poems

On The Road To Evermore

chain

As I gaze upon your radiant soul
You live on that faraway plane.
And I see great difficulty adjusting
To this heavy vibration again.

To do-to do
To go-to go
Oh where-oh where?
You do not know.

Like the rest of us who congregate
Upon this plane of pain
You balance between the hall of greatness
And the home of the insane.

What’s your name? What’s your game?
And what is mine as well?
Who will stop to listen?
Who will shun the call to Hell?

A voice that cries within the void
Having no one there to hear.
Will those words just float away
Will they disappear?

The helping hand of our Mother Earth
Reaching down to ease our pain.
Finds rejection for all it’s worth
Again-and again-and again.

But Her teachings are eternal
And her teachings never go.
For they bear the keys to God’s back door
They share His Word via nature’s glow.

Does anyone even hear us? Is anyone even near us?
Does anyone even notice when we shout and scream?
Has the gulf between us grown so wide
They see us living in a dream?

Do they never faintly fain awareness
As they walk their streets of gold?
And they blindly follow fairy tails
That they’ve been told since days of old?

Streets of gold – streets of gold vibrating heavily
Upon a plane of heavenly crud
Mixed in a sea of heavenly mud
Created by the gushing of our Mother’s blood.

What to do? What to do? As we move upon this distant shore
And long for the road to Evermore.
And the keys to unlock their stubborn door.
And welcome them to the land of Evermore. . . for ever more.

Enough

enough pollution

I want to write a love poem . . . sweet and easy.
I want to find a way to say the golden things
The things with wings.
I want to mimic Gibran . . . and Rumi too
I want to write a love poem . . . I do I really do.

I sit at the break of day
When the hush of morn surrounds.
I think of all those loving things
where peace and love abounds.
A thought so strong it births a tear
Takes me back to a better year . . .

BUT ALL I HEAR . . .

Across the hilltops flying high
Are cries from earth
And water
And sky.

ENOUGH! ENOUGH! . . . we say
IF you wish to live another day!
ENOUGH! ENOUGH!! ENOUGH!!!

The First Marriage

marriage-ringsIn the beginning there was Intelligence and there was Energy….that’s all there was.

One day while traveling the Great Void Intelligence happened upon Energy.

Being enamored with Her shimmering beauty He knew He must have Her . . .

He proposed………

She accepted……

Instantly the great marriage experience (later to be called the Big Bang) ensued.

When Intelligence and Energy became one their orgasm flung the seeds of Creativity throughout the Great Void.

The physical universe was formed, Stars, Solar systems, and the smaller planets appeared.

The Earth, being a favored child of the Two, was scattered with the seeds of a million creations, each one having the ability to reproduce and change evolutionary direction as seemed fitting to insure its survivability in the highly competitive environment.

You see…………..forget the religious/science debate……it’s all about SEX!

Chasing Rabbits

chasing rabbits

“Bang, bang, you’re dead!” Tommy yells from the thick woods bordering our back yard. “Ha! I got you right between the eyes! You’re dead!”

Tommy’s laughter recedes.

“Bravo One, Bravo One, this is Delta, Over . . . Bravo One, this is Delta, over.” Again and again the same agitated voice. “Bravo one. Can you read me? Over.”

My pounding heartbeat all but silences the incessant static of the radio lying somewhere to my side. I’m trying to find the handset, trying to answer. My ears are ringing. My eyes struggle to focus . . .

‘Blood! Oh shit! What happened? Roll over. Crawl away. Move!’

Nothing works.

Blurred, ghost-like images move swiftly towards me. I hear excited, sing song voices and struggle against the panic seeking to engulf me. I close my eyes and attempt to merge with the mud I am lying in.

“Help me,” a voice moans to my left. I hear cursing to my front. The low cough of an AK47 shatters the stillness. Pleading screams followed by more shots, curses . . . more shots.

The shooting ends as quickly as it had started. The enemy melt into thick underbrush and vanish into the early morning haze.

I try to roll over . . . to escape into the jungle before they return, but my legs have detached themselves from my brain and are doing a strange mud dance of their own.

I think of my dad, years ago, laughing as Buster the old coon hound runs in his sleep by the fireplace, “He’s chasing rabbits,” dad says to me.

Tommy laughs at me lying beneath the old oak tree playing dead and pokes me with the butt of his BB gun. “Gotcha, Jimmy. Ha! You’re dead.”

Revival

Pissing and moaning, sighing and groaning

We sit here and cry in our beer.

Why me? Ask we, to the man in the sky

And to all most willing to hear.

 

Our toys they are many, our food it is plenty

Yet we buckle in woeful depression.

As we think of lost gold and bonus untold

In this last goddamned recession!

 

But thanks be to our name we have lost not the game

As our House puppet friends will save us.

The presses will run as they steal from our son

But our asses will shine from the gift that they gave us.

 

Next time we’ve learned to be careful

And not overboard our greed

We’ll steal just the same (of course) but we must change our name

And adapt to the new ‘social’ breed

 

We’ll start a foundation and give to the needy

We’ll stop all the shit that made us look greedy

A full 10% we will give to the poor, of that we can assure

The 90 that’s left? Expenses not theft

And of course as an onus, the large Christmas bonus.

 

Anger

Why is it that we feel compassion and love for a family member when we see them sick and struggling from the throes of some deadly disease, but on the same hand we judge them harshly when we see them locked in the throes of the even deadlier disease called anger?

The earth borne disease remains with the body upon it’s death, but anger follows the soul. Should we then not be more concerned for our loved one’s anger instead of feeding it? Sometimes even on purpose?

Disease
She feeds
Upon the body.
Anger
She feeds
Upon the soul.
Discerning
Kindred spirits well.
She feeds
Them all
From a blood red bowl.

In Absentia

Love is not a thing you do
It’s something that you wear
Thrilling when newly purchased
Comfortable once worn thread bare

This morning I donned my clothes
And walked to the beach
In search of a gift from the sea.
A memento for you.

As I stood watching the sun break the horizon
In awesome glory
I thought of you standing beside me.
But you weren’t.

Within the beauty of that moment
I stood alone
And realized how empty
And naked I am
Without your love to clothe me.

A VA Day

I saw the brother in a wheel chair sitting in a corner of the room.
Missed him on first glance
Don’t know how I could have.
His eyes, locked in fight or flight, filled the room with their emptiness. (Does he ever blink?)

A sensitive soul perhaps
Unable to make the midnight blast from family farm to killing field.
Had not the bravado to shake hands with the dead
Nor shake the smell of napalm from his nose.

Taught the fight was amongst men
Hand to hand on the field of battle.
Glory…..Honor and Heroism.
No one mentioned the sight of children dying
And old women crying
And old men frying.

The brother in a wheel chair
Had a tale to tell
But it seemed that few could listen
As the truth is hard to hear.
No need.
His eyes, they told it for him.

As I passed him in the lobby
And he sat there all alone
It took me less that a minute to think this thought.
The brother in a wheel chair appeared to have been
Locked in the same thought for the last forty years.

The Mission

If God sent Man out to search and destroy
Then everything else makes sense.
If Odin be He and warriors be we
And He cared not the consequence.

Then we well trained elite have skipped not a beat
As we’ve ravaged and subdued the land.
Turning flora to mud and fauna to crud
We’ve met and exceeded God Odin’s demand.

But what if this God that we cherish
Were the artist who’d just done His best
Not merely a fable that makes us not able
To see the great danger in soiling His nest?

On The Gurney

On the Gurney

Now you’d think a man about to die
Would have a better thought.
A prayer, a plea, a passage
From scripture I’d been taught.

A time of quiet solitude
A time of fear at least
While three grave doctors view a chart
Seek to save me from the Beast.

While Reaper stands before me
And whispers I must depart.
The only thought I’m thinking
Is how bad I gotta fart!