The Pretext of Tolerance
March 23, 2016 § Leave a comment
Pure in their chains of disdain,
Judgement’s Whores sit above discriminating
and decree warped ideas
of justice,
of fair,
of honor,
of righteousness,
that are proceeded by the
prefix “self” and include some sort of
disillusionment.
The faux sincerity they
walk around with, on their
sleeves of course, is justified
by misquote here and a
raunchy translation there.
Never once considering the
slightest possibility that their
actions are humanly unjust.
Sanctimonious in ritual,
hypocritical in breath,
they maintain a semblance of honor
and morality, if only in their
anesthetized hearts.
(unscrupulous)
it isn’t that they all
are corrupt or dishonest.
they are weak, have
no voice of their own
to listen to, let alone
use in a constructive
fashion. It is not that
once they had scruples
and lost them in a
bad game of poker. They
never possessed them
in the first place.
They have always been
an “un”, a “non”.
The acme they seek and
work so hard for is
only pointed down,
deeper and deeper into
a darkness where
humanity is unrecognizable
and the beasts that
are about, are as familiar
as the family dog.
Relentless in their exclusion,
they are reduction in life.
Branding first impressions
and impossible stereotypes
with the giant and capital
letters of the sins they deem monsters.
Less becomes intolerable,
a standard that only
applies to others.
(monomania)
a compulsion, bordering on
a fetish for the pure;
malice for anyone or
anything tossed into
the coffer labeled
“other”. The Violence of their
abhorrence makes braggarts
out of them all, creating a
blur of separation in
human morality :: all of which
violates the very code they
profess to live by.
(what will we find in the texts on Tolerance?)
certainly no version of acceptance. Those two,
tolerance and acceptance, they don’t
live well together. There’s no heartfelt
anything. It’s just more cool,
cold as ice because no effort needs
to be made where “tolerance” is the goal
we aim for.
A New Sport
March 23, 2013 § Leave a comment
Before night falls, in an hour or so, I will
have a million and one thoughts–at least.
They will vary from the turkey on the roof
earlier today, to the owl in the tree right
now, to the dog and his rawhide bone, to
my stuffed up nose, to the man clearing
out the irrigation ditch, to my health, to the
snow, to whether or not I should buy The
Hobbit, to work on Monday and what I’m
going to do. And like a ping-pong ball,
there you, bouncing around in all of it. I
swat at you with my paddle but that only
increases your speed and velocity.
The Untitled Series
March 13, 2013 § 4 Comments
(Untitled because I really didn’t know what else to do with them.)
Untitled 1
it’s the vivacious life
that protrudes from you
that turns heads focuses eyes
whether truth or lies
joy and pain
you attract them all
the good the bad the naïve
the old gets older
quickly when life is
surrounding us with
some thing some other
what ever it is that I
don’t have and certainly
don’t need lacking a
passion that I didn’t know
I wanted
Untitled 2
the overwhelming
grief
I have grieved.
grieve.
I am grieving.
I will grieve.
My grief
Untitled 3
Blue skies bubble
around the tops of
mountains.
Blue eyes watch,
inspired by the
movement of every
cloud.
Life dances.
Untitled 4
just the cat and I
prowled around the hours
last night
she was looking
for mice
I was looking
dreams
neither of us
found what we
were searching for
so we sat on
the couch and
told each
. other
. secrets
Pompeii
February 15, 2013 § 2 Comments
caught in the act
of final moments
what would you do?
run helter-skelter
through the street
or eat some meat?
wrapped up naked
in poses of fornication
or dreaming of the
never taken vacation?
hands up praising gods
and the local whores
or maybe scrubbing dirty floors?
without question
we’d all be doing something
you can’t catch nothing
so really,
what would you do
caught in the act
of your final moments?
driving your car
at one hundred twenty miles per hour
and in your stomach the drink turned sour?
sky scraper high
you’re ready to dive
and the local news camera’s live
each day seems
harder than the last
but relief comes through shattered glass
shards covered in your blood
and all heartbeats stop
with a single thud
the volcano.
another word for pierce
January 7, 2013 § 2 Comments
Reading backwards
with all of the things that
you have ever had
you see
I can’t find my words I shouldn’t
have to wait
for the words
to find me I shouldn’t have
to wait,
to sit, drink my black, hours-old
hours-cold coffee
fiddling with this fountain pen
writing a word here and there
balling the page up
throwing it as hard as I can
at the white wall with
light blue lines ruled from
corner to corner
I shouldn’t have to wait
for fake
to inspire me to take pen in hand
and fill the pages
I shouldn’t have to wait for the
words the fucking words that
flow from my brain to the tip of
this pen filled with blue ink
regular blue there’s nothing flashy
about this blue except that it
clashes withe the light blue
lines ruled from corner to corner
of this wall that laughs at my
naivety when I believe that I
have to wait for words to come
the fucking words penetrate
me deeper and deeper with each breathe
in this deeper
and I ask you why did you
lie to me in this way
in this deeper
and as the words get
deeper you wonder why things
between us have faded and I say
I waited and I waited
but they never came so I
started with the dictionary
and page by page
I stuffed them up into me
and by the letter B there
was no room left for you
and now as the words get deeper
and deeper
and we get weaker
inspiration still doesn’t come
inspiration still doesn’t comE
Earth Day, 2012
April 23, 2012 § Leave a comment
Ravenous, the Moon dragged his
lover, Jupiter, to bed as this year’s
Earth Day came to its end. Their
sighs and murmurs floated on
the breeze, the touch of want in
those listening to the secrets shared
between the two. Their unrepentant
rapacity, that shoots shivers of light
across the indigo sky, releases the
universe into its voyeuristic tendencies.
Inspired, the grass fondles the crickets
as they serenade the night’s third
partner into a seasonal orgy of
erotic bliss.
Seeking,
seeking,
seeking,
they sing, their legs in constant motion,
incessant rubbing together.
Consummation and intimacy are wrapped
in sheets of fragrance that hang in the air
like silk on the line in today’s heat.
Fabric to flesh.
Our lovers abound in the anonymity of
dark and alone festers under blanket
upon blanket of night. Each their
own bed to lay in.
And this mother gives birth to another season of life.
Not wanting.
Not waiting.
Her children run, naked, laughter
trickling down their legs like water,
while her lovers rest from protests
of protection. She comforts them all,
as the Moon to his Jupiter.
This Winter’s Solstice
December 22, 2011 § 1 Comment
It’s early. The sun’s been up maybe a half an hour. It’s hard to say though because the clouds and snow give the drowsy feel of predawn.
Today is the winter solstice.
The Christmas tree lights are on and the coffee is nearly brewed. A doe is laying in the yard. She has been there so long that the snow covers her like a blanket. If it weren’t for her giant mule-like ears, she would seem nothing more than a pile of dirt on the ground she’s resting on. Her presence signals a peaceful yard through the night. Gracefully, she has carried the peace into the morning of this year’s solstice.
The solstice does not mark much significance for the world any more. We no longer live our lives by the length of the days, the sun’s rays shining down on the world. Rather, we dictate the day’s schedule to the sun so that it fits our timetable, allowing us to check off items on our to-do lists.
This is not bad. This is not judgement. This just is. When we humanoids discovered fire, the evolution of power began.
Marking the shortest day of the year with celebration, saying, “we’re still here and it will only get better,” no longer matters except that it comes about four days before the most materialistic, economically based holiday that man has ever created. Each year, as the solstice becomes smaller and the Christmas holiday grows exponentially, our lives become even more spiritually strapped for meaning. We can follow the rules presented by dogma but we seemingly lack the ability to combine our natural world with our daily lives, something that was once a survival skill.We barely recognize the turning of a day, let alone the natural turning of a year.
We each have locked ourselves up in our little windowless buildings, unable to look out, not allowing anyone to see in.
As my tree sits ablaze in strings of color, I marvel at its beauty, the combination of natural and man-made, man-evolved gifts. I whisper to the world, to God, to whomever it is that assists a person in this endeavor of life, I ask for guidance and space to fill every day of life with this kinds of balance. I know I’m most at peace when my life is infused with both the outside and the inside.
May we all be like the Christmas trees standing vigil in our living rooms, in balance, walking in beauty, radiant from the natural world around us and the world we created with our hands. May on our branches hang the bulbs of memories and futures. And may the “presents” at our feet provide overwhelming joy as we unwrap each moment, living fully, right now.
Happy solstice to you!
Unrelated
December 6, 2011 § Leave a comment
The blister,
the one on my right thumb
that I prematurely popped,
it hurts,
especially when I hold my pen.
I’m holding it a little funny
because it hurts so much
and my letters keep coming out in
the wrong order even when I know
the order that they are supposed to come in.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily as I thought
it would. Really, I don’t want to sleep
because I don’t want to wake up
in the middle of the night not
sure where I am or where you are.
You’re right there but for a few
moments you aren’t and I am in
a strange place full of strange things
that I don’t recognize. My life
is full of non-profits and doing good
but I’m trained to make money for
the other. I’m wearing clothes
that aren’t mine or better yet it makes
me feel like I should wake up in the
middle of the night and not remember who
I am or where you are which is exactly
what’s happening. I can’t distinguish up
from down and so maybe its the crack of dawn.
Heart seizing breath taking panic attacks
aren’t really about that pasta dinner
coming up in a few weeks. Maybe,
just maybe, its about looking in the
mirror and seeing longer hair; waking
up in the middle of the night not
knowing who I am and where you
are. Maybe its about losing
one definition and finding another
I wasn’t expecting.
Or maybe it’s the season’s change
and dirty toenails.
But right now,
at this moment,
it’s hard to tell.
The Reflection Pool 