what color is hate?

think hard, answer, not easily up-conjured,
obvious choices, careful be, exclude not, some voices,
no rush, think upon it careful, after all, hate hates variations,
it, as old original as the Garden of Eden

you desire answer, something quick, *****,
look to very nature of hate, so easy spewed,
after centuries of construction, yet, there is
nothing quick about hating, tho learnt early on

some variants of millennium length, eons short,
oh weep, at this great irony of ironies, hate is so
innate engrained, is it in the red blood, cells of the
white colored brain apparatus we all share?

unnatural impossibly genetic. don’t believe it.

hate is colorless like air, like clear water.
how else could it be so easy given, taken.
innocent innocuous is the color of hate,
easy transmitted, and never to be a vaccine

until it can be seen how we implant it within ourselves.


11:40pm
Sat Jul 11

those who created wind and water had many reasons,
but their first purpose was to constant enliven the human mind
with the softest message that true freedom is never bounded

nature’s song is refrained, “man, be unrestrained,”
nature’s majesty is then greatest, for men fool
themselves with lines, divisions and walls.

Earth’s best, humans too,  best seen in its
    unconstrained, searching character.

this is the one, only truth.


12:07am Sun Jul 12

—

neglect and respect do not rhyme,

{will grant you one,
will give you none.

will demand one,
will send you some.

you poets,
always thinking
you can get away
with murdering
the English language.

***** of assonance,
you do not fool me,
I’ve killed a thousand
men’s “original”rhymes,
while you’ve been
fast sleeping,
they’ve been
fast seeping.

I’ll give you no quarter,
won’t spare a lousy dime,
my spare change,
is poet-unaffordable,
cheap suited hucksters.

work and ****
do rhyme.  
you can be one,
if you do not
put in some.

work by day,
slave by night.

awake to the sun’s
inquiry, what have
you done for me
lately?

IF

all you have to show is this
scribbilus miscellaneous,
tear up your lice-ence,
poetic and DMV, you
ain’t going nowhere.

was branded by hot iron,
early on,
brandy channing.

your best nightmare,
guidance counselor,
extraordinaire,
great big fairie,
poseur, exposer,
m u r d e r e r
of awful poetry}

WHAT,  
what do you stand for?

I have reckon’d Manhattan Isle,
circumnavigated its riverbed boundaries,
a younger me, by kayak rounded it,
from the Spuyten Duyvil Creek to the Battery,
14,500 acres give or take, a lifetime
to complete a dead reckoning,
an unfinished full configuring

in retrospective rear view perspective,
come to understand that we spend
every moment of our lives, reckoning,
determine the odds of which fork we
will take, laugh out loud, for each moment,
a poem  is titled, the resultant, a poem -
who needs a muse, you’ve got choices!

haven’t reckon’d that Earth
and I will be entwined/entombed
in each other’s arms, until such time,
one of us or both, will be reduced
to cosmic dust, our pride, our poems,
will be equally unimportant and irrelevant,
I reckon.

A night of reckoning, calculations repeated-checked, sums divided,
did I use too many, or not enough, words to be understood, verbiage eloquent, did daytime reveal my poetic meanings, or double-occlude it’s essence?