I am the Lorax, who once spoke for the trees
In the hope of bringing progress to its knees
But now I have grown somewhat older and tired,
My outlook and thought process being rewired
(Sometimes to see forest, you must clear the trees.)

Examine the case of the Brown Bar-ba-loots
Whose interests for so long I worked in cahoots.
Could such timid beasts truly thrive in the wild
So innocent, trusting, submissive, and mild?
(My former assertions I strongly refute.)

Why, see how they frolic and scamper in zoos;
How can one watch them and steadfastly refuse
To see how much better their lot is today
As joy for our children as opposed to prey
(A happy condition where no one can lose.)

Ah, scoff the nihilists, but Truffula Trees,
Those havens for birds and those homes for the bees.
Why, what do you say now that they are all gone,
Removed to make way for some suburban lawn?
(These angry young men—O Lord, take them all please!)

I gently remind them it’s just nature’s way,
That some species go while other ones stay,
The carrier pigeon’s no longer alive
Yet somehow we manage to live—indeed, thrive!
(In the face of brute logic, they’ve little to say.)

So don’t be dismayed or frightened or leery
Of doomsday projections outlined by theory
Suggesting that our time on this earth may be done;
Consider the caged Bar-ba-loot having fun
(And we hear fish do quite well in Lake Erie.)

His promises used to
mean nothing to me-
like they grew on trees and
my life was a forest fire.
But I don't play with matches
anymore.

You know how the Lorax spoke for the trees? I feel the need to speak for my four-year-old niece. Not because she can't speak -- she can and rarely stops once she starts -- but because there are certain concepts time has yet to grant her. So until time does, I got you covered, Lucy.*

Mommy,
you call it the "poetry" of a child's sleep,
ohh 'n ahh, she's so, so sweet,
I call it child's "pose." Not the yoga neither.
I'm posing and rolling and cooing
biding time until you're tripping on the
Ambien retreating to a dream.
You're only reprieve.
'Cause when your *** is asleep,
I be mixing up the Play-doh,
red and yellow, black and white,
'till it's 50 shades of brown, alright?
Dirt pies from the backyard,
put 'em by the brownies
in the morning world-weary in your pajamys
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Over my shoulder, drinking from a thermos --
stumble in your step mean you gettin' nervous--
hand me piece of paper and two crayons
macaroni orange and swamp water liaisons
these coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
These coloring sheets are so bourgeoisie.
"Color outside the lines, eh Lucy?
don't play by the rules," my Mommy say,
but I been around long enough to know dat
'dese rules pay. Outside the lines?  Is just uh sloppy.
Been outside the club in front of the line
with my fellow shawties.
Slip-up, slip-up, I smell a slip-up.
Ain't a direct threat, Queen Buttercup
because you'd just say, "I ain't afraid of you, shorty."

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

Chicken and fries three meals-a-day.
Chocolate milk three meals-a-day.
Tricycle boys three wheels away.
Hands on your hips can't make me stay.

Lego blocks lodged in your skull.
I've hid the Advil. The Dayquil. Drank the Nyquil though.
Alright, alright, time to get confessional.
All my ***** accidents are intentional.
I melt my own Barbies to feel alive.
Snort glue sticks just to get hella high.

Mommy, you've got a messy ketchup face.
Mommy, you've got spiders in your hair.
Mommy, you've got ***-*** on your pants.
Ha. Ha.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Bi-otch.

Blood flow. Blood slow. Simmering, saucy.
Mommy, looking down skyscraper balcony.
May I remind, a giant ain't bringing down Manhattan,
It's that little, wayward wrecking ball, eh Captain?

on a sapphire lawn,
a glass vase of mushrooms
stands on its head.
a platter of crème custard naps,
while a bunch of grown
sunflowers tease us with their posture.

the moon is low, drunk, & stretching its borders,
over oval bushes, a little lorax hides behind them.
by the flower patch, a golden mushroom statue
is squinting. the black beam on his head sprouts tall,
arches, then dangles the celestial chandelier.

i am laying on the grass,
under the bubbled & weeping cerulean tree.
come and join me
for a dinner of daises.

i want to live in a world with truffula trees,
and caroling who's,
cats that balance objects on their head,
and raining green goo.

i want star-bellied sneetches,
dancing on beaches,
and colors,
on everything.

i want green eggs and ham,
offered by sam-i-am,
and a lorax to use sarcasm on me.

i want to escape reality,
and where better than childhood memories.

I wish I was still a good writer sometimes,
when I'm somewhere
where my words
would be useful
but now
my one talent
has floated away
like the Lorax once did
now I have nothing
and my strength has
dissipated
I can't write anymore
No more essays and witticisms
for me.
but my soul somehow dug
these words up
and my brain strung them together
and now I have my poems to cling to
when I miss my talent for words

f this.
and that.
f the soul-******* siphons.
f the **** ******* on all the things.
f the wretched that ravages souls.
f plundering the vast unknown. f the broken that breaks us apart. f the pain that can’t find the exit door. f the non sequiturs that never stop. f all the thinks I'll never get to know. f the desert that evaporates technicolor dreams. f the reams of unsung ink.

f getting up too early. f never enough sleep.
f having no focus because mind is always trying to escape.
f the architects of this unending industrialized violent puppet reality TV.

f not having patience for utmost important because basic survival in this free range slave menagerie is just too overwhelming and chips away daily at already threadbare sanity.

f the aches under these ribs always begging for more.
f the abyss that eats cravings caved in for breakfast.

f the knowing that knows how awesomely amazingly brilliant loving flipping mind-glowingly ecstatic and jovial like a MF this existence could be.

it haunts me:

iridescent reflective ascendant peacocked wings
fluttering phoenixflies burst from ill-fit cocoons
surfing air so ******* fresh
even the Lorax ain’t got **** to say - he’s dancing
with kombucha in one hand and a DMT pipe in the other
at the festival called, I dunno, Just Because it’s ******* Monday

and we could
love and make and dream and play
all day every day every year every life...

and I look over
at this giddy ******
epic little boy version of me
and I think:
****

I have to keep trying
keep believing in the things
because the thought of leaving him
in this world, as-is
without me

is the hardest thing
I’ve ever had to think

awake and it's hopeless
insomniac and opened
pandora in the corner crying
everything she had is stolen
taken from her in the woods
***** and robbed of all her good
roped and ribbed avoid her, good
not so brave and power gone
boxing gloves no longer on

i wonder why i dream of ******
smoking, lying, dealing in corners
chain chain chain
of fools, that's me
i stop to turn and look
i bleed
i can't keep up i'm my own treadmill
running always up up uphill
constant loop i step on my face
panting wheezing come on ***** pace
ball toe heel for freedom freedom
walking, telling myself that i run

a thousand times a year they say to me
you look like my cousin's best friend's cleaning lady
shut up i dont care, stop stop right there
the old conundrum
never knowing who i am
wake up soldier, break time's over
breaking brakes and driving over
cliffs
and i wonder will i ever be the older
one in a partnership, mentor to a little kid
parent to an alien, wriggling chewing bubble gum
do you believe in a one, 1, One?
do you believe in america, son?

rocking, waiting for chernobyl
melting down and starting over
rocking, forward backward forward
on my mind this pungent odor
why's the light so cold and broken
why's the day time rank and molded
why's the sky so hazy hazy
lie in bed so heavy, crazy
coffee, cream and sugar lady,
eat too much and starving lately
give give give me all you have
be my friend, my soul, my sin
understand it's paper please
cuz i can't go back i'm on my knees

wish that i could keep a promise
one, just one
and i'd be honest
but i lie and steal and break
i ******* **** **** ****
wish i could believe in something
once, just once
and i'd be saintly
i never did pray to god
i pray to the people i love
the people who tear me down
the people who build me back up

hey why's it so hard to glue things
together?
let air dry
and avoid contact with eyes
permanence a concept i just cant realize
never knowing anything at all
paralyzed after the fall
stop stop stop stop stop stop dont call

waiting awake my brain a seussian landscape
pandora and the lorax get it on under the moon's haze
i know that im not comical i box it in
i want it all
check this box, this box, this box yes
give it up come, come don't protest
close your eyes and sleep will happen
ready for lift-off, everybody strapped in?

I wish I was still a good writer sometimes,
when I'm somewhere
where my words
would be useful
but now
my one talent
has floated away
like the Lorax once did
now I have nothing
and my strength has
dissipated
I can't write anymore
No more essays and witticisms
for me.
but my soul somehow dug
these words up
and my brain strung them together
and now I have my poems to cling to
when I miss my talent for words

Like a stone from home into night I am cast,
My need for a story is certainly vast.
Thus fleet are my feet as I take to the street,
To implore the lore of ev’ry thing that I meet.

My interest is incentive to know,
Where from rocks roll, how the grass doth grow,
When so many things do cross this sod?
And who dared on what dirt trod?

The unbeaten trails entail many tales,
Of travails against which mine merely pale.
How came you here, oh cairns and stalks?
Confide you in me, I swear I’ll not balk.

For I as brave sentinels regard you all,
Though I know time will yet see your downfall.
And know I better that the ******* of prattle,
Will for their own gain seek thee to embattle.

Such cowards their duty for continuity botch,
Not showing their knowing that it is your watch
Holds the stars in the sky, for our fates are all married.
And thus ours must follow, when all you are buried.

Speak to me then, let heard be your pleas,
For I am as a Lorax, speaker for the trees.
And for the ground that holds them fast,
Loving their present, saving future, knowing past.

hyped blood moon leaves me longing
no doom, no massive uprising
just another day
so many times the end of humanity
has reared its head
only to falter
when the day actually comes along
who among us remembers Elenin –
it is only through the revisiting of ancient ways
that we stand to exist beyond the horizon
returning to experiencing oneness with the natural world
as a part of instead of a steward too or protector therein
Carlin calls it ego, but I think stupidity
holds humanity at sway
thinking less pollution can somehow fix the Pacific
except fallout has been a part of that sea
since the late 1940’s –
no one looks to the Lorax
or even Woodsy the Owl
instead focusing on the little green head
on dollar bills…
pill popping beer swillers killing the planet
while claiming to be the smartest and greatest nation..
my patience is running out –
doubtful change can happen through human interaction
I wait for the earth to rid itself of this virus
massive tectonic upheaval
super storms
lice….
we all gonna die,
and it will be all our fault –

I press flowers because I like it.
The thrill of thievery, of plucking irreplaceable beauty from those who can't see it anyway,
wild eyes daring passing cars to not slow down
for the girl holding flowers between her teeth.
I was good, I was just, I took only what I needed,
my happily dirt-stained fingertips treated each preserved beauty with the utmost love
And I ran and I thieved for a love of my own,
a secret I shared only with passing cars and the once perfect gardens.

But passing cars contain people, and people have gardens,
and everyone knew
So I began to press the life out of beauty, and I did it only for you.
I still ran and I thieved for a love, just not my own;
Countless cherished petals fluttered to the paper as I smiled,
my now gloved sterile hands caressing sallow dahlias and florid roses,
eyes glossing over each work of precious taxidermy.
Every page of crushed life spelled out made just for you!
and my gold tipped spotless fingertips could see nothing wrong.

As I ran, my long hair no longer flew in the wind,
the few remaining strands stuck limply to my wrinkled skin.
I grew weak, stems slipped through my desperate fingers,
so much beauty was too much for shaking skeleton hands.
My eyes barely opened and were filled with fear,
Who would pay attention to me if I had no pressed flowers to bear?
I searched for flowers and found winter instead.
But people still came for more, asking and pleading,
confused, saying that there were countless flowers, ripe for the picking.
I heard August bees, but they buzzed around twigs,
happy couples exchanged bouquets of sticks and dried leaves.
Could there really be flowers I wasn't seeing?
I looked down at my hands, gold fingertips cracked and worn.

My sight faded more, and I welcomed it, beaming.
I didn't need to see if people told me what they needed.
I picked sallow dahlias and breathed in florid roses,
filled orders and was met with smiles, laughter, and love,
until August was over, until the need for flowers
had completely dried up.

In September I waved at passing cars, varnished nails flashing,


I still run and I thieve for a love not my own.
But I plant beauty on every empty doorstep,
for others to find their love even if it is unknown.
Because I shook my bones until only pennies fell out,
but pennies are just pocketed rust to those who are afraid to love/ to those who have no time to love/ to those who don't take the time to love


What can fool someone so far to think the sun has gone cold?
Was it August's pollen showers? Could they really be mistaken for snow?
Are sun scorched sidewalks so white-hot that they numb barefoot toes?
How can something pave the world in grayness and shadow even beauty that was preserved?
Can something so simple make gray clouds greater than gold?
But then why is it so terrible to see beauty in the dull?
It is love that can make gray clouds greater than gold,
but it is also love that can dim the rest of the world.


i did something I loved, but it became an industry, no longer for love but for profit, for image, to look cool/unique
people love doing something and then it becomes too much, corrupt, not for you anymore, so they have to remember why they do it, do it because you love it
the lorax
do what you love, people

Hood boy
Wear sweaters all the time that’s why people call me a hood boy but it’s all good for I grew up in the hood boy so no wonder that I never had a proper boy hood. So why does society expect me to attain manhood? It’s hardest being an artist, so focused on everything thing else but regardless. I hope you understand me, and I don’t know what you expect of me. Why do ya always got to glare at me, for I’m just like you but the way I grew up keeps a distance between you and me. Just because I ain’t got currency you expect me to get things by burglary or end up in the penitentiary for battery. Don’t get mad at me I’m just working in a system that you created, just a hood boy that got everything confiscated. Just my ascribed status not much I can do, just my undenied madness must need some medication to seem sensible to your upper class white man view. But ignore me I’m just a hood boy on the wrong side of the tracks, so don’t try to reform me for your just like ted to my Lorax. **** me over and it wouldn’t end any differently even if I found me a four leaf clover. Cloven in garments and jewels yet the system is rigged for the rest of us but no matter if we play this consumerist game or not we are still deemed ****** fools. Fools for thinking we can attain the American dream for that ***** just an evergreen pipe dream. On the other hand we fools for not making something of ourselves in society, we just deemed lazy *** people bumming welfare just a burden on the notoriety. Cause someone needs to pay for taxes some how and why aren’t anyone raising their eyebrows. Maybe they just cover it with their hoodies, for we to scared to cause a ruckus for those upper class piggies. For they may squeal and whimper, and we don’t want to deal with those spoiled brats tempers. And ain’t no body really understand it’s like them trying to pronounce worchester, so ******* despicable you think I was cat Sylvester. But whatever it’s just a pointless endeavour, and I would be better if I had the chance to show that I’m clever. But whatever I’m just a boy who loves wearing his sweaters, but whatever that our different cultures can never be two birds of a feather. But whatever matter we better off, but whatever maybe we continue to shrug it off.

Copied and pasted, I didn’t write this.

Alas they've come for Dr. SEUSS, they wish to hang him with a noose. They claim his tales were racist bent, they judged him fast, missed what he meant.  
But if we look inside his tales, you'll find the balance of the scales.  Remember when Horton heard a Who, and we heard the wisdom of the Lorax too.  The lesson behind Green Eggs and Ham,  that changed the mind of Sam I am.  Remember too the rotten Grinch, who once would never give an inch. He taught us lessons, one and all, boys and girls, big and small.  
So if you've judged his works as poor, you should re-read them, I implore.  The man we know as Dr. SEUSS, turned our imaginations loose.  His impact was beyond compare, he taught us it was good to care.  To accept the red, the blue, the green, and on each other we can lean.  
So if you still won't give an inch, your heart has hardened like the Grinch.  Release the grudge, the hate, the rue, and embrace the hope of Cindy Lou.
Copied. Shared.

POETIC PREFACE:

An inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo
then most definitely The Lorax

(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos, faith...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo
yes, we moost not forget

Old MacDonald with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu)
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh
eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue

doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
mien hating solution
to eradicate toxins humankind doth spew
into the atmosphere
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...

Earth Day 2021 – Thursday April 22

Every day ought
necessitate reverence towards Gaia
a vibrant living and breathing planet entity
experiencing upon her land and seas.

Bajillion banshees scream ****** ****** methought
upon Biblical (lionized) forebears stalking heads
birthed courtesy accursed beasts hood besought
winds howl across the oblate spheroid
methinks courtesy **** sapiens horror wrought.

Climate change/global warming siren song
Adam event since time immemorial against
sacred covenant doing Mother Nature wrong
April 22nd waning hours warn us King Kong
antithetical, egotistical, & heretical caretakers
over populated quintessential rowdy sinning
rawbit & powdermilk biscuit munching throng.

Antiestablishmentarian gambit voiced, I tootle
(albeit figuratively), and feign playing trumpet
challenging when born with submucous palate
lamely feeble attempt made tinkering with words
aware crushing humanity legacy takes Herculean
effort to implement global revolution, staging and
coaching proselytizers to shine klieg lights where
industrialization tattooed unseemly sights land
once (unimaginably) pristine acres irrevocably
repurposed into grotesque disfigured terra firma.

Fifty one years ago come
(The First Earth Day in April 22nd, 1970)
courtesy Senator ******* Nelson
orchestrated first metaphorical telescoping
lens zooming close
far more horrible than
"fake" special effects we
as collective species
impacted planet harkening
back when nasty, short
and brutish proto humans

mastered steely ironic
mettle to fell one after tree
after another, I need
not axe the question if queasy
induced state imagined
envisioning yourself, née
Pandora's box (purported
inventiveness) suddenly vaulted
and unhinged inkling,
when beastie boys plus goo

goo dolls loosed goods
no longer under lock and key
i.e. raw materials to fashion,
whatever struck fancy
re: innately "gifted"
descendent afforded momentary
recognition (nameless
naked apes) that hit upon idea
way manifold generations
before iconic light bulb lit

western civilization taming
current of (ohm my dog)
flow of electrons to supply
amply charging electricity
countless intervenvening
millennium one after another
survival of the fittest likely
accidentally melded insight
with (then) near infinite
natural resources labored away.

Unbeknownst, when chance
cerebral serendipity gave way
where inchoate deliberation,
how ardent smarts applied today
gave dawn of consciousness
quantum leap launching landlubbers
****** into the seven seas eventually
marshalling routes to unknown,
nevertheless pirated quay
zee whirled wide watery web
long ago hushing nay
saying doubting Thomas
(English muffin chomping chap),
especially at financing
and cost courtesy bourgeoisie
the same old bay...
sic yacht ta yacht ta yacht ta.

My apartment has too many candles, so that’s the right amount.
You could sleep through the apocalypse and arise refreshed
and peckish. And you’ll just know where the muffins are.
My terrarium has a name made out of teak and jade.
Several worlds abide where I hang my nocturnals
and I’m lousy with stars in a batch of dark
the size of the Mind.

as I reflect i deflect and wonder where the arrow went, that pestered me.
i speak for the trees like a Lorax on a ******, but with fine penmanship
and quaint masteries. i learn the language of moss
by twilight and beg aeons for an hour
of Clarity… stumbling to Port
as I aright my Ship upon a proper Maelstrom
as viscose as a black diamond
on a candle’s
mind.

I lament bidding Gaia's creatures adieu,
an inner conflict dust brew
within this scribe, who offers ye to chew
(like sweet treats metaphorically) thee do
tee incumbent, when Doomsday clock
counts down minutes few
according Al Gore rhythm
unstoppably ticking,
when life gets turned to global goo
tenderized viz Doctor Zeus
if not Horton Hears Hoo

then most definitely The Lorax
(couching urgent morals underscored
by satellite photographs
showing melting ice caps or igloo,
which planetary sos, sans in extremis
requires joint effort of Gentile and Jew,
plus every other sectarian credo,
dogma, ethos...knew
clear family, and whatnot
to become linkedin with Linda Loo

yes, we moost not forget
Old McDonald's with his moo
moo there bovine creatures
agedly hobbling along, or new
lee born, cuz juiced one day
per three hundred and sixty five
(six with leap year -
imagine dragons festooned leotard
with brand name Oroblu
or poor ole Winnie The Pooh

eternally stuck in Rabbit's
hole sum Hutch as a queue
doth loosely form dreaming up and rue
men ate about the old woman
who lived in a shoe
mien hating solution
(burning the midnight oil) true
lee trying to remedy plight
of said bear character,
hemmed in courtesy

**** sapiens population explosion
whereat their den only
allows, enables, and provides
cubby hole view
perhaps unstated message being woo
king in tandem solutions to resolve
wretched condition of world wide web
possible by bridging differences
between me and you, and you, and you...
essentially everyone
comprising the human zoo.