carnival-trete
Linus is my hero! / / Björk is my savior. / / "Poetry is not just reserved for the righteous and pure. The sinless and sincere. The parrots who can rhyme. The fearful seeking support. But you'd better be able to write, bitch! You'd better be able to write like you mean it! Write like your very soul depends on it! Write with the intent of tearing the whole universe apart just so you can create it all again in your own image, with your own words, with all your triumphs and failures, with the complete unwavering, unrepentant, uncompromising, unyielding, understanding of truth, beauty, sorrow, love, and excellence!" --- Pearl Psynatch / / Love the damp cool of the fog upon my naked body.
Heard Doc Watson once.
Got a used banjo but the fingers just couldn't cut it
Got the music in me but ****** if I can get it out
Don't like crowds or audiences anyway.
Sometime even fear my close friends.
Don't stand up to their Atheism when it comes.
Science don't get faith and faith seeking proof dissipates.
But these atheist friends don't seem to contemplate the horror within
the mechanistic, physical progression from Big Bang to the end.
One can admire the astute, patient discoveries
about the mechanical; this still discoverable physical world.
Pizo electric charges allow interaction with
this transparent screen smart phone
laid on fingertips miracle
Me?
I get more excited by
The actions of mind upon matter.
I can get lost in the shape of a hammer
As I retrace from its form to conception.
An ancestor of mine once imagined
A tool of simplicity and force.
Created an extension that reached from the mind to the hand to the nail.
And when I heft my hammer in my hand and lift it to strike
The complete marriage of mind, human, tool, and history
Comes to bear on the head
Of that nail
(Whose story entwines with that ancient hammer).
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.)
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every night yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing.
Yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise.
The world called Canaanites ******
while they traded and toiled along the shores
of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer,
whose wife could give only love.
The world called Hebrews ******
while they raised Pharoah tombs
Provided respite from the eastern chariots
Stubborn in refusal of the living gods
Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape
That provides brief respite from his decrees
When delving deep in one's cups.
The world called Britons ******
When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell
To Roman spear and gladius
When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed
When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs
The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ******
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon
Pax Romana for Citizens born
Land for the wealthy, voting rights too
Taxes and tithes from their toil.
The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ******
From the VOC to fatal Apartheid
Up rose a man
The heart of the land
A man named Nelson Mandela.
The world called the Viet Minh ******
from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu
'till they slogged howitzers above
to reign Napoleonic terror below.
And to them it was just
The American War
After the world called them
Vietnamese.
The world calls the conquered ******
to remember that the sun every day yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing
yet still it yearns
to rise, to rise, to rise
'though it never watches its own rising
undoing raiment of fading embers
swimming naked in the royal blue
bathing all with daily newborn naked glory
chasing the celestial tidal tease
that seems to wander where it please
reminding that all are born free
but can grow into ignorance
and be called ******
Seek truths
that hold in unity;
that provide nourishment
beneath the lash
allowing one
to rise, to rise, to rise.
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
He drove the first nail home with
a builder's intent; constructing
an everlasting home.
The two pieces clinched together, beginning
the framework for an
all enduring shelter.
engulfing this rapture, she
began placing the comforts within
the soon to be settled
space.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:22 PM UTC
The thorn pierced glove made in China bleeds
with no remorse.
The pruning shears made in China crush
the rose's stem.
Bend back and forth until it breaks.
Place the castrated flower in a vase so all can watch
its slow decay.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:50 AM UTC
I'm sure I've guessed what's within
your tinderbox mind.
You hope to ignite a fuse.
we'll see...
We'll see.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
Speckle backed trout rest.
Red egg baited hook teases.
Not today, boy. Nope.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
Dig down deep where the squirmy worms go.
Feel the decay of ancient sunlight within forgotten leaves.
Smell the dark, rich soil aching with fertility.
Plunge the seed within and wait.
It will grow.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
I see it in the asphalt bumps and sidewalk cracks.
Earth, she don't want to be flat.
Smooth her out with concrete blocks
She'll move and turn without a thought.
Spent most of her life clothed with tempestuous life.
This recent pavement trend leads to unwanted strife.
We build our cornered, straightened, flat, leveled space
upon a vibrant, living, rounded, moving place.
No, Earth, she don't want to be flat.
Full bodied, free flowing, seductress, she
scoffs at such mind conceited, power hungry, insincerity;
exposing our cracks in her restless slumber.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 3:18 PM UTC
People keep telling me that it's all in my perception,
my attitude,
my outlook and that I choose to feel
happy or sad like
my depression is somehow my fault because I'm just not
choosing to feel happy.
********
Because there are substances.
Some legal.
Some illegal.
Some experimental.
Some as yet discovered.
All alter this brain bag of DNA planned chemicals and
the substances that seem to bring the most temporary joy are banned
except alcohol.
So when I go on a legal drinking binge I'm called an alcoholic, hey!
I'm just trying to get my ******* mood changed for y'all, now I'm a alcoholic.
Ever consider its the world that's ****** up. How we treat each other is ****** up. And my constant sorrow and depression arise because
I can't lie to myself as well as you?
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
Have you heard the moon?
Have you heard its silent night whispers to the trees?
Have you heard the moon?
Have you listened to the pale wanderer who becomes consumed by darkness only to return to light?
Have you heard the moon?
Have you ignored its hunting call to return to the long forgotten chase?
Have you heard the moon?
Have you forgotten so much since your distraction with man-made empty promise trinkets that fade with purchase?
Have you heard the moon?
Have you touched the stars?
Have you remembered, yet, why you are here again?
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC