"sustainability" poems
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
*that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows the when and why of differing
cuddling styles...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who knows when to leave a man alone
alone in his man-mourning time,
distance needed,
letting his ex-rage dissipate or
watching his red and blue football
redefine ignominy...
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when the man low whistles, eyes adrift,
she heartily agrees and is
reciprocity rewarded regularly
with hunk alerts of
"hey-check-him-out!"
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
a tigress in the bedroom
she asking, try this, I'll love it,
served with a desert demo of awkward afterward,
his less-than-perfect cuddling abilities
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who doesn't abhor partner silences,
comforting they are, in their own ways,
lying side by side, interrupted only by peccadillo body noises unexpected and
sheepish apologies and loving arm stroking
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
who lets the man roar, top of voice,
when imprisoned in car,
his voice, un enfant terrible,
performs with Creedence Clearwater
a sing-a-long in traffic, asking
"Have you ever seen the rain"
while amidst Israel-leaving-Egypt
Sunday beach traffic on the L.I.E.
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
when it's pheromones alternative mode day,
he celebrates Carole King day,
she demonstrates her cuddling abilities,
par excellence, with kisses and tissues
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities...
a woman, plain confident in her abilities
no matter the situational status,
when confronted by
less-than-crazy-impetuous,
she smiling says "why not,"
when he proposes,
a movie and dinner in a fav haunt?
"plenty excellent enough" her answer,
spoke in a rising voice
full of unfeigned delight
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
accepting the unexpected airport embrace
on a moving sidewalk, unexpected delays
with the aplomb of a well lived life's
long term sustainability perspective
when he kisses her hand for no reason,
while driving 75 miles per hour,
she only winces internally,
the other hand vise-grasping
the other door's handle,
who brushes hair wisps in a dark movie,
celebrating her Bathsheba Everdeen's
duality of strength and tenderness
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when on second date he proposes
a non-exclusive relationship,
confident enough to high-five respond,
and laugh about it,
seven years on
a woman, confident in her cuddling abilities,
that when she reads it,
analyzing the oeuvre as
"too **** personal and
as usual
too **** long"*
that's all any man wants,
a woman, confident in her
cuddling abilities
in everything...
even a little occasional criticism
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 10:45 AM UTC
A man is like a flower
Starts with a bud
Blossoms into its nature
Natural ecstasy and perfection
In time it wears out too
Finally falls off the tree
A natural process
A natural phenomenon
Naturally the man
See as a flower
All the nature of being
To the base is the same
The intelligence the man puts into saying
That he is only the creature of importance
And everything in the world are the resource
Resource to be consumed by himself
Is the false flag he is raising
And is in the denial of the very nature
Anything which is resonant
And synchronous to the nature
Has the time in nature to the eternity
Whereas if not
In accordance to the nature
Sooner or later
On the verse of decay
On the verse of extinction
I see the human race is in the path of extinction
As civilization denying nature rather than glorifying
Human beings are far from the true essence
And are not synchronizing in the heart
Of the very nature
The so called intelligence
is what humans praise and glorifying
A lot full of ****
And it is a shame
We see the population of human species
To rise and rise
So may presume the statement
I just stated to be false
But seeing the thought processes
And so called intelligence
Is setting the human species
To a sense of decay
The step to the human race to demolish its own race
Is a unjustified intelligence in itself
The truth and laws of nature
Being in shade
Humans incorporating thoughts
As a tool of destruction
Rather than construction
In the field of criticism rather than motivation
In the field of extinction rather than sustainability
In the field of destruction rather than collaboration
And effort in maintaining the continuity
Of equilibrium and resonance with the nature
On the contrary
Making critics and complain about the others
Not realizing all are the part of the whole
Is creating a challenge to the nature
Going off beat with the nature.
We shall know
Anything not synchronous
And not resonant to the nature
Nature wipes out sooner or later
We cannot accept the very fact it is true
Even seeing our own life
As a child
The bud to the flower
The youth
The perfection in being and entire existence
The new ideas and new world
The fruit of generation brings about
The generation to come
To fertilize the seeds of the existence
The old age
To be renewed thoughts
Nature wipes out as per the plan
of its own
Accept it as a reality
As it is the truth
The sharpness of flower
Remembered as the youthfulness of flower
The bud is treated emotionally
With care as it is to be the perfection
In the time to come
The flower to be wiped out is respected
As it was once a perfection
Once roared the magnificence of itself
Upon this very world
The being-wiped flower doesn’t ask
For its claim in the now world
And indulge the new with its now state
But appreciate the perfection once it had
Make believe the youthful flower to blossom
And accept its own existence in the present.
Every species and beings
Are in the nature of being
We are no different from the other species
We are no superior and at the same time no inferior
To the other species
And not the other species to us humans
Everybody and everything
Is the part of the whole
The whole is the nature itself.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
A raven flew along, it was a cold winter day.
The black bird soon spotted a struggling bird on the ground and quickly landed nearby.
The raven greeted the fearful animal.
A small, shaking finch responded.
"Oh Raven, you must help me. For I am so alone and I cannot find my way. I will never live through this winter"
Clearly the find was in distress.
Sighing, the raven quickly looked around.
"I will aid you to be stronger, but you must promise me one thing."
The finch perked up, as the raven responded, "you can't give up."
So the birds took to the trees and the raven taught the finch how to fly. For the first step to anything is how to get back to your wings.
Then they went to the grass, and pecked for worms. The raven taught the finch that at times, it is okay to let your guard down, you are safe with other birds around.
And finally, how to make a home. A nest for the winter. They gathered all the twigs together, but the finch grew tired.
"Raven. I must rest."
"No finch, there is no resting until you build your foundation. You must continue."
"But I am tired."
"It does not matter. If you give up now, you will give up all." The raven handed the finch even more twigs.
The finch groaned, but painfully continued.
And they built the most beautiful nest.
In the nest the finch had both comfort, and sustainability.
"Raven, thank you. I now have the tools to be a strong bird. I can now, survive the winter."
"Finch. All you must do for me now, is never give up."
And with that, the raven flew away, in search of others to help.
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 9:52 PM UTC
The pimple faced gernment representative told me
I had to hold my pollinated dreams until
next season.
And in my school house dream
matthew told me his dream
nothing less than Sustainable Planet
And as I started to argue, I realized,
my mouth was full of seasoned nuts
full of warehoused food,
because I could not attend
lunch, at this newly packed cafeteria;
I was on a mission to... I forget now
but in my dream it was **** important!
Now that I'm awake, trying to write a poem
that captures the meaning
all I can tell you, as you read my heart
is that no one can tell you when to start
caring about your dreams.
Get on your moral high ground and shout out to the world
"I'm MAD as HELL and I'm NOT gonna TAKE it ANYMORE!"
And unless you get knocked off your high horse
and unless you find your voice dry, horse,
don't stop yelling until others join you--
because they will join you. We all want freedom
We all want the dream, but will we fight for it
to make it happen? Would you fight for love,
For life?? Would you fight for survival?
This is it, its this or oblivion, its sustain our childish
fever of consumption,
level out our infantile pride or
rest quietly into forever.
They say sustainability is what were after
but what we really mean is sanity;
they say rational policy is what were after
but really what we mean is enlightenment.
I'm asking you to change the wheel of your mind
and your asking me to hold my order until the window!
Can I have fries with that?
Make it a KING sized!
**** your frizzy fries, and your listless orders,
I want none of them, give me liberty or give me DEATH!
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Dear, let me tenderize you like meat slap the silliness from heat bubbling bubbling bubbling to a boil.
Dear, let me technically arouse you by letting each word escape like exasperation, a depletion of the senses as every finger or pressure point examines your body from head-to-toe.
Dear, let me be no longer ashamed to touch or hold you close, let our breathing and beating submerge into higher thinking.
Incinerating flames that lick the grate.
Dear, let me dive deep into the crevice of your brain, all mushy grey matter, all the same.
Dear, let me slice it open and **** out all the juices, licking licking licking each curve and crevice,
My supple pink snake-like tongue reaching deeper deeper deeper into your mind.
Dear, let me sink into your reality, bit by bit, and piece by piece until cohesiveness lays its eggs inside the deep hole within you.
Dear, let me scratch the surface, trading dimes for dust and pecs for fluff.
Let me swim in the depths of your hectic personality.
Let me get to know you and all your originality.
Let me breathe in your values and slurp up your mature decisions.
Let me caress your life like two bulbous lights that hang from the existence of time.
Let me illuminate you, serenade you, quiz you while ********* your sense of self-esteem.
Dear, let me dream your dreams.
Dear, let me sink my ***** mind games into your wet social brain.
Don’t let the pressure get to you.
Passion may play a key part in the sway!
Let me suckle your sweet thoughts, play with your deriving initiatives.
Let me hold your ideas in the sweat of my thighs, burning with desire to see myself through cobalt eyes.
Let me feel the hot ***** of your ethical intentions and clear apparitions.
Let me analyze your prerogatives and **** with your distribution methods.
Dear, let me fiddle with your political views, (in the “other room”) and tickle your soft solutions on creating a world of doom.
Let me ****** your sustainability, flirt with your progressive mindset, and squeeze your plump ambitions until they burst!
Dear, let me push gently on your sensitive issues with your parents until they become less apparent.
Let me stroke your disagreements with foreign policy until they shriek with mercy!
Let me take you further and touch your blind senses to a pink paranoia of retentive defensive pretenses.
Let me cuddle and snuggle your sense of self-worth and pleasure your brain with mind-bending words.
Dear, let me dance with your intelligence
until we sink into oblivious mind-sex bliss…….
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
complexity
is your beauty
simplicity
your mystery
interdependence
sustains you
once upon a time
we dipped bowls
into your waters
and brought up
draughts of life
now
Skipjacks go
fathoms deep
into endless
depletion
charting
entangled
dead zones
broadening
into a sea of
inertness
your delicate
eco-essence tips
toward oblivion
effluvia farmers
layer mechanized
blankets of
nitrates on your
sunset shores
weaving
green tendrils
of algae blooms
strangling the
entanglements
of all links in
your miraculous
food chain
the EPA
proscribes
a Jenny Craig
pollution diet
to halt the
slaughter in
oxygen
challenged
dead zones
where rockfish
are garroted,
oysters get drilled
by screwworms
and azure tinted
soft shell *****
dance soft
shoe taps
lifting a tinny
chorus of sad
Piedmont Blues
the flat-lining
watersheds
voiceless
warnings
tremble
rocking the
purged nests of
screaming ospreys
in vocal protest
of a sinking
Tangier Isle
anointing it’s
tombstones
of unvisited
cemeteries with
multicolored
guano
fitting
alkaline
tributes
to the lost
inhabitants
and forgotten
languages
sinking into the
brine of gray
brackish tides
Delmarva’s fine
intra-continental
balance skewed
by the oozing
industrial swill
of Frank Perdue
chicken farms
ruling the roost of
sanctioned sustainability
tinging clear watersheds
of finger lakes
set in splints to
repair dislocations
and complex
compound fractures
that may never heal
again
Music Selection:
Taj Mahal: Fishin Blues
jbm
Oakland
6/7/12
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 8:36 AM UTC
Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating **** secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
In your wrinkles lies the wisdom that I continuously seek
too eager to wait for my own, into my future I attempt to peek
but it is through rose-tinted glasses, shattered by visions of war
that I understand my world filled paradoxically with blood, love, and gore.
Letting the words pour forth, I forget what I am trying to say
all I can remember is the hope that I hold for some better days,
not just for me and mine but this entire global community
that stumbles over politic and collapses in economic unity.
When will the giant be humbled upon desolate shores?
Surely it won't take the deaths of too many more...
Soldiers of fortune?
No, Soldiers of Deceit -- victims of their leaders own bigoted conceit.
Bloated and forsaken are the children of opportunity,
praying for sustainability, locked in obscurity.
I know no truth which has never been known before...
but God, bless all the ageless that wear their wrinkles as a crown of thorns.
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
%%
It’s about leveraging potential income
to enhance output-maximizing sustainability …
It’s about de-funding unsustainable income outcomes.
It’s about results-based data-enhanced paradigm shifts.
It’s about demobilizing upward mobility:
dis-empowering gentrification
by underfunding the over-entitled.
It’s about de-funding unsustainability
until the immeasurable metric is globally assimilated.
It’s about the designated data-driver.
It’s about memes as theme schemes.
It’s about complicating competence
through collaboration in collusion –
intentionally replicating re-branding –
effectively identifying best practices of the best-dressed actresses
until the girl in the t-shirt says “meh”.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
"What are toxic time bombs?
I wonder, with no aplomb,
Old garbage and refuse tips,
Legacy landfills, full of blip,
Damaging environmentally,
So much for sustainability,
All the overflow of society,
How do we correct such wrongs?
All these toxic time bombs..........
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 5:25 PM UTC
The fearless ones
are fanning out
into the woods.
Others are huddled
in smartly constructed
camouflaged blinds.
These self styled
eco-warriors
brave the cold
and the discomforts
of inclement weather.
They keep a
watchful eye
over the stale
remains of
Dunkin Donuts,
bagels and
bacon grease
they cleverly
scattered
outside their
deadly bivouac.
These bold ones
eagerly finger the
barrels of their high
powered rifles,
palming the smooth
wooden stocks with
warm naked hands.
They itch to squeeze
the trigger but discipline
and fortitude inform
the vigilance of these
sentinels of sustainability.
They philosophically muse
about restorative balance
and the paradox of killing
in order to survive.
Another day has broken
over the New Jersey Highlands.
The hunt for bear is on.
Let the mammalian cleansing begin.
jbm
Oakland
12/6/10
Music Suggestion: Radiohead, Hunting Bears
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
the entire night is red and nobody can notice either of us
this way
that way
in or out
no bother, no problem, all the time
if you've forgotten how to make someone remember you
its for the best that they never will after all
you haunt my dreams to this day
but it is myself i can never forgive
i can never forgive myself for what ive done
i don't give two ***** what happens to you from this point on at all
the night was red but the sky was pink
and the clouds were swirling in a final vortex as the ****** of crows got to what was left of my arm
i ******* hate you
i am responsible
i will end you
this will be the end of you
i will end you.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:08 PM UTC
Booming Rhetorics (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Booming Rhetorics ==
by
Checkered Darks
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/boomingrhetorics
Human nature itself is a smash of contractual responsibility. A splash of rights afloat as we sink in our psychological rooted moral panics. All I see is a cascading titanic of ventures our mislaid adventures one after another. The criss cross of chains, we bonded in tax measures, reserve treasures...... It's not my leisure I beg you don't make your pleasure.
I sink in pressure, resolving Karl Mark ideology of conflicted power. Is it our born nature or nurture to live in a world of social polarisation. A pole to pole, a tug of war. Each owning and holding a rope.Is it our task to cage in boxes, fencing notions of inequalities within our society. Is it our right this notion Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
Help me out as as I wade in the swampy lowland. Treading through and through, head afloat, the submerging walk me to the shores..... Help me find my way through this dark tunnel. Help me see the light, let the sun ray penetrate my blight.
In our dichotomy of democracy we have made it right. A rolling ball of ........
1. Stock them high sell them cheap is the order of the day.
2. Social warehousing of merging demand and supply chain.
3. A disintegration of socialist entrepreneurship.
4. Re-distribution of Export Production Zones in marginalised countries.
5. A surge of capitalism on this patch we call the universe.
6.Conortions of monopoly colluding sustainability.
I pass this ball to you. As the industrial revolution fades and debates of "STEEL" revolves.
My Speech is a mere consideration, our contradiction. The contractual complications that we have grounded and granted ourselves as humanity. My voice is an exchange, my gift, a cloud of thoughts, an arousing hope our haunting costs.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
Waste Not
Waist Got
What Not
What Knot?
Tough Knot
"Not Happening"
Not Shaping
Lots Shopping
Lots Wasting
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
native lives matter
this movement
yes black lives matter
but the vengeance is past due
its native lives that matter
gave us everything
helped black people get free
dying while trying
now they reserved
on reservations
we gonna get em out
free the natives
black lives matter
african lives matter
they doing big things over there
they got our backs whose scars have healed
native lives matter
who do you think
you will ask directions to
when race destroys itself
native lives matter
who will you ask about sustainability?
native lives matter
who brought you all this way
gave the possibility of making the mistake of whiteness
native lives matter
this is the simile of evolution matters
evolution matters
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
A history of vengeance
sustainability is evolution
other than distraction
removing us from evolution
for profit
the excess
is vengeance
a new consciousness
an autonomous *****
vengeance is calculated
it is love
duty
art
health
vengeance is for the family
for the child
for the past
for the future
presently
vengeance overwhelms
the militance of isolation
all that is left behind
for existence of the future
is a history of vengeance
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
Through the miracle of meteorology, up high - little by little
parts of me was made, without form within a clouds middle,
and eventually, formed in unique designs, lighter than feathers,
temperature and water work together to produce, a period of weather.
When shapes, never repeated - but in approximation, begin to fall, as snow,
feasibly forecasted, sometimes not so, down on to the surface below.
And so as blanket laid, across town and countryside, fields and city mews,
changing the familiar, smoothing contours, into new landscape views.
The material soft, white glistening snow so miraculously delivered,
at earliest opportunity is introduced to excited shouts, laughter, and shivers.
Fittingly gathered by adult and children's hand, with the goal - to build a man.
midst joyful sounds, travellers moans and snowball fights, the creators plan,
By rolled ball pile and heaped snow I was born, created by many in several places,
some small and really, lovingly made. Others large with various, curious, hats and faces.
All - to stand appreciatively of of the makers time, to create me and proudly put on show.
Winter feeds our lifetime span with cold wind, colder nights and, temperatures low,
we stand as white statuary, where children play, soon - will come the expected day
a thaw, will take our sustainability of cool, and so little by little I, and others go away,
with saddened countenance creators watch as we bend, wither and slouch,
stoically accepting this is, as is. Snowy days will return, snowmen too, I can vouch.
It’s a happy sadness for snowman builders and snowmen too, who together
wait in anticipation for fun and creativity, the joyful side of snowy weather.
From a Snowman
Michael C Crowder 23rd January 2019
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 5:09 AM UTC
Wayfarer,
walk with me
down the open, crumbling road.
We’re two surviving souls--
billion year old
molecules binding
our hearts, muscles,
bones and nerves winding--
let us go back to the beginning,
before the time of sinning,
to the start of our creation,
before government or nation,
to find the garden and lose regarding--
regain our innocence.
The sun, rain and wind will test us--
we’ll build shelters of hides and bones,
pick berries and sharpen knives with stones,
play bone flutes and gut-stringed lutes,
and **** nothing without reason
and prepare for each change of season.
We’ll take our water from the glacial melt.
Our fashion will be the furry pelt.
Of course, we’ll remember poem and song--
for they were never wrong;
art was blameless.
It was the only thing
“Civilization” left us.
We’ll spark fire with pegs and strings
whirring, friction, small kindlings
into fire; we'll sit round and tell our history--
marvel at our ancestors’ folly, what mystery...
We’ll write dramas and dance;
we will honor this second chance.
English we will remember.
And French and Arabic, Latin and Hebrew.
We’ll start a new language, or two.
We’ll wash and sew condoms from intestines;
this time, what we’ll invest in
will be sustainability.
No need to propagate the earth--
it is fruitful enough already.
Only to be in harmony, a place neither above, nor below, others--
the animals and plants, who are our sisters and our brothers.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
"world peace
sustainability
spirituality
transformation
community
organic living
consciousness
expression
compassion
mind expansion
acceptance
exploration
appreciation
music
poetry
love"
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 3:28 PM UTC
nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.
i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.
we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.
i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
what we need is more banjo,
more djembe, more thunder finger
bass guitar --
what we need is less boredom --
less fear of failure,
less fear of *******
less Jane Austen.
what we need is the electric charge
of neurons fire dancing like
the night sky of the fourth of
july,
what we need is to learn the lesson
of rivers and runners -- keep up
the momentum
what we need is more honey,
watermelon,
sweet potatoes,
peanut butter,
and coconut oil.
more weirdos, more hippies,
more punks, more rappers,
more poets, if you have something
to say we pretty much need you.
we need more gin and less gender roles
more sin and less slapstick
more trees and trampolines and ties
between you and I.
we don't even need to be human
we just need to be sustainable.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
I am as I am,
my thoughts are nebulous and coherent,
I am the reluctant believer,
I am the optimistic skeptic,
I prepare for the worst,
and pray for the best,
I am a product of my environment,
but I also hope that I am more.
I scoff at those who say that they know,
be it the singularity that is deity,
or the absence of divinity,
his finite and plural nature,
or the limitations of the father,
as such I am a heretic,
and so I blaspheme,
relishing the jealousy of knowledge.
As I stare into the eyes of the unknown,
a canvas casting light on the firmament,
I realize that the futility of thought is artifice,
the cords wrapped tight around my sleeves,
exist only in what I live,
and what I choose to accept.
I accept.
And with this thought in mind,
I reject the null,
for I cannot accept the reality that I am given,
for a world without end has no meaning if not for progress,
if gain is finite and the continuity infinite,
there is no point,
the blade of Christianity is dull,
and so too the endless strains of antagonists,
horribly over-educated and overwrought.
I reject.
What separates God from man?
Maybe it is the ability to arrange matter,
it might simply be an issue of innate power,
but it might also be the sustainability of material,
the ability to see,
for we may as well be blind,
or perhaps it is simply a matter of punctuation.
I accept, but so too do I reject,
and gladly will I play the fool,
if it will place the odds in my favor.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
have i become so dependent
that i cling to the microfibers that form in your dryer
and stick on your sweater
because for six months
seven months ago
i tasted italy and salvador
and corn tortillas
and teeth
and missed ***** mexico
and for three weeks
about two months ago
i spun around the washing machine
until my fibers were stuck and someone detached me
and i lay there soppy
and i lay there wet
and i blame the machine
its sheer power and ability to wipe clean the stains of engine oil and uv blue you drank in the garage
and i have lost dependency
because of its lack of sustainability
i miss my baby
all my babies
every baby
and if you need me
ill be collecting the microfibers
that form in your dryer
and stick on your sweater
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:40 AM UTC
(my great, great grandfather as told by my mamasita)
he came from Calbiga
with his Spanish nose
tropic’s warmth allowed him to wear
but a pair of shorts everyday
his shirtlessness revealed
smooth, supple, brown skin
thick shimmering white hair
the only clue to his age
without knife or razor
his fingers felt his face
and tweezered stubble
with a pair of empty clam shells
he slept on a pillow
of hard narrah wood
made smooth and shiny
by years of use
he built his nipa and bamboo house
by the shore
big, sturdy and strong
sheltered at cliff’s foot
it withstood every storm
high atop the cliff
a tree stood tall and huge
a prolific garden of crops and flowers
grew in the soft filtered light of its canopy
cane and banana relinquished skin
in strips scraped clean and sun dried
woven into harvest and fishing baskets
braided into fishing line
he cut down only what he needed
allowing the plants to thrive
long before sustainability was new
old folks said that tall and huge tree
was a faeries’ castle
tending pineapples growing beneath it
Apay Bectay heard a voice beckoning her
a sweet musical melody in the wind
“Bectay…Bectay…”
she peered upward to a vision so beguiling
a beautiful naked lady sitting high on a limb
her skin a pale, pale white
her face and smile radiant
she stroked her long golden hair
with a golden comb
as it flowed alive with the breeze
she appeared as a mermaid underwater
sitting in a sea of swaying green leaves
Apay Bectay ran home for fear of enchantment
one day, my ears followed a peaceful, playful tune
until I came upon Apoy Engo
by his front door post
improvising on a small yellow flute
he had carved by hand
a thin, foot long bamboo chute
harvested from a nearby grove
when the tide was high
you could always find him fishing
by the house, close to shore
rain or shine
as long as the sea was calm
sitting in his banca
slightly stooped
patiently awaiting a bite
for his viand
a woven sun shade hat
tied under his chin
a picture of serenity
accompanied by the soft lapping sea
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
As the moon drifts further into the starry void,
Turning seas into watery graves;
The sun exudes heat, melting icecaps, and stirring up ecosystems.
Burning still in underground caves;
Coal...natural gas.. What shall we do? When all is consumed, there will be no use for you!
Soon they say, we shall fall, despite government policies like Kyoto protocol;
We have made better steps to ensure our safety...
But is it too late? Has our haste not been hasty?
Have our efforts been as strong, as the cars that we drive?
As the days move along; what will survive?
That is the question that comes first to mind;
Before clearing the thickets of woodlands and pine.
Before killing the terrorists... although I'm concerned;
Are we not the terrorist, to the rainforest and fern?
"Of course not!" they say, with such ill-thought conviction;
Well if that is not the case, then tell me your plan of transition.
Instead of restriction. We all have a right to be free; but each of us needs to understand and practice sustainability.
Like every tree, or animal that came before me...
All have a place in the world, which we live,
All have a reason, and truth that they give;
All have a story and a place in our history,
All have the same future; it's not such as mystery!
We are born, then we die, and go back to the land.
Never mind of religion; if it's used to command.
They will try and find a reason of sharing no blame,
For themselves, to the earth, to the wind, to the rain.
But now is the time when reality sheds light, on the brave few that are given wisdom and insight;
To stand up and be counted, will not take any lies; will not salute any flags, will not stand up and fight;
In any war - peace is upheld.... Guns are forgotten, and people are not jailed;
For speaking their thoughts, not keeping them in; to turn into cancer - of sadness and sorrow...
Tomorrow we say.... we'll get up and start, but it's time for a change.
If not to the world - then at least to your heart.
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 9:29 PM UTC