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 Nov 2015
Traveler
Time stands still when dark days fall
I call to the gray sky, the clouds muffle my call
Come fill my cup with passion and precision
  Overflow me with magic from the old religion...

Take now this burden which weighs on my heart
This universe is one which makes us whole parts
Remove this illusion that we lack the power
To manipulate existence each moment devoured...

My spirit has been trapped, now dare to release
The will of the gods for those who believe
So grant me the power to change this tide
And remove this darkness from these tired eyes...
 Nov 2015
Onoma
Our core seems to ever
bear the offhandedness
that bore it...
a flame's mind is the
space it lights.
 Nov 2015
spysgrandson
LET
THERE
BE
LIGHT
a
fierce
sun ******
vapors
into
a
thunderous
sky
which
wept
sixty
sextillion
t­ears
creating
a
riddled
calibration:
the river  
time

we
came
cells
devouring
cells
metastasizing
into
li­fe
first
cruel crawlers
then
stealthy stalkers
wicked walkers  
and
finally
THE
terrible talkers
blasphemers
bending
time
asking
WHY
it
flows
?

we
are
th­ey
who
have
no
shore
to
which
to
moor
on the river,
time
what comes at 2:00 AM when I had too much chocolate
 Nov 2015
spysgrandson
a refugee from wealth,
he and his Dartmouth degree found the spot
farthest from his New England roots, and the first roots
he saw there were those of a banyan tree, giant gray tentacles
piercing the Asian earth, imploring the black soil
for atonement, he thought

the natives said the tree was older than God
immortal, but cursed with some blight that bedeviled them
and that prudent pruning of ailing arms would be wise

the man had only a Swiss Army knife  
with its minuscule saw, but soon he set about the task
of trimming the behemoth, one mad millimeter at a time,
and mad was all the natives saw

this white creature, high in the canopy,
often from dawn until the sun sank in the jungle behind him
sawing away, a half branch a day, treating the gargantuan arboreal
like a prize bonsai

villagers would come, hunker, watch in the shade of the tree
once in a great while, they would see a branch crash on the ground,
at which time they cheered the pitifully patient woodsman

many offered to help, some leaving bow saws,
axes at the banyans' base, but he would have none of that
over and over he received new red knives with their tiny saws
these parcels the only mail he got

even during monsoon rains,
the man's labors did not desist
though his audience waned

appearing to defy physics' uncertain laws
the tree was nearly felled, but the man disappeared
before his colossal task was done, the locals claiming he climbed
into the thinned canopy one day and never came down

not even a well worn blade was found
allowing the witnesses to aver he was yet high in the heavens
resting after love's labor had wearied his hands  
but perchance healed his heart
 Nov 2015
Onoma
Slow wind,
hair raising
scintillations...
hands plashing
magenta pools.
Trying depthless
depths.
 Nov 2015
r
I feel like a foreigner
standing on a pier
waiting for word from a lover
across the blue water of tears.
A sad day. We stand with France.
What heinous acts
happened in Paris
so recently
happen all over the World
(yes, with a capitol "W")
every single day
and no one ever seems to really give a single ****
until it's a "civilized nation;"
that is to say
a western nation.

Oh, please.

Lest we forget
NATO, the UN, and countless other nations or groups of people
commit far greater atrocities
on a perhaps much larger scale
perhaps much more regularly
and no one talks about it-
yet if they do, and they're of the West,
it's glorified as saving the civilized world
from injustice, tyranny, bloodthirst and corruption.

Why, then, is it okay
for the West to transgress against others
for our own political, economic or simply sadistic goals
and for others to transgress against one another
(and for the West to bet on their strife and rig the odds too)
but then when it's done unto the West,
they're unforgivable evil warmongering savages
whereas the West is just innocent?

What the ****?
Why do we in the Western cult of the World
get to be Judge, Jury, Executioner,
Press, Victim, and Beneficiary?

Sounds kinda ethnocentric to me..

Maybe these attacks
are to violently prove a point
that we are not so different or stratified or separated
as we may wish to think we are.

Maybe they're angry
we refuse to allow them to sort out their conflicts for themselves.

Maybe they're frustrated
with our domineering and permissive Western-world-centric
commodification, dehumanization, and globalized ****
of any resources, people, or land we wish to own
which is so graciously sacrificed by our sacred Mother Earth
for all and any to use-
so many of which so happen to occur
across petty and mortal geopolitical lines
drawn by fingers of Devils
in Gods' sands.

This type of ire and violence
should never be condoned
and I am deeply disturbed and ashamed
by our irksome and shameless
double standard propaganda.

All lives matter.
Period.

Regardless of
ideology or nationality.
Regardless of
***, sexuality, skin, dress, or hair.
Regardless of
language, culture, or material wealth.
Regardless of
geography, education, religion, or politics.

Besides,
I'm certain we've already spilled
at least just as much blood in retaliation.
How many of the dead would have to be innocent for us to even care?

It's a vicious cycle we Humans are pretty "good"at.
--
--
Please know that this plea is neither intended to downplay the very real pain nor to legitimize gruesome and tragically inhumane events, but simply to empathize and show solidarity with all of Humankind;
not just our fellow 'Westerners.'

We are all equally Human.
Every ******* one of us.
No exceptions.
Period.
Ever.
Period.

Our enemies are extensions of ourselves.
We must allow them to teach us.
To keep killing one another
is to perpetuate our self-inflicted purgatory
as a conscious species.

If we refuse to change,
perhaps we've earned this Hell.

Hold people accountable
for what they do to our planet
and to her life- our lives and those of everything around us:
animals (including Humans), plants, ecosystems, economies, philosophies;
no matter which side of which line they're from
or what name they go by
or what title they hold,
for the Devil's face and name must be known
beyond a shadow of a doubt
to be able to confront the Evil
and have the knowledge, courage and integrity to resist it
and in so doing transcend into Heaven.

I love you all.
Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Paths.
 Nov 2015
Onoma
As if stones outrun rivers
in their perfect sitting...
an inner Sun does not
wince at an outer one.
 Nov 2015
Onoma
As ever shall be, the endearment
of the unread...lain sleepless in astral catalepsy.
Fevered forever in seeing, as by the
absence of occupancy--the life of
light lives its pass through and
through.
Absorbed wholly, spoken for by a
silence too great to repeat...
yet tacitly repeating.
 Nov 2015
spysgrandson
his old arm points west,
so weighted with years, his crooked
finger aims down, to the cracked ground
more than to the setting sun

thrice in eighty plantings,
he's seen these droughts drench
the thirsty earth with white fire
but this one, he swears upon
creation, is the worst

holy houses fill with prayer
for rain--the man says this is in vain,
though the good lord hears all entreaties
he has always been miserly
with his mercies

this shall pass
he avers, but he doubts
he will see another warm summer rain
his baptismal to come as wind
from the scorched plains, one
that scatters but dry seeds for
tomorrow's harvest moons
 Nov 2015
Onoma
Wake the bonfire
of shadows...readied
shapes snapped off
by karmic sparks.
Grant that all
become naturalized
citizens of Everywhere...
via vibrational
entrainment.
 Nov 2015
spysgrandson
a cairn on every mountain
chronological tricksters stacked
by near naked natives, or frat brothers
who pointed the way there
with crushed Bud cans?

fossils were less disingenuous,
treasures from a Jurassic sea, staring  
back at me--coprolites a fine find, evidence
our voiceless progenitors also
squatted and shat

after days of wilderness
wandering, I found a lonely menhir
tall as two men, wide as one, in no
particular vantage point
to the sun

who carved this monolith
I'd never know; how it was dragged here
would vex me even more

I sat beneath its shadow
until it stretched a desert mile
all the while watching, waiting
for someone to return
to claim it

when no one finally did,
I rubbed my hands on its weather worn flanks,
and bid goodnight to ancient strangers  
who worshiped this silent stone
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