.

Monday, September 11, 2017

The True Conflict

The dragon coils at the spine to dine
On all the darkness that you want to eat
To breathe its fires, incinerate, defeat
The innocent--it's part of its design
To eat up souls and so thereby refine
The rocky paths down which we fall, retreat--
The wings are hurricaning with each beat
The failure of ourselves and our design.

I stab the serpent through its silver eye
To calm the storm within and set the path
For me to take away from all the blame
The fires once made--and so I, joyful, die
To this cold life and give my soul the bath
It needs to rinse off its resentful shame.

Monday, September 4, 2017

An Astrology of the Soul

It's raining diamonds from a Neptune sky
Of methane blue within an indigo
Eye watching you from near the edge--deny
Near death belongs among the gods who go
Around the center of your soul--don't shy
Away from who we were so long ago.

Love looms large--strife is small among the stones--
The evening and the morning are the same
And there's no message that would dare atone
For all the snows of war, fires of the lame
Thrown out of heaven, landing with a groan
And making us face up to all our shame.

The very ring of wealth and plenty will
Renew us every weekend as the Earth
Brings life before the light. Tree shade will fill
Us with the longing for a brand new birth
Of spirit in the kingdom and we'll kill
The sky itself to demonstrate our worth.

Monday, August 28, 2017

The Third Way

Today is not the time for complex thought
You have to pick our side or you are bought
By evil forces. Nuance is for naught.

You’re for us or against us—there
The evil plot begins—I can be for
The truth and virtue, beauty and the fair
And be against two evils I abhor.

You have to hate, and you must hate who we
Are hating—no, you cannot disagree.

I will not play your party game
Of pick-a-villain—any evil’s odious—
I will not choose your evil aim—
I won’t bow down to pick preferred infected puss.

We do insist, we do demand you hate
Mankind the way we hate him, or your fate
Will be to be associated with the gate
That guides to our twin opposite as mate.

The only thing I hate’s your hate—I love each one
And everyone, all humankind, their warts and all,
And trust an open, loving world will beat the gun
That’s brandished by the hateful right before they fall.

We will destroy you, for we hate your love—
We ground beneath our feet the mourning dove.

That’s better than a life within a world in which you rule—
Before I love your hatred I would rather be a fool—
And I would rather take your bullets than turned into your tool
To make the world your image and transform it to your runny stool.

Monday, August 21, 2017

The Parable of the Pots

One time there was a village where the men
And women kept their money stored in pots
They carried everywhere they went. They held
Them low and so each saw what each one had
To pay the rent or buy the food or clothes
Their families needed. Many had large pots
They filled to nearly overflow, and more
Were modest, and many more were poor
And carried almost empty pots, and some
Were destitute and carried only air.
One day a man of modest means went down
Into the market hoping he could find
A brand new pair of leather shoes. He saw
Some people walking by with much-filled pots.
He looked at his, half-filled, and to a stranger
Complained, "If I had what they have I would
Do so much good." The stranger looked at him,
Then looked into his pot. "Well, sir, I see,"
The stranger said, "You have much more than them."
He nodded at a pair with empty pots.
"Don't look in others' pots wishing for all
They have. But look instead for empty pots.
Your excess is another's meal or rent.
Instead of envy, generosity
Is what you ought to choose, and from that, give."
The stranger then took from his pot---a pot
With far less money than the other man's---
And gave a portion to each empty pot.
The man then gave in turn, and others saw
And gave to other empty pots until
Each there had something in their pot. The men
Stood there, amazed to see the others give.
The stranger said, "If you can't copy good
That others do, then do a good your own.
Don't envy what you cannot have or do,
But rather spread the virtue only you
Can spread, and watch as people copy good
Instead of vice, for coveting's the source
Of every evil, and the viciousness
Of envy will destroy each virtue you
Should love. Determine to do good and you
Will lead the world to doing good as well."
And thus the stranger nodded, and he left.
From that day forth, the man chose to do good
And never envied any other man---
And thus he modeled virtue to the town,
Which prospered as resentment never found
A soil rich enough to sprout its weeds
And spread the deadly poison of its seeds.

Monday, August 14, 2017

My Burning Heat, My Light

I do not mean to burn you out--my wife,
My friends, acquaintances are blistered, red
From my white coals--I'm meaning well, but dread
Is why I've bred from blackened soles and strife.
You dance around me--each flame feels a knife--
I only want a welcome warmth to wed
Your weary soul to mine--I find instead
I only seem to transform every life.

I cannot seem to follow, lead--I stand
Alone--too conscious, too oblivious--
I know each of the rules and cannot play.
You're standing on the boat that you call land--
When I shine light, my flame's called dangerous--
You'll die of lies so long as I don't stay.

Monday, August 7, 2017

The Left Bank

I have no obligation to be right
I only have to show I’m interesting
For everyone to choose to make me king

My stories and my words must but delight
To be presented with the wedding ring
I only have to show I’m interesting
For everyone to choose to make me king

To grant me power you will never fight
My words persuasive in untruth that bring
You to your knees so cheerful so willing
I have no obligation to be right
I only have to show I’m interesting
For everyone to choose to make me king