Sunday, August 6, 2017

salute to Hiroshima

nuclear quiet 
 
 
Tremble.
Terrible holocaust.
Fragments, smoldering ash attest inferno’s horror
beyond any concept of fright.
Tremble.
Desirous destruction
engulfs, combusts, devours the night.
Ghastly imbroglio to contemplate.
Holy emission of erupting sky
obscuring, engorging, torching heavens and Earth.
Maelstrom behind closed eyes of flesh-rending fire
razing, exploding, resplendent in awe filled
agony;
transcending density into shocks of deadliest
tremors.
Yes, tremble and think not of that night.
Caught in a thread which ravels to end in
throat-clutching screams.
Send dread escaping, sad streams of molten tears.
Endless, enduring, yet rent past all mending.
Quiet, so quiet tonight.
Kept closed -- quiet tonight.
Unable to catch breath; unable to cry; unable to go on
-- But, God, I don't die
just quail ‘neath flames descending, howl
without a sound.
Tremble, just tremble -- there's no soul around.
 
 
 
second flooding of Megiddo
 
 
I've got rain.
No words.
No fancy maledictions.
Pounding drips against
my inner scream.
Out in the valley,
obscured by smoky haze,
gathering armies.
Bright polished armor.
Weaponry clean
beauteously shines,
stars behind dark clouds.
No roots to cling to.
Flood water rises,
drowns fire, air, ability to
speak of sorrow.
Ashes
fall unevenly
through seeping valley.
 
 
 
 
Hiroshima
 
 
Peace
Fight for peace
Our sacred honor
Arrows fly
piercing armor
Pierce of amor, pride
outside all measure
Wrath, revenge as pleasure
Coiled paranoia
bayonet strong
Toddlers play,
armless, unwary
skeletally still
Bared secrets slip,
burn scars in time
Scorching, pinprick holes
in heaven's fabric,
petrified souls thrust to
premature eviction
Hellfire ripped from metaphor
Immolation scream-echo palpable, 
texture ascends
Daring phantoms,
death's brigade
wail "Peace!"
-- unheeded command
because real glory
belongs to slaughter
 
 
 
Veneration
 
 
Honoring peace.
Honoring essence left behind
not blessed in sanctified fields
open to air and sunlight,
tended to father by father,
mother to sacrificed child.
Dust denied transcendence to
holy loam in presence of love.
Lives not given, not shared, but stolen,
ripped asunder --
limbs, guts, glory.
Shrieking abodeless waifs,
wailing abandoned intimates, kin.
Screaming bombs, squealing tanks.
Arms, throats lacerated.
Vision scathed, scarred.
For peace, for country, for prosperity.
Today, smoke, cinder flecks
obscure a longed-for Sun.
 
 
 
devotional haiku
 
 
happy day to die
amid man's and planet's ruins
reverberant Hell
 
starshine uncontained
potent messaging released
DNA cackles
 
Japanese songbirds
born to nuclear wasteland
shriek mass destruction
 
 
 
Logic of Evolution
 
 
Successful progenitors
survive to sow seed
by force or persuasion
or hiding off screen
or banding together
that more may succeed,
and upgrade conditions,
enhance the breed.
But, for such teams to work well
we must
learn to respect, honor, and trust;
expect to contribute and take and share,
accept the caring for and care.
In community varied seeds are sown.
Thus is a thriving future grown.
Or, sibling rankling infests
to neighbors as scorn.
Barriers proliferate,
preparations for war.
Who is emboldened by
destruction and blood,
blowing civilizations
back into mud?
Are these principled people
filled with kindness and joy?
Those who can create good;
the lacking destroy.
Guns, bombs, cruel words,
contempt, angry sneers,
promotion of pain,
preying on fears,
paying us naught but
unneeded tears
and advancement of certain
unsavory careers.
We can reject their lies,
realize the prize.
Here! before our eyes.
Simple. Easy. Free.
Expect, accept, embrace
the abundance
of Peace.

Friday, July 28, 2017

7/10-28

constipated by ideology
puffed up in self-aggrandizement
putrified with hubris
 
 
The better world I want
is not so much one of race/gender/ethnicity
equality, but a humanity
which appreciates and practices the win/win/win
of basic kindness, eschews the lose/lose/lose
of hostility
 
 
Comfortable in my own id
comfort in grace
Gracious be
 
 
make Peace The issue

Friday, June 23, 2017

6/19-22/17

Silent Queen
trapped in a moment
she cannot change,
nor break,
or even know she is having.
Caught in a snit, a snare,
a flounce of royal petulance
and scent of fear
no thought outside this moment’s
pique.  Never to speak, or hear.
 
 
 
Berserkish rammers
road ragers, suicidal shrews,
roaring expression of human
imperative, collective unconscious
urgency,
will to destroy 
 
 
The Second Sunset of Summer
 
Jeweled sparkle through
emblazoned green
stages of darkening
becomes a screen
to cast a scene from memory
or what ought have been.
I see a field of play,
of poets and Pans gaily a’song
while playmates take a laugh,
a dance,
a merry evening’s holiday.
On roads of old (a half-century or so)
firefly pipers inspire
hopeful wild ones to be.
Free flight like in infant dreams
before boundaries.
Summer melt of sun and mud;
heat mellows, liquifies icy
tensions.  Beat down, swallowed in
sweat, too hot for questions
to make sense.
Sunset soothes.  Withered
inhibitions lubricated, removed as
peeled skin reveals raw resurrection.
Inexorable romp we claim
to desire, defined by starlight.

Friday, June 16, 2017

6/1-16/17

Relinquish
hubris of responsibility
bereft of gifts
lacking energy to respond
 
 
Poor, shallow thinkers abound
yet we insist on mollifying their
shouts of equality, absorbing into
their sloppy, squishy discourse
 
 
Make America States Again!
 
 
Gave it all away for love
never received
Let  my life be paved by fictionhs
I believed
Nothing left to give (never expected
an end like this)
No bright blessings call
Empty space absorbed as pain
because I gave it all
 
 
Nothing but empty days, drugged out nights
Condemned to oozing rights, rites that
never quell the pain
Not punishment for shame – no blame
our run replaced, fit to this crumbling cage.
 
 
Don’t You Feel Sick Too?
 
 

6/1-16/17

Saturday, May 20, 2017

3/10-5/20/17



I know nothing of these grand debates
that may bring sway upon my fate
writ large on braying wind
Not my decision; not my place.
Far from majesty of Center Stage,
my only power:
Hope to breathe again with every wave.
 
 
Not tribalism --
dichotomy is our enemy
forced to choose:  either/or
denying complexity of reality.
Tie us up in duel formality.
Watch freedom die, collaterally.
And, of course, humanity.
For what?  Some “bottom line”?
Remind us why you decide
what choice must die.
 
 
Rulers are meant to promote values
move forward within the value system
of the group forming the rules.
 
 
Rumination deserves to serve artistic projects
 
 
Government funded through royalty payments on
profitable outcomes of government funded research
 
 
I tried to hurt myself more than I anticipated from others,
to inoculate against their power.
 
 
The problem with We, the People is that we are not
a people, but random individuals and interest groups
fighting amongst ourselves.
 
 
3/10-5/20/17

Friday, March 3, 2017

waving/drowning

Hate, hate, hate
We hate, denigrate, as we choose
Blacks, Browns, Jews
and all of youse who
ain’t fools that waste our lives
on hate.
 
 
Journey inward
to see what
stories appear
 
 
Attend to voiceless whispers,
haunting calls to play, to
drift away, become
a conduit for musics,
magicks, passions
sonorously surging
within.
 
 
 
Never a promise.
Lies, fantasy
no genealogy, identity
to cleave, to hide among,
to belong
Stories I must drag bleeding
sacrifice to experience
angst of mutating age,
archetypal choice.
Dependent on destiny of
pain’s transcendence, stories,
fantasies I create
desperate for a world
where I am allowed to matter.
 
 
Thank you, dear friend,
for being
as this new found year aspires
 
 
Goddess queens
exquisite scenes
let’s play!
 
 
It’s not the tribes, but elite rulers who
obstruct tribes from having equal voice
that thwarts democracy.
Democracy is not a homogeneous group
agreeing, but diverse tribes negotiating
for common rule that works well enough
for everyone.
 
 
The tribes are breaking down --
that, not “tribalism” is the social destructor.
People become insecure, frightened outsiders,
cling beyond all reason or sane self-interest
to the remnants, the faux tribes, the demagoguery
to conjure that strong story of belonging.
 
 
Just a hunk of stone
No control over where I stand,
where I go
Falling from place
until I land
to remain or be taken
by chance or agency
not my own
 
 
Pilgrim’s progress
White Anglo Ethos
Petulant brats demand obeisance
to our code of conquest, of dominance,
of hard-assed outcast of deviance
Rule over Earth and her issue
break them to work for our wishes.
Honor, respect,these are authorities’ own
the war lords we place on our thrones to command.
Progress is forward motion on opening roads.
Marching, no conscience nor care for what may explode.
Let our Great Destroyer sort it.
 
 
 
Why would a woman risk
death or other bodily terrors,
social exposure to all the slings and arrows
of frenzied hate,
to end her unborn’s fate?
She is protecting her child, like a good mother does,
despite her own suffering,
protecting her innocent from this horrid world,
from people like you.
 
 
Do not ignite your enemies
Ensnare them in better fantasies
 
 
Under
 
Caught, barbed, mired
in private dramas, traumas.
Sunk, gasping, up just enough to see
nothing to cling to,
grasping at phantoms, wisps of mirage.
How proceed?  No landmark empirically real,
how find relief, belief that’s meaning applies?
How define “wise” as solution to needs;
everyone bleeds, but who decides why,
or how?
No time for such now --
too much to do
to try to break through,
to breathe.
Whatever they say, so far away
from my plight
I assume must be right --
I know nothing of these grand debates
that may be sway to my fate
writ large on the wind.
No my decision nor place.
Far from luxury life at Center Stage
my only power:  hoping to breathe again
with every wave.
 
 
12/18/16-3/3/17  

Sunday, January 29, 2017

opening view

Monk Hill stands smiling in the morning sun.  Early Spring, well-tracked snow still covers frozen ground.
Coffee-stained observations through my kitchen window.
Tom moved me here to heal, to figure out who I need to be and how.  I don’t think he was so much scared as awed by my profound collapse
into frenzied inertia.  He had helped to organize this place, this art-based enclave, to enjoy as occasional recreational refuge as well as
to give free range to special friends that he might be blessed in their blooming.  He seems quiet and controlled, a useful cover for his
beauty obsessed soul.  So fortunate that he has all that inherited wealth to indulge with.  I mean that sincerely.  So many highborn brats
indulge in nasty, even cruel, habits because they can.  Or then there are those obsessed with out-earning daddy or expanding their
empire no matter the cost to collateral lives.  See, I can record a logical progression of thought, sitting calmly, drinking coffee for the
luxurious warmth, smiling at the hill, the valley, the stone and brick buildings, the tracks in crusty snow, maybe a human or critter
intent on their own projects.  This is comfort.  This is breathing deeply, stretching gently, opening slowly toward the warmth of
activity, to explore in search of empowering questions.

Sounds like Eat Yer Pudding is open below.  Guess I’ll take this party public, check out the scene over breakfast bread pudding.