Some Bright Day

So many have gone now, and taken small chunks out of my heart. I dream about them
sometimes, and smile upon the memory, and sadden at the reality.
Could it be that we shall meet again on some bright day? Each have walked
this crooked road at different bends with me. I shall raise a glass
to all of our bitter smiles and our sweet tears. Goodnight and joy be to you all.

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Sand Dancing

My heart seeks the deep grey sea, gulls flying and screaming, shells jamming their smooth edges between my toes. Grasses swaying in a humid breeze and sand dancing
a waltz with the tide.
That horizon there, is a meeting I will never know, could only dream about. The sickle moon hanging above my head, sending only a small shiver across the face of the water. Fishes sleep.
At the bottom of the ocean there are creatures that dwell in darkness. Do they see so much more than me?

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The lion kills for life, and life is rarely grateful. We will hold fast our fingers
clasped tight like kites were flying, like the cracks in boulders held our weight.
Do you see heart there in the thin shadows? Do you see flames in the fleeing clouds?
Will the saltwater support you or the lava entomb you where you stand?
The fragile wing and barely blinking eye of the swallow awaits your answer,
bring it to her
on a gentle breeze in the soft light of a morning sun. A seed flies with you,
another willing victim of the wind. The sand burs embed deeply in the paw
of the huntress. Will you remove it with your teeth, your neck bent and smooth
like alabaster, the jugular pulsing like a neon sign? Will you then pray for peace?
Could it be that the stars ripple with your every breath?

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Mallets Made Of Glass

And what good could it do you to forge your anvil made of iron
with your muscles bulging and your sweat blotting patterns
in the concrete below your arm? The mallet is made of glass, you fool
and so your insistence goes with it. Push the Replay button now.
Try again tomorrow. Build a bridge and a looking glass.
First fortify your clarity and turn it into art. Weld it to your heart.

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The Sycophant and The Proselytizer

This jar holds no question marks, no queries and no retorts,
the air gap allows for the nodding of heads and agreeable reports.
No dialogue, please. You want debate? We have only cheerleading here,
to join this club and be one of us, you will have to let me steer.
I possess the answers, you see I’ve deciphered our history,
and I will write our future and you will applaud deferentially.
I won’t argue with you, I know you, and I’ve heard it all before,
my minions tell me that surely my logic you will abhor, and so
I am the Proselytizer, you’ll do well to be Sycophant,
your tiresome queries bounce off the fabric of my rants.
Applaud and bow and idolize what you could never hope to be,
I am the champion of everyman, of everyman but you, you see.

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Ha ha, you braggadocio, you blatherskite and swaggerer, with your brains
balanced on the head of a pin and your paltry butt cheeks puckered tight behind
the bunched fabric of your pantaloons. I see you! Ensconced in your rhetoric,
your bombastic displays, Secret Agent Man. Not one could be a satisfactory match
for your perspicacity, of course, privileged prince, glittery Wizard behind the curtain.
How is it that I see you? With the tear in the fabric at the seat of your pants
and the smattering of silliness behind the mask? Not blind then, after all,
are the minions who do your bidding and put the spit shine upon your medallion?
You’ve got more tart than a kumquat, you, and appear as disagreeable as a blizzard
in May. I’ll pluck that arrogance right out from the roots of your sparsely spaced
whiskers and shoo the petulant beast I know as you, shoo you right to the midway
and over the edge into prudery. Funny little megalomaniac, this insolence
your nakedness will abide.

Posted in alienation, Apathy, Congress, Contemplations, Corporations, Poetry, Politics, Social/Political Commentary, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Thinking of Dying

The fins are off and the hook is embedded, it is frightening to be caught.
Tears behind a closed door and a jaw locked on grudges. Who takes
away the urge to die, the thought that death would be welcome?
Blossoms on the cucumbers, their vines tangled up with wire
and lazy cats purr and anchor me to this arid place. I never knew
that dreams could fade and fear would fill the space, or that walls
could be so thick, such an impediment to joy. To fight or to finish,
the only choices, really? Girls swallow their rage, don’t they, and then cry?
Even my tears have grown tired of my face. I should take this fear
and block it off with wood and string and sea shells. The walls would tremble
if I had my feet planted, eighteen inches apart and stuck
in the bone white clay. Tears? Merely exclamation marks hurled through the sky
like seabirds, like shackles broken by motion breaking upon the day.

Posted in alienation, Apathy, belonging, Community, Death, demons, Depression, family, Health, Poetry, psychotherapy, Respect, Responsibility, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Grow Up To Show Up

I want to start a revolution. How about this one:

Grow Up To Show Up (G.U.T.S.U) I’m pretty sure most of you are really tired of hearing about deadbeat/absentee fathers and the children who grow up without them; this worldwide epidemic of increasing violence against women, human trafficking and sexual slavery; the sad lack of community and familial connectedness that only perpetuates alienation and antisocial behaviors that lead to crime and violence. Well, I’m tired of it. And I don’t believe that there’s “nothing we can do”. That’s bullshit. We can make that phrase part of our global lexicon; our new mantra for the species; our new slogan for the times. Add a little jingle to it and put on TV, I don’t care. Just say it, share it, incorporate it into your daily OM and make sure it spreads. Grow Up To Show Up. It means: Do the right thing. Have integrity. Be responsible. Show compassion. Work hard for what you want. Share as much as you can. Honor. Respect. Treasure each other. Show up!!

Please, if you agree, share this on your blog. I believe we need to find a way to stem the violence, ease the despair, and inspire each other to belong to each other again. We belong to each other. It’s time we started acting like it.

Posted in alienation, Apathy, belonging, child abuse, Community, Contemplations, crime, family, Health, human trafficking, Respect, Responsibility, sexual slavery, Social/Political Commentary, Uncategorized, violence, Wellness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Alluring Avenue of Rage

The world knows how your heart pounds and your jaw clenches, how
tightly your fingers curl into the sinewy guts of a balled fist.
Rage, old friend, comes to visit with his hat perched jauntily upon his head,
and most of the time you greet him with a glint in your eye.
No apologies, no excuses,  does he bring. He knows he is the remorseless
Joker on the table, the frequent visitor to your dreams. Bar the door, if you must,
if you can. You will always forget to close and lock the window, or cram
a towel against the growling gap at the bottom of the door. He slithers in
and extends a hand, offering many an object for you to hurl, and you take them.
You make the critters duck and cover. You make gentle hearts tremble. You make
your self out to be this amazing monster. And then he leaves,
and the light returns to your doorstep. He has joined his footsteps once more
to that alluring avenue – the one that joins you to your shadow, joins
your shadow to the heart of all the world’s children. That road
that loops around your best intentions like a crown of thorns upon your head.
You feel his footsteps before you hear the sound they make and you wonder
when will he come again.

Posted in Contemplations, Poetry, rage, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 4 Comments

What Could You Possibly Say?

Wings are broken, legs are hobbled and you won’t look. You have your eyes
locked upon a slippery shimmering silver lining. They say:
Look at the bright side. And you try your best because you’re the optimist. They say:
Namaste (the spirit in me salutes the spirit in you). And you repeat it
because you’re worldly that way. And they nod their heads
in salute right back at you. They say:
An eye for an eye. And you pick up your dagger and aim at the loser’s heart.
When the frogs cry because they are dying what do you say?
When the bees drop out of the sky and the kittens mew from hunger, tell me
what do you say? When dogs fight each other until death, what
could you possibly say? When continental Africa is rendered childless,
when the oil fields dry up in Kuwait, when the Taliban have killed all the women what,
oh what do you say? Look at the bright side? An eye for an eye?
Salute this, you silent observer: salute Peace. Salute the open hand, the open heart.
Render short sightedness and the ego of man a shriveled, forgotten page in our history.
A blemish on the photograph, a glitch in the trajectory. A cloudy eye, lips stitched
together with complacency.

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