You tore our planet to pieces
Ripped up the land with your strife
Civil wars, and genocides
Snuffed out all that potential life
Creating a void that no light can pierce

With your war and consumerism
You closed but increased the distance
Between rational human beings
Stirring the masses on to
Mass extinction
Despite my pleading, crying, and screaming
Leaving me voiceless in obscurity
In the name of fake security
And false promises of prosperity

Oh, my dear humanity
If I could have died for this lost cause
I would have
But you have
Even managed to deny me that sweet mercy

How strange it is to dream
That we could meet in-between
In some romantic scene
Existing outside reality
Living in a bubble world
A place where neither extremes meet
Where there is no soul deforming opulence
Or in comparison no division
That leads to chilling forms of poverty

If we could dance in love
Away from the ways of hate and greed
Fulfill the need to feed the hungry
Cure all the disease
And seed hope
For each generation after

If there was more laughter
And fewer tears
Till only natural sorrows remained here
What a sweet romantic world that would be

In allowing love
to envelope us
we lose so much.

We become robots
preprogrammed to
procreate and create
another generation.

The veneration of
people who are
only fulfilled
by the ******
they spilled.

There are other
ways to be,
other versions
you can see,
of struggling
to set yourself
free.

But most want
to abdicate
their responsibility
in favor of
the love they savor
that craving addiction
an easy prediction.

Tv and literature,
movies and songs,
got the good stuff
all wrong.
We are more
then halves
of a whole.
We are unique
people who
always have
room to grow.
You have
a million memory doors
to walk through
and gain the lessons
from the things
I never knew
you went through to.

So, please write something
deeper than your cliché
heartache
and romantic fantasies.

With the flick of my nose
I lost the soft scent of a rose.
Now I know no rose will ever grow
and I weep to myself,
“Why am all alone?”

Then they plucked out my eyes
so now I can’t cry.
My soul is so parched
that even my heart is dry.
Thus, dryly I sigh,
“Why am I alone?”

There were sounds that made me smile
but the loudness of this life
caused my eardrums to burst.
Now I sit in a state of silence
left with only fingers to touch air
and feel the vibrations I can’t hear.
It’s like a Greek tragedy
with bits of irony I will never see.
So I think in my head
that I might as well be dead
because now I am truly alone.

The crow, parrot, raven, and parakeet
Meet across the cracked street
Scuttle along the wrecked concrete
Where human feet once walked
Flutter up steep uneven steps
Not missing those tripping fools who
Cracked the earth with metal tools
That split lumber with chainsaws
That destroyed thin and thick limbs
With loud rusted wood chippers
That incinerated hated legal papers
Shredding evidence with precision
These birds do not miss one person
Just go searching the soft grounds
for deliciously slimy worms

The wolf, coyote, and lonely fox
Hop and trot from here to cross
Separate paths to their favorite snacks
Bloated bodies swelled with stinky fat
Exposed corpses sitting back so that
They could watch their favorite clips
Catch invisible monsters on their phones
People who now become kibbles and bits
For two howlers and one quiet hunter

A mouse, possum, and racoon
Hunt under the split moon
Going through the monsoon
Of decaying human garbage
Devouring all the waste they want
Finally, free from the humans
Who used to hunt and **** them
Now they just have to watch out for
Other local predators

But all these animals are so much better
For the lack of such a destructive species

You bought your house with a loan
so it’s a place that you don’t own
but a place you still call home.

And to keep up the bills
you go in to a job that kills
any kind of happiness you have.

You crack your knuckles and your back,
work for wages that don’t keep up
with inflation, health costs, and
other things this consumer life’s demands.
So with your sweat and stress
you barely scratch the surface.

And the education that you got
cost you even more then
the home you just bought.
Fifty thousand plus debt
hangs heavy like an anvil
over your head.

So you keep on working
till you are the walking dead,
Till, the stiffness in your arms
and the tightness in your chest
explodes like a terrorist’s vest.

But if you make to seventy
when you were planning to retire
and take a holiday retreat
well, the market lost your cash
so you will be working untill
you finally collapse.

It is the heart of me
that she does not
even bother to see,
a red bridge that breaks
collapsing into
a darker crimson pool,
I set this mess
before her,
expose my scars,
as I worship hers,
whisper gentle affections,
promise fierce protection,
but she turns away
unswayed by the fruits
of my heart,
and I turn away
forgetting the self-love
I struggled to attain
and succumb to
that old familiar pain.

By god’s grace
We save face
Displace
Rationality
Restore banality
Drive out
Our potential
To become stagnant
A waste of
The human collective
Which could be
Working towards
A brighter future
From this dark
History

In order to maintain the status quo the government targets dissidents with obscure laws and media slander. Once the counterculture started to decline the rebellious individual were easier to target, because they lost their collective power. The progenitors of our hippie and beatnik history have been silenced by spin doctors, and we have lost the message of peace love and understanding it has been replaced by consumerism. Isn't fascism a tricky little ******.

I love all avenues
of human advancement
as long as they
seek the expansion
of knowledge, wisdom,
and compassion.

Each attachment, whether to things or people, is a form of entrapment which takes us farther and farther away from freedom. To be truly free one must be completly detached. However, without attachments where does one find their purpose?

We do not need to impose order on choas. There is poetry in uncertianty. To adapt survive and thrive through natural selection is a miraculous thing. Evolution should not be feared but celebrated and appreciated.

Universal morality does not work their is no cookie cutter solution for every moral quandary. However, this does not mean everything is relative. Moral judgments can be made by using empathy instead of ancient texts. It requires people to think deeply about what they do and who they do it to.

Enlightenment requires quiet moments of reflection so that one can listen to their subconscious. This is almost impossible to acheive in the hustle and bustle of modern america. Do me and the whole world a favor stop breath relax and listen to your subconscious, do not be afraid of the quiet. That is not the sound of death nipping at your heels it is the sound of tranquility trying to find you.

Perhaps we should take comfort in our insignificance. The universe is indifferent. It neither needs or care for our existence. All the reason we need to care about one another is that our existence is so transient. It is most likely we will not revisit this or any other life, so why not treasure those by our side, and be kind to strangers for that reason alone.

Cut her open
and you will find
immeasurable potential
hiding behind
skin and muscle.

Not a casual canal
but a tunnel to life,
brewing ingredients
deep inside;

The chance to grow
a being who will
develop unforeseen
ideas for humanity,

the chance to harbor
a hopeful artist,
soft hearted songwriter,
social worker,
teacher, scientist,
painter, activist.

A man does not wield
that level of power,
that wild wonder
of a body working
to put a new lifeform
together in a womb.

A woman’s body
is a gateway
to all worlds beyond,
it is the center
that pushes our species on.

The pharmacist is not your friend
He may put you up in a high hotel
With slip streams of ****** pills
Paxil and Wellbutrin
Designed to defeat depression
To facilitate a fog like
Fugues of perfected moods
With drugs made to create
The perfect drone state
So you can pay your bills
So you can **** and sleep well
So you can keep your health
But it is poison
Kidney killing swill
And while you are under the influence
Perfectly sedated so you forget how to feel
One hand is in your pocket
Thinning your wallet draining dollar bills
While the other hand holds your heart
Crushing what is left of your already weakened will

I hope that when you feel love for yourselves and others that it becomes a driving force, that inspires acts of daily kindness, and courteousness. I want love to be contagious, so that when you smile at someone, or help them out they can't help but smile back and pass it on.
-2010

A flag does not deserve allegiance.
It is only a symbol woven in cloth.
It does represent truth or justice
but the expanding providence
Of undue influence;

Mind controlled population
subservience
to the country you were born in
by chance.

Though it may be pretty
flapping in the wind
it is not a worthy friend
to any woman or man.
It is merely a symbol
waving for the those
who cannot understand
life is more complicated
than their flag lets on.

I'm starting to think that in a world were people can be convinced to do things that are not in their interest the guy trying to look out for them is going to suffer more then they are.

She's a protester
not a warrior
but something
so much better,
a singer song writer
a warm and brighter
lamp that keeps us
from succumbing
to the mind numbing
dullness with which
greedy men try to use
to **** our muse,
and give us the blues.

I did not read
the book on mindfulness
attentively.
Thus, the majority
of its clarity
was lost on me,
as was the bargain bin,
pricing I spent.
So, basically
it turned out to be
filler and fluff
to help me
**** time in the sauna
unmindfully.

There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.

There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.

I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,

I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.

Man, it is so disappointing.
I get close to exploring
another human’s mind.
A minute or two
passes through
as I share truths
and expect her to
present hers to,

but generally I get
either vehemence
or indifference.
She either gets ******
or merely dismisses
my curious persistence,

and I find myself
alone in a never-ending pursuit
of knowledge
that I never get to share.

What demons
darken
her deep
brown eyes,
hastening the violence
that seeks to rise?
Are they truths
that hurt her
or lies
that move
to mollify
any turbulence
in her life
so that
any gifts
she harbors
inside
cannot thrive?
Is it conflict
she needs
to seed these
plentiful rows
of dazzling roses
with extraordinary
beauty,
or is it
tranquility?

Grey waters wear
Sun strained ripples
With one hippo head
Less than halfway
Out to a greet the new day
Till the purple sunset
Suffering from a slight
Foggy haze
Loses the day and sets
Far far away

These words perform
their sacred rites
and dance on tongues,
waking in working whispers,
passed on from one generation
to the next in line,
they shift in context
change in definition,
grow their influence,
and fall into exposition,
then fade into footnotes,
and finally become
part of a dead language.

We live in
the evening
observing
other beings,

reading
new and old stories
following
the yellow brick road
even though
its full of dust motes
and black mold.

Trying to be strong
but we are depressed
and compressed
into
something new;

Unable to walk to you
or through the crack
in the soon to be
shattered glass
perspective,

you expect us
to conform to
your pews,
bending in devotion
in your church,

but we worship
in other ways
chase better days

When the fog of pain abates,
when you ask us why,
we do not know for sure,
perhaps we never will.

I am just a fish,
a tasty dish
that others missed,
a tuna plate
or salmon patty
with just a pinch
of mercury
poisoning.

Feel free
to eat me
and tons of
my floundering
family
so, you can die
oh, so slowly.

Rules do not make something
Right or wrong
Talking heads do not
Make something
Right or wrong
Fake gods
Do not make
Something
Right or wrong
Traditions
Just because
It was
Always done
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong
Your law
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong

I believe that the gift
I have been given
is for looking at things
different,
for shifting strange perceptions
and seeking underlying connections
of a nonspiritual persuasion.

That little boy blue
who wore his bruises
under his aching skin
will not come back here again.

You don’t always have to
wear a red cape
to swoop in and save your
super friends.

Sometimes you can
share the burden.
Sometimes you can
let me in.

Then I will be wearing
my own green cape
cause green is great
and it’s my favorite color.

We are a wall of lost children.
Tiny fingers fixing
the broken pieces
Of humanities innocence
mending her compassion,
sewing the stiches of
goodwill back into
her being.
Until goodness can be seen.
Till the stars look down
flaring with pride
to see our brighter side.
Children of the cosmos
fulfilling our purpose.

I should be so blessed
That if the best
Thing that happens
To me
Is that when I die
I am remembered
For a short while
While my words
Impact humanity
deeply

You birth is an invitation
Few received from quintillion plus
Possible people
A gift to exist
A choice given
The variables
A ticket to the freak show
Or to the joy ride
Of expanding life
And human consciousness
It was not stamped for approval
Nor is it dependent on the permission
From those in power
Who required you
To live by their patterns
Why would you
When you can build a better loom

Your consciousness is restricted by your self-imposed ignorance. You are so much more then your consumerism impulses, your romantic fantasies/heartaches, your political ideologies, and your religious dogmas. You are a universe of potential, something that can be developed in the stillness of introverted introspection, something that is unique and beautiful, something that longs to be shared with the world. You are your own mechanism for self-directed emotional, intellectual, nutritional, and  neurochemical evolution. You just have to look beyond the predefined prepackaged reality and realize just because it is done this way does not mean it has to be done that.

To you my fellow poets
Write me a wall of hope
With yellow ceramic tiles
And forest green blocks
With sunny paintings
And strange abstractions
A tile per heart that still beats
A tile per person who still dreams
Hold me up with your love
Cause I have no hope of my own
Please write me a wall of wonders
So I don’t feel so ******* alone

The lights should not twinkle
or shimmer like they are reflecting
from a swimming pool.
My eyes should not water
but they still do
when I remember you.

One cool long trip,
when I had to put
these waxy things
in my ears to swim;
One long ago time
with water in my nose
that strange wet
and awkward sneeze.

These are only tiny fractals
fractions of a memory
minus depth
and color quality.

We do not let go
so, their grip
remains,
but slowly the vice
untightens
and their lives
are untethered.
We come in together
but leave each other.
Till, the memories
lose their distinctness
and bit by bit.
We blink and miss
each experience
that softens and dissipates.
Until, we withering flowers
fall the same way.

It is the only salt water
that eclipses the sea,
****** sailing grifter
that took a dump on me,
the cold breeze
that does not chill
or even freeze
but stops all things
permanently.

It is the shuddered breath,
dripping drool
from the tripping fool
who fell to fast
when he found out at last,
a shade of red
not dropping crimson pools
but stiff sniffles
that require tissues
for us to use.

It is the one thing promised
for as long as we live,
as death comes to claim
the ones we love.

Until, time takes its turn
and our loss
makes others burn.

You can have this body.
It is only a borrowed thing
made up of grass and mud
of burning stardust
and everything I ate
and everything that was
eaten by what I ate
every drop of water drank
every particle and wave
of those lovely raving solar rays.

I am only a place holder
for the next thing.
So, you can have this
soft body for the breaking
for the decomposing
and atomic, molecular reshaping,

But the dreams our mine
as are my thoughts.
For all that was gained
taken or lost
you cannot have my heart.
Unless, I decide to give it to you later.

I am alone
in observation,
a splendid
ascension
of sensations;

Textures,
tense fingers
find
tactile pleasures
smooth and cool
to rough and hot
from heated concrete
beneath my feet
to moist stems
and slippery grass
that barely allows
any traction at all.

A titan’s perception
my poetic obsession
with twirling words
in a myriad of ways;

Of tasting salty meats,
or soft sugary sweet treats,
of the quick dissolving
cotton candy
that clumps
then disintegrates
on the tip of my tongue,

or the blossoming pain
of a cracked tooth
and exposed nerve.

The blacktop
cracks,
and I observe
earth.
Till, my eyes
ascend to heaven’s height
and I perceive the slight
blinking lights
championed by
a bright beautiful moon.

I watched you fall
and start to crawl
staring up at that
old boring brick wall
wondering how
you will ever
be able to climb over
the top of
that orange towering
obstruction.
You never stopped
to see that if you
wanted to continue
your journey
you could just walk around it.

Watch the withering wax work workers
Plastic people who barely move
Barely groove love to lose
Not knowing what they are choosing
Just smoozing and boozing
Darts, beer, and harder shots
Then it’s hangovers and back on the clock
What a shock
The cycle goes
Work and party
Work and party
Work and party
Till the hardy
Cannot swallow another shot
Till time cracks the clock
And all that they got
For a lifetime of work and parties
Is an open coffin

She does not call
No text or letter
Perhaps I say
It is for the better

But when I was
With her
The rain was wetter
The sun seamed brighter

But like all the others
I was never
Going to be
The one
She wanted to see

So there was a string
Like a little leash
And she was amused
By the passionate me

And when I was
Well used
She got up
And went on the move

I would be blue
If I didn’t know
What she knew
There was better things to do

The addiction of her
Has not completely faded
My thirst was not completely slated
But dulled enough
So I can function

My heart is a fool’s corpse
That archeologist will find
Thousands of years from now
Fossilized in amber or calcified
Toughened by all the lies
That scarred it

Each time love’s promises
Smashed it
Each time hopes dreams
For a better world
Crushed it

Each failed expectation
Which sought to lessen
Taught me many lessons
To pass my heart on
and prevent someone else pain

A random thought;
If we absorb
the stimuli
that surrounds us,
then everything
around us
becomes part of us.
So, by running
from the world
are we really
trying to escape
ourselves?

Good morning Springfield
how are you?
don’t you know me
I’m your working son?
I’m the poet who
drives up from Litchfield
and I’ll be heading home
when my shift is done.

Well, here comes the sun.
My shift is almost done.
I’m tired as I can be
without falling asleep.
As I head home
I hear good songs
playing on my cellphone.
I wish that they were louder
because that music is usually better
then what is playing on my radio.

I stop once or twice
after a long work night
to drop a pound of ****
and keep driving home.
Orange hazes paint the sky
but my eyes are tired and dry
and I can barely keep them open.
So, I turn the AC up full blast
as the early truckers speed on past.
Drops of visine and shades to help me see
as I stretch my right arm
on the seat right next to me.

One last song before my exit,
I hear Willie Nelson sing,
“Good Morning America,
I’m the Train they call New Orleans.”
Then I hit repeat to hear the song again
before my car come rolling in.
Now, I am finally home my friend.

I can’t say what day the knots gave way
To full blown anxiety
When the hopeful parts
Gave way to the broken heart

Was it when my withering heart
Took one to many blows
One rejection stacked upon
Another broken promise
So on and so on and so on

Was it when I lost a job
That I really loved
To an *******’s misconception
He can stick that thick
Jagged and dangerous attitude
Up his high blood pressure
Sphincter

Was it when I gave up
Retreated to the dark corridors
Of a dead and dystopic
Fantasy world
Where even my daydreams
Became dark things

Was it just now
Cause I don’t know how
To reverse my pain
To get back the good things
Find the old me
And be better

I just can’t say