This year I have decided to focus on developing a sense of gratitude. The world is full of real bad stuff happening to too many people and its easy to let the darkness of our times cast long shadows of resentment, anger and ill will over our outlook on life. So today as I travel to a relatives home to gather for our national day of thankfulness I choose to leave resentments at home and cultivate a sense of gratitude.

I'm grateful for my eyes. My sight allows me to perceive the million graces The Almighty abundantly confers upon the inhabitants of the good earth each and every day. My eyes help me to discover the pressing needs of others and respond to it. My eyes help me to discern light from darkness, distinguish the forest from the trees and eschew pedestrian views to behold a beautiful vista. My eyes are a pathway to my soul moving me to contemplate the good, forsake the bad and move against evil in service to truth.

I'm grateful for my ears. The grace of hearing permits me to listen. My ears alert me to the cries of my brothers and sisters and enables me to understand our shared human condition. My ears tune my spirit to the chords of exquisite music and the natural symphonies of Mother Earth's angelic chorus of singing birds, heaving oceans, the majestic pause of silent mountains and the fleeting rush of the swelling wind are all divine voices singing the joyful hymns of life.

I'm thankful for my sense of smell. Graciously my nose breathes in the inviting aroma of a lovingly prepared home cooked meal, the wholesome scent of baking bread wafting from the door of the corner bakery, a briny snort from the boundless sea, the rich compost of the deep woods after a soft summer rain, the bouquet of an infants hair and the perfume of a lovers embrace.

I give thanks for my ability to touch. Hands engaged in productive work and gainful employment is a blessing absent from too many Thanksgiving Day tables this year. We yearn to connect and the sense of touch invites our ability to feel. Feeling is the father of empathy and the mother of compassion. Caring for our animal friends we live in communion with all sentient beings. As we touch one another and allow others to touch us; the hardest of hearts is softened, the most grievous wounds are healed to liberate the sensual yearnings dwelling in the deepest recesses of ourselves. Feeling allows us to become fully present, fully aware and fully alive in the celebration of what it means to be fully human.

I'm thankful for my sense of taste. As Sinatra croons "from the brim to the dregs" the wine of our lives may not all taste good but it all flows clear and true. Sample, savor and learn. Taste and see the glories of the Lord's banquet so abundantly placed before us. The bitter herbs, the sweet cakes, the leisure repast, the fortifying meal and unrequited hunger is the daily bread of being human. Pause to consider those that are lining up for the tenth Thanksgiving Day meal in Afghanistan and Iraq and pray that the awful rations of war fed to our young soldiers be supplanted with the good manna of peace.

Perhaps we loose our sense of gratitude because expectations of ourselves and others always seems to come up short of the mark. Imperfection is our most endearing quality. It informs our ability to forgive transgressions, form bonds of friendship and unconditionally love each other. I remain grateful for the sense of my imperfection as I overlook your imperfections and remain ever hopeful that you will learn to love me for mine.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Music Selection: Jean Ritchie, Shady Grove

Oakland
11/25/10
jbm

If thine eye offends thee
pluck it out....

War offends
my eye.

All my
senses
defiled
*****
disemboweled
by the
abomination
of war.

My mind
disregards
denigrates
reneges
warps time
destroys values
alters psyches
lays waste
to my
conscience
of hope.

Mine eye offends me
the complicit witness
complacently
ambivalent
turning deaf ears
to groans
of the wounded
wails of the aggrieved
silence of the dead;
shutting doors
to sanctuaries
where refugees
seek safe houses,
locking factories
where men seek work,
level homes
where women nurture,
strafe playgrounds
where children laugh,
raise cities
where people
learn to be human,
immolate mosques
where
God's Children
cry out to the
Beneficent One.

Mine eye offends me,
my gut sickens,
to witness
the slaughter
of innocents
droning on
no angels to save
the million Issac's
savagely smashed to bits
by a Tomahawk's blow.

God's vengeance
escalates
the celestial ledgers
dripping red ink
from excessive
collateral damage,
people reduced
as objects used
to secure a loan
indeed an ARM
on a real time
American nightmare
whose reset rate
is mounting body counts
and massive budget allocations
protecting undisturbed flows
of corporate profits
valued in barrels
of imported blood.

Mine eye offends me
an innocence lost
Veritas vanquished
life is devalued
humanity debased
compassion defunct
empathy a twisted satire
an indelible weakness
incidental hostage
to the torridness
of the lurid play
of savage nations
projecting will,
a devastation
of action.

Mine eye offends me
the message of
sweet Jesus
a way of light
transformed into
biblical justification
agitprop verse
stoking blood lust zeal
for apostate infidels
sons of Abraham's
unworthy spawn,
of Hagar the *****
******* child Ishmael
turned out again
from tribal tents
of an absentee father
from an unfriendly
paternity.

This black *******
an abomination
in the sight of Allah
celebrates
a zeal to ****
unholy disciples
yearning to fill
banana crates
with body parts
draped in
drab Hijabs
decorated with
satanic verses
from a
Holy Quran
carved with
bayonets
of self righteous
Crusaders
armed with rifles
inscribed with
Gospel verses
on deadly gun
barrel stocks
to ramp the passion
of the righteous Crusade
against Godless apostates.

Mine eye offends me
as I witness
the **** of
corporate mercenaries
churning bereaved
Blackwaters
beholden only
to shareholders
gobbling spoils of war
to safely exit
to private vomitoriums
to expunge the excess
of gluttony
only to
quickly return
to engorge themselves
at the public troughs
again.

No constitutional
restraints
save the
strict guidelines
of holy
corporate governance scriptures
ruthlessly enforced with
golden carrots
of multi-million dollar
stock options
and the brutal stick
of shareholders divine right
to quarterly dividends
and above average
equity returns.

Corporate warriors
anointed by
holy oil
proffered
by capitalist shamans
and US Senators
conferring
jurisprudential deferment
on civil law
recusing them from
any behavior
to recognize the humanity
of captive insurgents.

Mine eye offends me,
as the flag
draped coffins
of returning
servicemen
and women
continue to pile
on the boiling tarmac
of Dover Air Force Base.

Tearful salutes,
folded flags
and mournful dirges
of prerecorded Taps
are small compensation for
shattered families,
and a wasted life,
unnecessarily spent,
criminally sacrificed
in a pointless conflict
in service to a lie.

Mine eye offends me
as I watch
my country's soft parade
of growing militarization
xenophobic fear
compelled patriotism
salute and goose step
to the flash of sword
and the sound of guns
and the glittering
medals of valor
adorning the chests
of a nations warriors.

How barbaric
are we?
allocating
overstuffed
apportionment
of weapons
and armories
while
people are
foreclosed
forcing armies
of unemployed
Joads
to ride
en masse on
an Acela Express
to a crowded
poor house
a listless journey
on pock marked
highways
arriving at
dreaded
destinations
to defunct
townships
offering
empty factories
and closed schools.

Screaming in silence
I scratch at my eyes
with numbed fingers.

Matthew 18:9

Music Selection:
The Doors, The Soft Parade

Oakland
3/17/10
jbm

Oh,
blessed muse
who are you?

How can
you be
so real?

When
I
sense
your
presence,
a quixotic
erotica;
a
soft
burnish
more
friendly
then
silk
envelops
me.

The folds
of your
warm
*****
press
my face
into
coy
riddles;
more mysterious
then the secrets
of ancient
Oriental
Dynasties.

Do you have
eyes to see,
arms to hold,
legs to dance,
ears to hear
and a voice
to sing?

How
do you
touch
me?

You
enter
my dreams
as effervescent
vapor.

You
frighten
my
imagination.

You
open
doors­
to me
my
heart
felt
long
closed.

You
gently
chide
my
prejudices,
in­ raptures
with
mythic charms
as you goad
and trick me.

You speak
magic words
and etch
fantastic
landscapes
in my head.

You
playful
nymph.

You
appear
in the
night
as a
purring owl,
whispering
something,
about
something,
then
wing away,
into the
glossy night.

Where do you go?

I'll
patiently
wait,
for your
mysterious
return.

Music Selection
America, Three Roses

Oakland
10/98

negotiating modernity
at the MoMA

one's pushed along
mass conveyances

inertial rush an
intractable force

surer then the weight
of Newton's gravity

routes precarious
contemplative moments

nails scratching
Pollack's #9

in desperate attempt
to hold ground

Mall of America's
crushing crowds

vagrants pacing
the large garages

barely glimpsing
composite walls

the open spaces
bagging fast food art

not a bit of intimacy
in the **** place

Music Selection
Ornette Coleman
with Eric Dolphy
Free Jazz

2/24/11
NYC
jbm

The lark ascends
on light wings

Taking flight toward
a heavenly home

It lingered here
but a short while

Certain of the course
she must go

A delicate beauty
and playful grace

Her twittering eyes
revealed

Deep trust for love
and sturdy branch

Of her verdant
earthly home

We reveled in her
abundant joy

She fed our spirits
and fondest hopes

Her gossamer wings
a fragrant breath

Her heart angels
hath divinely blessed

The lark is light!
The lark is life!
Her song forever young

The lark is kind
The lark is Thine
The lark is winging home

LAP
Godspeed Beloved
12/20/08

The Last Doughboy
went marching home

mustered up to heaven
to rest in perfect peace

never went over the top
when he was over there

drove an ambulance to save
the last dying bits of humanity

excavated from the craters
reeking with mud and blood

the turgid stench
of blessed death

wafts through the
muddled labyrinth

a ghastly kingdom
of rats and men

intractable mazes
of hate, hope and waste

led by inept generals
vainglorious politicians

promising triumphant victory
while begging disastrous defeat

bold shouts of advance
lead to routed retreats

global trench warfare
the sweet earthen coffins

empathy's last gasp
compassion's last stand

gurgling lungs
gagging on gas

imploding on
clotting blood

liquid ammonia
sears sensitive retinas

wafting flash of fire
burns eyes forever shut

concussive bursts
bludgeon eardrums

ripped bodies of friends
splayed onto comrades

the macabre rouge
a terrible war paint

liberally applied
with stunning result

by the industrial rattle
of cantankerous Gatlings

better minds thought it
the war to end all wars

the horrific scenes of waste
the pleading lips of starved children

the last Doughboy saw it all
a lucky Johnny who marched home

he thought the horror of WWI
would be enough to end all wars

yet all is not quiet
on the western front

Johnny's still got lots
of gruesome guns

distressed humanity
remains very busy

carting away human rubble
from our apocalyptic trenches

go to your reward
valiant Doughboy

"leave us citizens
of death's gray land,

drawing no dividend
from time's tomorrows."

Siegfried Sassoon

Dedicated to

Frank Buckles
(February 1, 1901 – February 27, 2011)
Godspeed Beloved


Oakland
3/1/11
jbm

all the good one does
throughout life
unravels in a
conspiracy
of silence

jbm
Oakland
11/10/11