These poems
These are everything I'd love to whisper
Looking into your eyes
And see surprise flicker there,
Joy.
Watch you duck your head and smile,
Like you did yesterday when I told you
How beautiful you are.
I'd like to say those types of things all day
Just to see them hit you like soft rain,
To see you struggle not to grin that someone loves you
With such awe.

Muunndannee

sunddayyyyyy

huhhh

get
out

of

the

warmmm
bed

clothed

in
white

6 am

everyone
still

sleeps

not a single



sound

in                    my

perpetually

c r eeeeak ing

house
...
stare off
                           into
space
....
lose myself
in

my!

mind


remember!
im
alive

panic!

panic attack

theres nothing

nothhhing..

1
2....
....3
4....

pills

still
still need

more

more..to fill

the nothing

that will always

be

my mundane

sunday

you threw me away
wish i could do the same
cause baby you'll never hate me
the way i do

ocean shores are begging for me
to come and drown at sea
don't really care what comes as eternity
how bout you?

you told me not to hate it
just go ahead and change it
well babe i've sure been trying to tame it
could you do the same?

watch me as i go
down a loophole, i'll put on a show
you are my high, you are my low
i'll go away now

Long before Horus' exposure on its trunk
and the nailing of Jesus upon its grain,
rings have been added within the Tree
while people proclaim to hold the key
of salvation: a continually borrowed mythology
swallowed; an extra-strength sleeping pill

pulling the masses into slumber,
and away from the awakened truth
that such supposed salvation
is an illusory ticket far too easy to obtain
for it to be real—
a discriminatory, fairy tale-damnation
that multiplies the divide
of "Us and Them."

Too many people hand out the easy tickets,
then cut and light the tree:
a hypodermic injection of selfish memories
mixed into the mortar of temples designated as sacred,
while dogmatic shears amputate roots from the sky.

Too many people preach
about a cheap, polystyrene heaven,
while only a few walk the narrow path
that leads towards the kingdom within,
and live the sacrifice because it feels right.

Again and again,
the ticket isn't so easy.
We must put aside our slumber-crutches,
stop watching the few carry the rest
upon their backs, until bones creak and groan
from the weight of people waiting for salvation
to be handed to them.

For 27 years, 46664 was etched into the bark
of a branch in the road.
When forked doors opened,
a living, breathing gospel
brought down fences,
and even then, the wood was made into crutches
for people to say,
"M will fix it; M will do this, M will do that;
M will save us, just wait and see."

M is finally free. Yes, he is free!
Free, but not lost to us;
he survives as spirit-seeds.

We must cease to lean upon crutches;
we must purge the pill from our blood
and awaken into gardeners who water the seeds
within the soil of our hearts,
before the vision withers completely,

and we remain only as husks
waiting to be hydrated by watering cans—
weakened hands and arms unable to lift their weight

held in our own hands all along,
held in our hands all along.

i want
a place
that is green and
full of light
i want
a place
where
in the quiet
i can hear
the birds singing
i want
a place
where
the night sky
is bright and alive
how do i find this place?
how do i get to this place?

We live near the boulevard,
Open a window and it is not hard
   To believe,
                    Do you believe?
Each year for the last four or five,
  Some men and women in trucks drive,
     By our house,
                           Do you believe?
They now have forty or fifty or a hundred all lit in color,
  Police escort, HONK their horns and drive my dog bonkers,
      If you wave they do too,
                                             Do you believe?
Each truck has strings of lights to delight the roadside few,
   Maybe out past curfew or stamping their frozen feet too,
     Reindeer and inflatable penguins on a skidoo,
                                                         ­                     but do you believe?
That human kindess and good cheer should only show up once the decorations are complete?
That what is generous now, will last till summer,
                                                         ­                     somehow, that thought should warm some feet?
Or like festivals, celebrations or such things seasonal are best kept to one time per year, call it    Christmas fiscal responsibility...

Maybe you don't believe in anything at all?
Do you believe in love thy neighbor as thy self?
Or do you believe in a story about an ageless elf?
                                                   Do you believe?

*
I
believe
in each, one
of you, can do
more good than harm,
it is true, if it is one mite
only, as that is all you have,
may it be multiplied by those
who see what you do and they
want to give, contribute and share too.
This is half a tree, my poem is sadly
incomplete, for that night
we all wait for and
attend,
will at
the end,
appear
almost
the end of
this December!



©DWE122013

When we're little, we believe the place to go is up, up, and away
We get a little older, and we want to know what's down there
In the deep
The beauties, or the beasts?

One day we'll be adults
Too tired to try and fly
We'll just climb
Working to the best of our abilities for a good reputation
Polishing our shoes, straightening our ties
And one day, it's all gone
You wonder how it all could have happened so fast
Well, at some point, you turned around
And started rolling downhill

Then you realize
The best thing about all this is that the ride down never ends
It's as infinite as space
You see that everything can always be worst
You can always fall a little deeper
Which is why even the ones everyone call "freaks", are beautiful

But this hill has nothing to do with actions
Just thoughts
It's why the famed have a spotlight
They're in too deep
Deep in greed they count their cash
Only to waste it on yet another mask

This is why I can't admire the rich
Their power comes from what the masks of deception bring them

They try to drag down those of us free from their evil gravity
But we don't give in
Hell, we win
We don't just barely make it out with bruises and black eyes
We dance away with grace
To the top of the hill
We don't dance to escape the monstrous underworld
We dance to stick it to those that made us believe the surface wasn't beautiful

Once I knew a place, a place I never truly found significant.
A vast stretch of abandonment and history - long forgotten and left to be consumed by Time himself.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly understood.
Decorated by Mother Nature with an asortment of trees and shrubs and an abundance of flowers it's only scar which betrayed it to the present was a solitary man-made structure, tattoed with the bold letters of "FALCON SECURITY" - surely an untold testimony to this place's past life.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly acknowledged.
Ocassionally it would become the temporary haven of hobbos and hermits alike. Living in mutual homelessness they sort comfort under the trees, in the confines of the hideous building or simply amongst the long, billowing grass of the place. They would build thingie-ma-jigs, what-ja-ma-call-its and thing-a-ma-bobs and sell them to the curt passerbys of their place.
Once I knew a place, a place I never truly appreciated.
Surrounded by infastructure, and industry it stood out like a rose amongst the thorns and brought beauty and clarity back into the otherwise monotonous, morbid environment. It stood defiant and strong against the hungry, salivating greed of humanity - yet someday it was bound to succumb to our over-powering ambition for development.
Once I knew a place, a place that no longer exists.
In the blink of an eye that place was destroyed - uprooted and upheaveled.
Every tree, every shrub, every flower ripped out and now gone. No longer a haven but a grave yard where the dead lay scattered like fallen soldiers across the battlefield. Victims against the War of Industrialisation they fell prey to mans' heinous desires.
"Collateral damage" for a "brighter" future they say.
I say, who needs another vehicle retail outlet.
Once I knew a place, and I will never know that place again.