Real Conservation, A Week Later

all you have to do is stand up and speak
if you fake it you can grasp for foul language
you can slake out your propaganda stale mix
or buy an ounce of my altruistic stylist tricks

you thought a success wouldn't be messy
but then you found your brain being sold
to the sun-eater, the moon-beater, so sad
you sold out before the bid war had been had

so soft my danger wafts into your strange ears
you pump Listerine in place of Tetra-hydro-chlorine
so empty places grow unseen
then one memory gleans a piece of cancer genes

at last at least at most we've seen a chump
who comes hard against himself and the world
is it simple to turn a child's temple to something
so simple it scrapes the bottom of the credit dump?

To: Barack Obama; RE: the Civilian Corps

The teens crave attention sir, a program we'll give them,
their parents won't be let down, so we'll have to include them,
our armies are mighty though their cause rarely bright,
we'll call all our neighbors to help us,
though we think that they think that they're right.

We'll call it the Civilian Corps, and what a core it will be,
marching through trouble, solutions on the double,
since hand and hand sees us intrinsically free.

The Corps isn't for volunteering, or for the stand-and-cheering,
the Corps is the business of fixing our business,
by keeping the promise of a community's togetherness.

So that; things begin where they ought to, not just where they can;
things stay afloat when trouble's at hand;
folks can obey because it's their choice;
voters can hear the sound of their voice;
homeless can sleep safe, so their families can too;
professors can teach a way that is bright;
so preachers can preach what is to all of us right;
so parties of interest in politics form,
to demonstrate new where old ways are worn;
so that everyone knows there's some place to go;
and everything works towards what's best for newborns.

I'd call and request immediate press, but I'm just as scared as all of us left.
I know you've a calling to make history right. Please take my idea and relieve us this plight.

Intentional, Miss Spell

Insipid is the lust for sameness; we'll rout that demon yet.

This and other revelations are coming to the theatre near you.

Our fabric is collective, not singular. Our behavior as a group does more to us than our behavior as an individual. As an individual I may make any choice in my realm of probability - or, in other words, how many sides does my dice contain? How many ways can my eyes delight or complain?

I make my eyes out of my physical inheritance, but what my eyes may see is inscripted by you and everyone you know, not me. Any capacity of humanity - love/hate, war/peace, liberty/slavery, actuary/philosophy, accounting/imagining, running/programming, giving/taking, using/making, creating/breaking, filling/starving, hoping/carving, struggling/waking - they're all just what you gave me, plus my part in the philosophy. You give me substance, but I give me purpose; nevertheless we're all distracted by what's written on Jerzies. Because, if I choose what's cross to your purpose, then you'll inflict what you will to what's yours of my substance. We try to sign contracts to counter this nature, but only ever will instincts be templates of purpose.

Even the sun is given ripe room to breath as its course may merry along its own borders. The moon is blessed with the spiral it has even though its work crosses many many paths. Humans meanwhile are animals of possibility, where our courses create their own brand of nobility and life is sensibility crossed with simplicity.

Grand Standing

I've got eight-million great ideas a second, it would blow out your gaskets,
I wish no harm no call to arms here's rooms with views just for you,
Ian Dunbar just said dogs humans and horses, are the three saddest animals,
since all three will apologize after they've been punished with their victim's eyes,
I'm sorry I needed all that crappy abuse, cause I'm crap ever after no use,
bbbut red flags bang! attention gang anyone who said the above's gonna lose.
Negativity isn't necessary but a tiniest fraction of time and everyone else is just yelling -
you're wrong when you throw hate out, though it's your right, you're wrong to anyone it's done to.
Investing attention to detail, bringing details to action; the modes of better tele-communication.

Be All Cling to Fall

Because we couldn't survive without protecting our child.
Because we had to share the watering well.
Because we taught the young to survive.

Since sometimes survival is unfolding new ideas.
Part of the sacrifice is the difficulties we render.
The less of Violence in our Capital Cities
where villains face verdicts written in sheep skin.

Remember remember the fifth of December
and the time together we've got.
I know that November is hard to remember
but January won't be for naught.

I once faced a map in the hitherto world
choice was bas-relieved into clay
when chemical earth and fire and ocean
collided to combust into new will of mitosis

What resulted was patterned and caught life
like a solar plexis where messengers fleet
when clay or paper united a tyrant a culture

Aspire to all that dares greatness, forgiving it
followers be also where fortune may find you
but for All's sake, keep that knot at the end
your rope steadfast be all cling.

I like Hugo; Buddha; Fear the Reaper; Healthy Fear

You MUST get THAT monkey OFF your BACK!

since the World Evolved like Monkeys - no matter How much You were taught Grossness was Only Monkeys and not Just Your metaphorical Fish man/god that I've no Beef With. Thank you very much.

So we're here on Shakespeare's stage with the swidden of monument crumbling our stumblings onward with effort through lights charged. Makes sense since traveling satellites rely on charges carving solar creation erections, not dirty, just buildings we're providing the energy for building by feeding the builders with leftover barley that taxes the quelled ones paid for by standing in glory of the attempt by the glorifiers to get larger in history by impressing their neighbors.

Bhagavad Gita's influence; Qur'an; Torah; Bible; bibbly and bubbly all warrant of troubling humbly; all the way to mumbly and diffused from vaunted vaults of scripture and sacred support to average Joe mumble's bumbling retorts.

Don't we quibble a lot where my Grandparent's granges brought goodwill to share lots. By our own labor we trucked, when bare was laid to pavement. The ultimate equalizer is giving your time to them, maybe taxes maybe not, maybe the script and the barley have lost. Maybe as wheat became millet and rice, and fish came to chemicals to fetch up the price; maybe these things are important as numbers, maybe some vital junctions in vest in bed in houses are best left to choices unaroused by attention, while others with infamous clicking insiders could be best brought back to the light right beside us through calm and attentive re-evaluative focus. I'm speaking of course of our famous discourse, where our chorus is sometimes oddly or seemingly unanimous, since if boiled down to our essentials in politicos, there really only ends up being two of us or four of us. We're blue and we're informants through vestments and wallets or watches, where we tremor with rocking if robbed or corrupted. Most accidents occur where only a few miles has seen us, where someone can catch us, depending on their focus. Naturally these communities greenly grow with whatever tools they're told will unfold the tragic victory to history through those stories we gorged them into. It took pockets of innuendo where heroes unbounded interacted with their matches in ego, just as our head comics unfold our alter egos and foibles fought as our promises reflected. Such a rocket expected nothing. Nothing less. Where more was what was planted not bought, or where a fence was mended since such work is sought. Out. Perform. Be willing to dance that part with charm and vigilance dark or dreary until happy rewards just what we'll not know till the kaleidoscope stops.

Part of our inheritance is wrought from antiquity bought - self-sacrifice lasting recasting our Caspian technologies in every bog and swamp of mucky life mired in messy fertility of progress from tribe stash to swamp rat. Didact that if answered flat with greed's acts redeem that chance you took when willows brooked through reedy solutions potions from every civilization we took or borrowed - these ideas. We wager every day that books and t.v.'s and family and friends' prescriptions or scriptures will vaunt our pictures and deliver our prominence to each other.

How fond we are of druthers, misdeeds, a sorrow brother, the coining sprinter outspending perhaps outliving the gestures and deeds mis-given and philanthropied proper or out-landing. and or. and or.

How many dimensions go down, or does the smaller we look mean the smaller we see and the larger the starving the more stars that we breathe. Sequentially through epiphany after epiphany knew, but couldn't see further than time and wisdoms' cue. Or, we'll trouble a robot to need oil, but how nicely, when we don't eat the brown rice our bodies are after? So questioned hereafter our Plutonic disasters, where cash crossed the rafters without nets or with daggers, and subsets hereafter will know those decanters and add chalk to their grip not fumes of burnt lanterns.

I'm parched of the moment. I'll dimension a round up of upcoming disasters, and grow naturally towards the path that we're after. You know when it gets there what fate has re-mastered for soundtracks that hum in omnipotent equations, so frames in brain lenses can pitch to the Sable coast, so that the feverish host of fear or fun time can repair the loss from our apparent misjudged events.

Ergo: oops. Egalitarian uniter. like sports, or the sounds, or a super-collider. Reform can accomplished when rays of reason give form to our prime and our season, when time tosses lease to our spawn once emerging.

May the harken of history give pity to our dreams. Merry may recast our hope everlasting, while we trudge through the toil of this annual swidden. Bark loud at the moon and trod on forbidden, but keep some promises safe so our children will get them.

When one ses when, when relax

Said it zen, purest flax, resembles dozens of dreams of stardust
so held it prophet as close to last when dust to dust let life relax
which called it crawl to flopping when life grew from mud to hold
where toiled the search for fruits of toil and trouble in sludge and bubble
and gone, forgot, procession of quickened searched-in soil
so polit- and homin- and prolet- and bourg- and salt and water engorged
when stars mist, life's long coil, whose serpent consumed times tail
from molten rock and mineral ore on mossy material broil even gentle
to combust to mud a cooperative spell to brutally and savagely push peril
to unleash a priest upon a soldier to push for change to grow to conquer
so Lincoln and Lucy and Achilles and Ogres that title and frighten first
persist to unlock our potential to take in Earth to constant star-ward burst
so you uncharm your previous post and spit in the soil with us
your ashes unlock the key to the most when stillness remains at your worst

Value Criterion

Slow food is better than fast food.
Comedy cries like tragedy.
Hope rejects the misanthrope.
Skies precede horizons.
Ideas ardently ill forgot.
Episodes of circular plots.
Five to listen, One to Speak.
Six is free to fallen.
Hell unfolds the questions.
Solace answers seek.
Silent answer found.
Courage laughed it out.
Handsome hawks on up.
Pride confuses primates.
Shame the soul electric.
Fields all magnetic.
Pinches one man's static.
Angle try the signal.
Phosphorous it giggles.
music magic squiggles.

Opening Boxes Wearing Socks

A tree turned ice is bright as any sight to see
it lives and climbs despite its height and this icy travesty
to be all locked up but still to imagine someone else can see
such a rose by other fame that one as me could see the same

Breath knows home, isn't visible in walls
walls know where to stop where views hear bells
windows stare transparent where icicles meet eyeballs
where each center sphere projects didactic scars and years

The friendship folly forgiveness trolleys
that make madness sour and age taste salty
acquired a share in my inheritance boughs of holly
I vow not dare, sink to stare, clink the cage, and smile at sully

From a smirk a grin a penny earned
one day you own it from laugh to end
the ropes knot end from pulling up from lessons learned
accounts uplift this hope, and so you helped me climb my rope

Goodbye King Henry

When I drew a red card and saw the black and white beard smiling from my hand
I never could have seen the day I threw that card away
I never saw a brand, just a hand, so it was easier to speak than say

As I said I saw, I knew a better spot to be in, better drawing with a pencil
so penned and hemmed and paper made
with water drawn from purest to me, filter tree green gladed source

I found through tears a moping year, ho-humming inward breaths
I missed a fan of former places
where friends of foes of falling bawling hopes rewarded

Where folded lain in silent satin whose parents are afraid
they've nothing known but rituals thrown
results for sadness from lack of progress from harms unwanted

where speaking shone and hope cast line with thrones
precious gold weight anchor rings at sea
and sat in front of sheltered domes to see what kings and children see

Used to Use

We used to use human capital
but then we discovered
consumption
less was more
resources
scoured
used
source
re

We used to use hand tools
now we use
remarkable
tools
connect
connections

Sadded Winter

Well, up here the windows always icy or dewy on the inside, except where the dog prints up the window.
It feels like bed time around dinner time and the middle of the night in the middle of the morning.
Forecast is twenties, thirties, flurries, and one of these days we'll get a bumper-crop of dry powdery snow.
Then the snow lingers on to get dirty and driven over until the sun dominates the sky once again in March-ish break up - slush and puddles of ice.
My favorite was taking Buddy for a walk the other night, walking to the park (in the dark), and two guys are playing ice hockey in the outdoor ice hockey rink nearby.
Cold Halloween/Thanksgiving.

I expect less snow to be in the walkway and the drive-way this year, and I have some skis which had collected dust, but with any luck will be useful again.
I regret not having propped up those storage units behind the house, especially since the drifts will block it from opening all together one day soon.
That fast frost day will see the storage units become suspended time capsules where only cold sees the passing through.
Little movements stand out in what little light is left, but it is just as easy to relax when you see things as it is to hit attention like the dog is.
If you make too much noise you may miss the silence that can literally capture you for ages, yet the lease of the silence is the ice skate edge it has to turn on.
Cars still go by with people and things safely buried and air bagged on impact; what protection I need for their likes I have in my own community and networks - my net worth.

Unstopper some Strawberry essence if your innocent lips could still speak effervescently without regard to their mouthy gender, boy or girl, talkative the same.
A tree trunk of innocence stands in a forest, so said the trees, so say the woods, so sing the birds, and so write the shepherds.
Crawled on all fours ever? extinguishing the collected wisdom which failed so often that you never spoke of it to anyone? How does crawling treat you? A child?
I grew old, grew elbows, grew greedy or agnostic, grew sarcastic with irony and hyperbole and in effigy of my purgatory.
I crawled harder to crying on adverse elbows still trying to learn language for paperwork I couldn't just cheat at like everyone I didn't know must have been doing.
Unstop it.
Readopt.

No Chorus

When Maybe life's not worth it after all
constructions looming larger where-with-all
company uplifts, it ought to, debits
your account, by yourself feels like credits
friends help you hit the wall tall eye on the ball,
then time slows and stalls, in the bar past last call
short shrift your thrift for health, deny yourself
be a parent to your gift to get well.
closed ears hears the source, the self-course enforce
open mind heeds confidence, open source chores
dick around long enough, you'll see the doors
outside your mind-frame letting go, to and towards.

the only way for meek truth emerging
is building lore and folk out-surviving
those in the earth riff with history
they stay to streets cause shelter is silly
once everything's balanced part mirror or stare
spin n' trajectory accounted infinity bare
then reality evolves, new wood to skin and snare.
binary, that micro-probability fleshed out
crossed by hexadecimal flat out
powered in chances to stick to the earth
over time, tied to trend, in hope of mirth
so, we began weeping over the value of it all.

One of the ways they do it is building
empty spaces where you shouldn't be emptying
so whether you accept loss as a stump
or scream mad forever to not be their chump
fake leaders can take any easy way
true jewels are still hardest in their ways.
art is motivated expressions vectoring
salient songs of many forms
transcribing our lives in every immeasurable way
where the chorus is oft concluded from the verse

so, we began weeping over the value of it all
and thinking maybe life's not worth it after all.
you recuse? it isn't hubris to refuse!
you're excused when you say I love myself
I'll hug this body whole, muttering hell
Fuck faith for former healers who failed
I'll wait and wail for fortune of future time
no choosing, no actions, no calm, only breath
I find faith that I've followed these footsteps
before, when I was lonelier, lost, bone cold,
yet I survived to today through choice of this:
faith that a hardest choice will make
every easy choice disappear
overgrown by protective foliage
and life chances
in the scorched clearing
will appear.

bright light at night

and all the branches fell twice
oh if death wishes so

stout of heart and limb
we sew where offerings make food grow

take my young taster
feel soft unlock through gladden

to glen of smog-free appetite
which oft has might to madden

a button which you broke
descends pallor in haughty pottery

dramas which were laughs to sadden
by grace I breech enter night

waving, awakening in reach

Monday, April 07 2008...I Get It

I Get It...
...that we mostly learn to speak by hearing what is said.
...that mostly through traditions and happenstance our own birth-time arrives.
...that our rearing space is mostly created by the choices of our parents.
...that we are painstakingly formed in our mother’s womb to eventually become unique and sentient, without regard to what has come before, only with regard to Nature and her will to guide our molecules and tissues by the gravity of Biology and the Cosmos and preter-randomly ignite our being with music and light.
...that through the subtle confluence of all those previous listed do we arrive at this moment, trying to focus our eyes on the slippery glowing eggshell of spirit that floats a golden ratio’s distance above each of our heads, finding it difficult to focus out all the distractions our parts are sending us, realizing our reality is a porthole and subsequently pushing our faces as far into the glass as possible to see the wider universe and seek solace in the other two-dimensional squished up faces around us.
...that this leads me to think that along the scale of accepting things that happen to us, from getting over being born to getting over having to die, we find ourselves where we are so that reality hits each of us slightly or majorly different.

I Get It...
...that to counteract the lightheaded awareness of dizzying differences among us we have language in all kinds of forms.
...that we learn to speak and think in the colloquial of what is said around us, branching off from our breeding point by our choices, and so the child can learn to speak truth to power, and so the parent can learn to speak power to the truth, and so the person can become more open-minded and tolerant.
...that truly we are all Gods; relative to each moment of choice we are given in our Earthly lives we might as well be immortal; you know the old saying, "live each day as though it was your last": isn’t the image that conjures (I personally get a vision of myself swinging around a lamp-post and smiling and waving at everyone on the street as I walk along taking giant steps) and whatever image you conjure when you’re living life like drinking deep appreciation, as deep as it can get, doesn’t that seem like thats what it would feel like to be a God?
...that the compounding of our choices and our environment leads to our Truth (when the Tao is stamped on your soul emerging) and like some mad fractal mathematician this same universe of possiblilities in our heads is reflected and repeated above and below us in the kaleidoscope of other people places and times throughout humanity.
...that like our culture, we individually make sense of reality’s kaleidoscope sphere by the stories we create.
...that where our language goes we follow.

I Get It...
...that the box we all seem so keen to think outside of, instead of cardboard, is a box of inherited words-phrases-stories of colloquial agreement we may or may not agree to.
...that from the kaleidoscope reality occuring inside us to the congress of communication occuring outside our box, a translation is needed and provided for by our mysterious brain.
...that the smoothing of the edges needed to complete the congress of communication often leads us to gesture and say almost involuntarily those things that serve the purpose of the moment and/or our Truth.
...that pretty much everyone in the world has moments and Truth and the power of Gods - we are all one kind, and any barriers to the ideal fulfillment of that truth is an inherited artificial structure created in some moment by some former Truth and has no further power or bearing beyond that.

I get it that I wake up every day with, say 9,342 choices to make before I go to bed; that I don’t have to take anything personally since we’re all divinely equal in our self-story telling abilities; that if I let my higher self hold my spine up by a string I’ll stand tall and walk light; that everyone I meet is me and loving them is supporting me is helping them; that responsibility and delayed gratification are difficult to master, meanwhile they’re also the keys to being a good shepherd; that "living every day like it was your last", as the saying goes, means running boldly off the cliff of inherited colloquial boxes to hang-glide through your day with a free-fall feeling in your stomach, being Truth and shining, with your kaleidoscope sphere tuned to shepherd, and making choices knowing that our nearly immortal collection of moments makes easy leverage to change the tragedies of history and be fulfilled and be fulfilling.

Technology Keeper's Series Of Unfinished sentences

And the Word was Microssoft
world beware to scribe and script
the rocker's off
underline in red is corraled

while how sidle-ey I sharpen
my knives and taste treats
why buy leftover bread
what fed homeless ruptures

approach apocolypt horizon
well spent events retiring not
how cryptic feng shui crept in
spent doubt forewarned of not

price how and when and frown
when crowds give away and away
you know truth not lounge
fuck grasp hold climb together

good debt spent a keeper away
but apples grow where
children play
a toast to here to
this coming someday

Lyrics: Atmosphere, "Smart Went Crazy,"

from the album YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW MUCH FUN WE'RE HAVING

FYI - "Slug" is the name of a rapper.

"Smart Went Crazy"

[Slug]
Smart went crazy, truth went trendy
The story got lazy so I rewrote the ending
Manipulated the entry, more user friendly
Now a city full of pain pills and tattoos defend me
I waver from the dead to the half dead
Grey space between the fan base and the crackhead
Sunset, sailboat set course for hell
A cross and a hammer, but you'll have to get some nails
Take credit, for anything embedded in the edit
As long as you meant it when you said it
And all of the kids laugh, when you admit that
It might been witchcraft that made my noose fit bad
Well I'ma act like I don't give a make love
Take what I got to teach everyone to break stuff
I'ma act like there's poison in the pancakes
And amputate the one that wasn't loyal with the handshakes
Proud to know ya, Minnesota missile
Never sold coke and I never had to hold a pistol
Civil and simple, but set the freak show
Loose on the nipple, watch her whole fucking titty ripple
It's why we battle, it's why we travel
It's why the mascot thinks that I'm an asshole
We made the team without putting on a uniform
Smart went nuts and rode a unicorn through the storm

[Chorus]
Smart went crazy, but where did you go
Smart went crazy, but where did you go
Smart went crazy, but where did you go
Smart went crazy, where did you go now

[Slug]
Smart went crazy, kiss Miss Daisy
Loved you when everyday was Christmas baby
Maybe we can take it back to the way we was
Still on some "what have you done for me lately"
No gravy if the base is pork face
Tour dates ain't my big little brother's court case
Poor taste got passed up as gourmet
This beer is foreplay
We'll meet up at your place
I sting like a first divorce, or them first Newports
Whatever hurts you more
"You're headed for self destruction" been there, did that
kick back with the wrong angel to fuck with
Carve my charm into your arms
Fuck around, unravel this tall ball of yarn
Snuck round back to disarm the alarm
From the plantation to the reservation to the farms
And nobody knows where you'll end up
Only guarantee in life is death or a head fuck
Yea, you thought it was a set up, well guess what
You you can catch up with the rest of my "Best Of"
I got a few blocks left before I reach my destination
And retrieve my breath
And god blessed every step I stole
Just to let me know, she wouldn't ever let me go

[Chorus - 2X]

[Slug]
Smart went crazy, the rubber bend went snap
This goes to those that hold it down 'til I get back
Hold on to me, grow along with me
I don't know where I'm going but I'll end up in your arms [4X]


[Thanks to Katie for correcting these lyrics]

[ www.azlyrics.com ]s

Poetry

A strange word because of Poe,

who knows if he had dark circles,

would have liked Kashi waffles,

for the record PC's are the same,

Mac's are unilateral, pragmatic,

but functional, but sigh *

weight of why like a half-time show

;;;;;;; reflect on what you saw

;asdf jkl; 2t8;k pkb-ojv-ihc-ugx-yfz

let all know ; what and who they know

project your ideas wisely since it all

depends on common sense, the percentage

of which we are ;;;;;;; owners

of a certain cultural dividend - both

credits and debits and growing up moments

where so much time is spent pining

through needles and climbing naturally

on structures where time to play as a kid

marshes and meadows where tree lines cast brambles

where a heat wave would dwindle and clouds marshal

and fiddle, tiny legs with strings all around us,

cricket ;; cricket - to be inspired in concert

and golden natural laws with salt to refine it,

and critter eaters eat bread lessened with fire,

kidney punch your eyes down with a sight that resounded,

sorry it didn't harmonize but don't doubt rebounding,

the truth stalks to you like a hawk hawking truth,

I found Earth at Sea like sunny ice and a lottery,

the trust that a compass has pads technological value,

at a scale like untroubled wells that lead to ideas,

so small an avalanche couldn't fall to crush,

so each could wish to each of us,

we hold like chain-link arms,

We all hold good wishes and parts that can start,

work putting in and beating your heart,

and stopping the auto McPilot -

YING yang or ying Yang

'cause there's always a remainder

seems to explain a nation

if it's even then it's small

if it's large then it stalls

and knocks down all the walls.

Smangria

Fact and Fiction, whichever smiles,
Her own om not with standing,
this siren's song with mermaid's tail,
deserted but untroubled, speeding past problems,
where she holds true to me,
despite my albums of foibles,

small towns hold her little,
where a heart grew from somewhere bigger,
who flashed that obsidian mind candidly,
part what you feel, part what you don't,
a scarlet deep heart that pumps up, beyond

moxie face flushed, all kinship,
with language and grace and 'tude,
and to see it all begin, then to fly.

For It May Help A Lot

For It May Help A Lot



I've known you for the better part of a summer,
which for some of us is time enough for,
intuition to sink into understanding,

all the details you told me just now,
filled some missing pieces in and,
compelled, I'll share my well of love,

that's how it's done where I come from,
whether you're able to hear it, a lot or none.


It's up to you to hear these words,
a power beats in your heart,
to choose, let kind words sink in,

this message is wrapped in light,
as a gift for a special friend,
and when you read it again and again,

maybe you'll see where I come from,
my perspective is little, but it may help a lot.


You are whole.
You are your own.
You're made of all good.
And the promise of life lies within you,
like a spirit's carnival with streamers,
full rainbow colors star-bursting brightly,
each hue an aspect attractive alive,
floating in sight when looked for,
on the horizon, unweighted by gold.

Solemn yet silly are sad histories
which sometimes mask our identities
or tug our minds to tragedy, anxiety,
the truth though elusive is far brighter.


Your soul is a gift to the world,
as everyone's life is a gift,
and you bring light to so many,

Though too often we doubt it,
and fear rends feelings from us,
our hearts ache from overexposure,

the fact remains in the center of our being,
the power of life can't be stopped.


So much crap can get in the way,
with noise and broken glass, we think
it can't get fixed in time,

we can't help but put ourselves out,
where others can find us,
since that's what we're about,

damn that double edge we need,
vulnerable ability to heal or bleed.


You are whole, as you are,
on your own, and that feeling,
of pinched folded paper in your heart,

that's only where someone folded,
leaving a crease in your delicate art,
so getting used to it, plugging along,

means lots of loving self-talking to,
and releasing what anyone else may have told you.


Your eyes are alive little portholes,
I've learned to trust these windows,
into a person's soul they're a peek,

even when they well up with pain,
they also learn to watch for things,
to keep safe that precious soul,

your humor and kindness and wit and courage,
must be protected while allowed to flourish.


You are a complete person,
with everything you need,
the gifts that life gave you,

they're plenty, they're rare,
they're just what we needed,
even if some can't see it there,

you're part of what's bigger, beautiful,
and believe this now, though it prickles a lot.


Times can be scary and fear overwhelm,
when you hear someone tell you of,
how great you are and honestly,

we're taught to be humble,
and believe in our flaws,
but to let true love sink in,

to where we can feel it unfolded in our heart,
we have to let the pain of having heard otherwise out.


Crying is power.
Laughter is power.
As also a center of serenity is power.

Knowing yourself and loving that powerful soul,
you'll overcome all and time will see you take off,

you'll fly over bumps, see rough weather ahead,
you'll keep to your course, wings further you'll spread,

as you look far below you at that dizzying height,
you'll forget you are flying and begin to just glide,

take joy from the jet-stream, you cannot fail,
mistakes are just lessons with smiles in your trail,

learn to stay centered with focus and calm,
keep the best parts of your dad and your mom,

toss out left-overs, you have the choice,
the world will be happy to hear more of your voice.

I listened to my heart, it said no one told you,
I can't let you go on without having said so,
Our past has no power but that which we give it,
Our glass is more full as we imagine we fill it,
You're special, little one, I'm honored to say,
I've lived along side you, more brother each day,
Keep lots of warm-fuzzies right next to your heart,
Let your moments be eons and mimic your art.

I'd give you my past to convey what I mean
but life's different for you, my journey it's not,
through eyes to your soul, the diamonds I've seen,
and I don't mind telling you, for it may help a lot.

Gil Scott Heron presents Black History

Partially because I haven't been able to find a free transcript on the web, and also partially because we should all be believers in our own cause, I have here transcribed a recording by Gil Scott Heron called "Black History"
As soon as I figure out how, I'll post the audio file itself.


"[fade in]...the more research I did the more I found that there was a 200 year legacy of poetry that had been fashioned along ideas that correlated with the blues went back from 1789 that chronicled our lives and our life experiences here in this country and the more I found out about our own history the more I was disappointed how little we had been informed of our history, so it made me want to put a poem together to explain what had been overlooked, and the poem is called "Black History":

... [I]'said ...
I was wondering about our yesterdays and started digging through the rubble,
and to say the least someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble.

To make sure that when we looked things up we wouldn't fare to well,
and we could come up with totally unreliable portraits of ourselves.

But I compiled what few facts I could, I mean, such as they are,
to see if we could shed a little bit of light and this is what I got so far.

First, white folks discovered Africa and they claimed it fair and square,
Cecil Rhodes couldn't a'been robbin' nobody, cause hell he said there wasn't nobody there.

[laughter]

White folks brought all the civilization, they said wasn't none around,
cause how these folks over here be civilized when they didn't see nobody writin' nothin' down.

And to prove their all their suspicions, well, it didn't take too long,
they found out there were whole groups of people, in plain sight, runnin' around without much clothes on, that's right! -

- there was women and men and young folks and old folks, well righteous folks just covered their eyes, and no time was spent considering their environment, they just said, 'hell no, this here, this ... this ain't civilized"

And another way they knew the folks was backwards, at least this is how we were taught, is that,unlike the very civilized people in Europe [laughter], these black groups actually fought.

and yes there was some crude implements, and yes they had primitive art, and yes they were masters of hunting and fishing and courtesy came from the heart.

and yes there was love 'n medicine, n' religion n' inter-tribal communication by drum, but no papers and pencils and other utensils, and hell these folks never even heard of a gun!

So this is why the colonies came, to civilize the land, the dark continent had copper and gold and the discoverers had themselves a plan.

They would discover all the places with promise, you didn't need no titles and deeds, and then you would appoint people to make everything legal, to sanction the trickery and the greed.

And back in the jungle if the natives got restless, well you call that Guerilla Attack. [laughter] And you never describe that some folks might 'a got wise and decided they was gonna fight back.

But still we are victims of word games, semantics is always a bitch, places once called underdeveloped and backwards, they now call them a' mineral rich.

[applause]

But still it seems like the game goes on with unity is just beyond our reach. Libya and Egypt used to be in Africa, they've been moved to the Middle East.

[laughter and applause]

There are examples galore I assure you, but if the interpreting was left up to me, I'd be sure every time, folks knew this version wasn't mine, which is why it's called His- Story-. thank you."

Eleventh Day Oh Eight

hey everybody out there with all the money.
this is a regular guy you have to listen to.
All you ten to a hundred richest personages.
If money means so much and to teach to you,
we reached the place to taste togetherness.
We love to hate you, and we hate to love you,
you know what you know in that place you are,
a couple hundred billion among friends, much ado.

Ten days taught us we're here all together,
the debt of a nation faced tremendously large,
is giving up hope but we'll stop all that.
Some people we called for, some folks may charge,
grew coffers in quickened bloating policies.
So now we call back, same die cast swerved.
How does it sound McRichie, something stopped,
your mad super-car economy is stuck on a barge.

Say you're home in your wooded mansion.
excavated to find you've got no ground.
I guess you'd assume you'd change, walk soft.
you'd trim away everything to acquire a mound.
Trim with lights out, walking lots, re-using,
investing in quiet self and sufficient sounds.
Work longer, expect less, hold on for kids sake,
hitting asphalt for wages, it's still there to pound.

Realign. Tomorrow you need. What you had today.
With a few grains of what you didn't need for now,
seeded away for whittle there's not enough for you.
Someone else needed it more. This ultimate sharing
reality comes from being stuck with a blessed globe
Earth finite-ness and the intersection of that place
reminded teenage need to never have enough or be more
comfortable, more secure. All your basics,

pennies on the dollar. After all, color aside
to survive, you don't really need a collar.

Older Posts From Myspace

Sunday, September 16, 2007


Eat Dirtworms You Emoticon Sucking Demons

Ok, YEAR OF THE DOG was not a cool movie. Thats what I get for assuming anything is a romantic comedy. The last thing I need while I'm doing homework on a Sunday night is seeing a shell of a shell of a human being living a two hour denouement of depression in surround sound in my living room. Balls.

I sit in a shitstorm of paper decaying around me, too much moisture to hold and old old life full of chemicals, cringing in my nostrils, whispering toasts to sleep, to a tonic, way below middle c.
My strum slowed, creaking and weeping it stopped, startled into sleep by dreamers with eyes half masted, drooling, collapsed. Slumped over now, hair clumped wrongly awry, it looks bad, smells worse, dumps the yule log on a stack of books ablaze with life and death.
I took it in, its what I've got after all, a penniless pauper stopped up by emotion stopped at the throat, stopped where I could taste it, right in front of my gums, and I licked it against the back of my teeth to taste what I couldn't hold, and was shocked by the razor sharp fortitude of metal beneath my eyes.
That poem that began like something awful, and I drank it long ago, I smeared it on the walls where I grew up, and I can still feel fingerpaint stuck under my nails (saw that one coming). I remember the day I smiled with sand between my teeth, and smiling hurt like sandpaper every day after that, and the grit became cancer became pearls became substance that starts sagas that then soil, rot, drop, and stop again and again and begat.
I ask why, I hollow a cubby, a mime's shrinking box, but its safe, and its mine, here it is, why I don't know, but it still hurts to the touch.


02 Sep 2007


Wanted to Buy




Take away my Harlequin Renaissance, I'm buying a show stopper.

I want it in advance, ahead of its crime, half calf and no whip.

Strudel me away in it, popping out of toasters, committing felonies,

Trying to bounce out, before bounced, before bludgeoned, brained.



Blow me, down, the half laugh of the gasper, half tear.

Toothless smile, I found Sisyphus the hard way, never saw her coming.

Kept trucking bigger, sliding sideways, jackknife. Stop.

Though I change tires, engine parts, I kept going, sidle-ways,



Here I am.

I found me out,

Brought me in,

Check me out.



Sold.




25 Feb 2008


I Found Myself Along a River


I found myself along a river a long long long time ago

seduced I was, by its banter, and directionless upon her

the river drew me, lightly sparkled, her course carved and sure

so I travelled heart in hand, through hill and dale beside her

and through the land of fertile soil, we hoped for where we were.

Chili

Love and time caught this little bug,
bursting brightly, her smile caught light,
able as the sun, easy and innocent,
intriguingly the one who served lookout,
unsullied upon a toadstool, at home,
given my chance I'd give her my past,
given her speed, I hold swayed by this jewel,
if minutes of treasures see us conflicting,
we'll pause another second for what love amends.

as sweaty work bright shining tear up our eyes,
she finds the spot where I once travelled,
fortunate charm all gifted and well timed,
I'm thankful to pictures, memories in frames,
Unconscious September sees October things.

Three For the Free of One

Sonnet For The Season

At works end, a chef returns with new hope,
a finished crew-mate, ground up, he sings,
brazenly flung to fire, grows ice to cope,
bags slung back, packed and repacked his strings,
back to grind, brings home far more than things,
post-its to pages on red pennant seas,
fortitude mashed with what missing her brings,
phrases by learning which stung by degrees,
his home will leap to his life all anew,
the nimbus recedes relieving the haze,
proud of real build-up, new skin there grew,
turned back again, saw his ship in a daze,
lines cast away, they replaced him today,
chapter closed, work done, headed home to stay.

Thoughts A Hundred Different

I thought about just what to write, I thought about it all, I caught a drift the other night, communication placed it's call.

From that idea I read some more, and thought about it still, til before the sun went down on me, I put the grist back in the mill.

I marshalled lexicon as generally things begin, I forgot my first words unrecorded, and had to make them up again.

From there I slept, so wearied then, I crawled back up worse for the wear, and started out again.

I groaned and gathered, purged and spout, I can't remember why, and gave my heart an extra beat, and stumbled towards the sky.

The jets trails choked me, just enough, an engineering dream, but cracked my head upon the plan, so alluring did it seem.

I played at war with friends long lost, it bores me to admit, I lighted up a match of glory, and though without me it stayed lit.

By pride I played with daisy chains so fragile with nature's glory, and stumbled into peers a-peering disapproving my appearing story.

Behind curtains were called to sobbing, every last of us, applause lit up a painted face, a recital's glory garnished thus.

Fast-forward stop the picture clears, don't weep for sadness borrowed, the strength of us is what is lost and how strongly we remembered.

Eighty-nine I started playing, what famous never was, a child with fingers and a marvelous toy, better at playing than practicing because;

A piano has a theory larger, visible above the water, but sound plumbs depths as deep and red as oceans or a millenial martyr.

So hats I wore, and hats I sold, what was visible upon my head, a thinking cap lay just beneath, still marked with blue and red.

Grand places filled the halls of grand ideas in my head, while my feet were journeymen to the apprentice making bread.

Through toil won was one or two, experience I mean, from contact eyes learn meaning hidden, through glistening they glean.

Smiles be-gleaming, kept decay at bay, while laughing, running, hoaxing, cunning, hoping, pining, sitting, talking, becoming graduation day.

But where? and how? what? just happened, where'm I gonna go, look back they said, and forward then, and so I wandered to and fro.

A love that found me, who had a place, she held us firm while I gave chase.

We wound around astoundedly so, and I sat not hearing, but knowing she cleared my old to and fro, un-rusting those old bearings.

But I had to eat, I needed sleep, I wanted little more, replacing myself off the grid, my red-blue stamp bought less from the store.

I'd learned of ancient tribes who suffered pains unknown, how to this life would it compare, to trade in pain for a manufactured home?

Twenty-two, a nice round number, a good time too, though every bliss was traded in for the suffrage of staying blue.

I sought out scamps and learned from them, the strut I needed to feel, to conquer demons forged arcane with sorcerous unfamiliar steel.

Somehow shone through all of this was mighty joy and jury, good friends held tears like chainlink fence when frost is followed by Sol's great hurry.

In this link we held us fast our weight and water carried, so soon we sought a post to plant, we dug the soil with those we married.

Must I mention it stands to reason that no two are alike, we're all the same that we all link fences blazing trails where others hiked.

So wide awake yet weary wandered I into the dream, into confusion that often fell like leaves upon my stream.

Conquered I with thinking streams the pollution of the past, in the birth of whole new children we saw our lighted path.

Sacrifice we condescend, can't fool ourselves to love, but clear to us when newborns cry that their needs shall be above.

Untroubled forward steps were taken each smaller than the last, through dance or stumble plans mistaken for the real path of paths.

Into the world a mighty nation with mighty riteous goals, too bad the sons and daughters died for unworthy truths never told.

Too bad indeed because to there from here we'll always go, until the light of worldly minds know how we reap and what we sow.

Advantage we say lies in hiding all the cards away, but games are played more advantageously when all the cards can be in play.

True you'll lose some time, and such is luck for winners too, but up in heaven the rich won't last because it's common through and through.

Now I don't gamble much but small wagers are A-Ok. Give me all vacations and I'll bet the rest away.

Six times six I'll likely be, once I make it to that year, when my bets pay off as proof of all the things I've said in here.



Lancing Freelance Folding

It's an effort to stand up tall
I school myself, it's in there still
back when eyes raised high in quest
arose questions unanswered best
that way predisposed implosions
separated best by loss of neurons
farewell connections, intimated host
projecting quests where inward folded most
wandering he might weight his steps
unfolded, stopped, beset, and rest,
one side to many, to many the best
gave voice to body, ennerving behest.

First Became Last Became First

What are you afraid of?

What gives you hope?

How can you say that?

What form does it take?

If you can, get it all out. If you can't do that, get a bit out. If you can't do that, then squeeze a few drops and slowly watch it grow into the looking puddle, where energy is free and you shake hands with carrier waves that we all ride on.

Like that guy who walked into the Qdoba while I was supervisor, fairly inebriated and with a guitar and a tip bucket, he sang his beautiful song about twice as loud as would have been comfortable. Such a powerful lovesong, so honestly and fearlessly delivered, and in such a strange place and way only added to the shining honesty and humanity of the whole event.

Just for the record I did give him a tip, but then felt obligated to ask him to leave. It's sad that we all can't always follow our heart when we have to follow our intellect or disallow for our responsibilities. I would have liked to have heard more of his songs.

Not sure where this is going. Life is funny and so are people.

In response to funny, I give you bending sculptures of industrially be-font-ed words. Some were the first I wrote, some are the last. It's never too late to reverse a trend or change a card trick - just keep your eyes away from distractions and speak your cause as much as you can. And I'm now officially finished producing 'ado' about my poetry.