Friday, September 25, 2020

evening 2020

 I don't need a Lord to rule over me.

I want Goddesses to co-create and invigorate
wonder.
 
 
 
Spread ridiculously mean Trump "fact"
memes (like:  Trump eats Christian infants --
and you thought that was fried chicken)
When questioned, respond:
I don't live in your silly little confirmation-based
world.
 
 
 
Living could have been so much more
for all of them, back then --
and if they had been those people
so alive,
would we have foregone this mess today?
 
 
 
Don't cynically ascribe
our hard fight, long fought,
organizing, advertising, screaming,
whispering, whimpering,
as we hope will be heard,
daring to sacrifice what might
otherwise be our lives to fight
absurd, recursive violence
that persists despite outraged
protestations.
Don't reduce these morals
of mortality to right/left
politics as usual, fake news or
skewed, that obfuscates our
bleeding reality.
 
 
9/18-23/20

Friday, September 18, 2020

summer's almost gone

 people of pinched little lives 

with nothing better to do

than spin evil conspiracies to live in
 
 
 
Gorging on Trumpian Band Candy
there are no adults in charge.
It's up to clear-eyed youth
to cast out the demons and save the day.
 
 
 
Don't talk to me about politics
of care that depend on The People.
The People are not who you think/pretend.
There is no The People --
only you and me and them and others.
 
 
 
Was the purpose behind the child separation
policy to acquire these kids to lose
in the system and sell?
Perhaps a Jeffrey Epstein enterprise?
Does Q and friends have the evil-doers'
identities mistaken?
 
 
 
Why do we want to hate?
Why believe safety demands
subjugation?
Why assume differences mean
danger we must suppress?
Why not look for the beauty,
curiosity, opportunity for
gentleness, shared humor,
compassion, what we want to be
humanity?
Why not feel a part of a grander plan,
a happier future?
Why can't we understand, justice
belies hate -- requires love?
 
 
9/11-17/20

Friday, September 11, 2020

It's fire this time

 Vitriol is not

indicative of confidence,
but rather signals fear.
 
 
 
Casting snips of poems
to find their message
subconscious meets zeitgeist
to presage,
trailer riding prevailing wind.
 
 
It's fire this time --
dry, burning Earth
Winds of Hell too strong,
too cruel.
Driving frenzy evacuates
creates ever greater desperation,
apocalyptic grief.
Unkind skies, acrid exhaust of terror.
No end in sight --
yet another Endtime to survive.
As if a living planet can protest
human cruelty, stupidity, insanity,
with Her weapons of wind, fire,
pestilence, ever deadlier warning.
 
 
 
How about we see each other
as beings of complexity,
not static physical traits?
 
 
 
It's all about outraging the libtards
They know we're on our way out,
and want to smite their enemies
as we go.
People of pinched little lives.
 
 
9/4-11/20

Monday, September 7, 2020

questioning (in progress): curiouser and curiouser

 promote questioning in all the public places.


Trial by Wonder

And the young monk
on the hillside thrice gave
weight to his staff against
greenhold ground found this day
along his sacred quest.
In answer, the land opened,
revealed a winding descending stairway.
The monk feeling bidden, ventured down.
Below, he became aware he had entered
cavernous chamber lit by broad torches.
An array of ancient armament displayed
upon a large wooden table, its edges
intricately carved.
Exquisite poignant music, angelic pure
voices unsullied by words emerged from
vibrating air.
“Welcome, child. You are expected.
Nourishment will arrive soon.
Knowledge will take longer.
Think on your questions.”
An old wrinkled presence, kind without sign
of emotion, spoke and settled into
luxurious green tapestry now clearly carpeting
the room.
The monk had embarked on his journey without
expectations.
That was one of the rules.
He eagerly followed each of seeming reasonless
instructions, on and on.
Now he had reached a place of contemplation,
a different kind of challenge.
He considered his questions in short mental movies.
Brought to him food exactly suited to invigorate,
water like clarity washing through him.
His mind paints the walls, animate characters flicker
in shadows. These converse with the monk, and each
other. Merry questions cavort as shapes, colors,
directions. When the monk awakes, he is walking
a familiar trail. The teller of his tale has decreed
it leads to a sacred hillside.
He hums to his steps, rehearsing his questions.
Their answers reside in his trusty backpack.
He has collected and carried these shiny pebbles
with intention to fabricate a magnificent rock collage
when the appropriate backdrop appears.
How lucky to be a monk in a time of such
abundance.

 
 
 
long walks that suddenly awaken questioning:
"Where am I going?
Who is this "me"
that has a destiny
or merely flits along prevailing wind?"
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
if we articulate the important questions,
take them in as guides,
converse with them as colleagues,
play with them as children,
look through them as windows on our future world,
what joy!
 
 
 
the question becomes: 
are we strong enough in our authenticity,
integrity, and collective power to act appropriately?
 
 
 
Send a question to the universe
in due time the reply appears
kinda like scrying
 
 
 
Within the sacred crystal
of the moment
question and answer merge,
synthesize eternity.
 
 
 
Questions can be so comforting.
Anything can be supposed as
simple what ifs.
It is only an idle question,
not threatening nor
demanding.
 
 
 
question everything
accept or reject with clear awareness
and flexibility
 
 
 
the dangerous questions
are constantly being asked by real life circumstances.
We who hear do feel compulsion to answer disturbingly.
 
 
 
Angst, worry, tension as well as heartache
or heartsong or fleeting vision of perfection,
or what we feel, think, know, question --
these are all food for art.
 
 
I think the real question is, why
do so many people hate their lives
so much that they prefer to live in dreams
of ultimate destruction?
 
 
 
we must question our metaphors,
our underlying principles,
our shared or unshared perceptions,
in ever more precise attempts
to cover the distance. 
But who has the time for that?
 
 
 
I see your reflection.
The answer decodes the question
a higher order includes us all
 
 
The question:  Do we wish to learn where we each
find context, or prefer to live within what we
assume?
 
 
 
a world of inconsistencies to ponder
questioning is the key
 
 
 
We are called to ask ourselves
what it is that we truly value—
what will matter in the end
when we question the meaning of our lives?
 
 
 
finding with them
questions, keys and doors;
realizing history is only destiny
when explorations cease;
invitations from space and time
come complete
with choices
 
 
 
Caught in conundrum ‘tween twilight and dawn
Formerly someone, lost without form
Back to that question you asked being born
and the answer that started when?
 
 
 
Travel broadens, expands the skein of us.
Doesn’t surely lead to trust nor lessen tension.
Still, to explore, add to what we all know,
the more we learn to question, to quest
instead of merely step by step progress.
 
 
 
 
Dare I question her
abundant concern?
I a masked gypsy
painted in gloom,
 
 
 
Without question or shame, we murdered as if to keep score.
Without honor or remorse, we laid waste to our host,
to our only home,
then cursed her for not giving more.
 
 
 
The big question?
How humans can learn to live
successfully together, doing
what needs doing in our own
best interests.
 
 
 
we tend to move through the world
with blinders and coded boundaries,
not seeing what we see,
but what we have told ourselves
or been told so long
questioning is never sought
 
 
 
 
We devised a game as drugless school chums,
dubbed “The Question Game”.
Each in turn would ask a question of a philosophical
nature – perhaps a question with which the questioner
had privately wrestled, or not.
Then we all played the question, speaking our random
associations or tangent questions or answers or
hypothetical tests or suggested scenarios
or whatever we fancied.
Once we had nothing urgently to say, the question
had been played, the next person got their turn
as questioner.
If any of the group did not get their turn they would be
the starters for our next session.
We came to know each other very well – how each thought
and expressed, and believed.
We each learned about ourselves – what questions
spoke to us, what they said.
And the wide expanse of answerings.
 
 
 
Not to detract from dramatic renditions
of sober reflection – every exception
still begs the question we lack language
to ask.
We digress from distressful suggestibility
onto easier path.  Does it matter?
To whom?
 
 
 
Q & A
 
 
I need you, out there,
to ask delicious questions,
feed my liminal factory --
imaginal machinery set to
engineer exquisite ideas
in shrink-wrapped phrases.
Tell me your shame-held
secrets, fears that track you
in the night.
Let me meld them with
trenchant fairytales,
legends that recapitulate
on cable news, vibrant stylings
of the Blues,
surreal cartoons rendered by
Nietzschean travails.
Let me knead this recipe,
sprinkle with inchoate memories,
bake at near 99 degrees
until brilliant fragrance overtakes the air.
Now, open wide and taste
enchantment, as your questions
and my answers
meet, mingle, mutually complete.
 
 
 
Questionnaire
 
 
 
fill out your portrait in my gallery.
*
1. By what name do you call yourself?
*
2. What land/sea/sky scape captures and carries you?
*
3. What is your quest?
*
4. What color do you see when you think "color"?
*
5. What do you consider a landmark instant in history – its myth and your opinion?
*
6. What book/song/film most haunts you?
*
7. If you were totally cut off from all humanity, with whom would you want
your one telepathic link?
*
8. If you discovered a new celestial object, what would you name it?
*
9. Who remains your favorite childhood heroic character?
*
10. How do you get your news?
*
11. With what non-human animal do you most identify?
*
12. In the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty, what image most easily
calms you?
*
13. What face do you put on to face your fears?
 
 
 
Is there an answer? (or nest of answers)
What is the question?
What is our quest,
if we allow ourselves that story?
 
 
 
questions for our billions' dreams
 
 
Is it a blankness,
a lack, an inability?
How do functioning people
not feel the pain, the shame,
the horror at insanity that engulfs,
destroys hope for noble stories,
soul destiny, journey of humanity?
How do we so self-injure, inure to
stench of rotting murder?
If some one, sage or fool, could explain,
had that overview, that knowledge, how
could such abhorrent consciousness
respond?Where is the confessional, the
congregation of outpouring faith,
caring community, self-help group,
spirit cell to tell our sorrow, our
abreactive truths, release inheld
suffering, escape delusive silence,
find each other to unite
as common strength, open a conduit
to create a kind and vital people
within to honorably live?
 
 
 
 
It's not that I have sure answers
or clear questions
or any reasons why.
It's not that I even know
that there are answers.
I merely dare to try.
What can I ask of you?
Hope those who share my cares exist?
 
 
 
 
How rise beyond mistakes, examine, question
beliefs, accept, trust 
eternally a now
not sanctioned by our faith?
 
 
 
If I could devise, discover
words and gestures, embodied
answers to join us all
in happy equilibrium,
I would gladly reach out
so far my arms might break.
I would fly above the fray,
call cleverly to
mesmerize, dismantle stagnant walls
that crassly hold nirvana at bay.
Would you dare to question fate,
exercise escape?
 
 
 
As the waves blow, the winds flow,
the sands sift with sea
And faraway stars shine in soft mystery
Her eyes shine with starlight and stare at the sea
Asking questions as ancient as night
Expecting no sign to appear.
 
 
 
It's not as if I have the answers.
What I have are open-ended questions
into which theories and possibilities
can be dropped.
 
 
 
Intuition insists
the answers exist.
It is the questions that await asking.
 
 
 
Within the sacred crystal of the moment
question and answer merge,
synthesize eternity.
 
 
 
Art is experiment
Self-constructed frames,
playful perspectives,
layered suggestions,
prayers and questions
subtly arranged
 
 
 
Questions unanswered
burble and spike, like loud arrogant gas
rumbles.
 
 
 
Nourishment will arrive soon.
Knowledge will take longer.
Think on your questions.”
 
 
 
What it is to be human.
In search of the answer
questions met on the trail.
 
 
 
Free will or fate?
Not the relevant question.
 
 
 
Questions.  Questing makes us wise.  Resist
hypnotized consent:  “Yes, oh great glowering
crowd, yes, Sir Mighty Educator.  Your words
stink with deceit under sweet perfumes, narcotics
draining of ability to decline.”
 
 
 
Beat down, swallowed in
sweat, too hot for questions
to make sense.
 
 
 
a world of inconsistencies to ponder
questioning is the key
 
 
 
It’s that question we need to explore,
experiments that intrigue us,
that essential project calling for our attentive exercise,
work to improve our lives that feels real,
that gives us shining dreams, appreciation
for who we can be
 
 
 
 
truths we can learn or discover
truths we feel, experience
truths we know we do not know
truths that change with
point of view
or time
Why fight
over truth, under stubborn banner?
Truth is neither
question nor answer.
 
 
 
Adapt   Persist  Question
 
 
 
When in doubt, ask questions --
why assume
intuition will come through?
Peace offers a great deal more of benefit than fighting
when in doubt, ask questions
 
 
 
What everybody knows
is often just what most of us
are too lazy or uncaring to question
 
 
 
A quest full of questions.
A fool's 'oliday.
And, have I mentioned,
no promise of pay.
Just a born again supplicant
reshaping the code,
creating the tale I'll tell
when I'm old.
 
 
Do you get what we're all missing?
We could be questioning and listening.
Giving credence to each other's dreams 

Friday, September 4, 2020

days of our lives

 People, please,

own your needs, wants, values,
attractions
Experience you with exuberant passion
Now
 
 
 
In a sense the mythologies
that make up racism are seen
as ameliorating the evil of people
treating others badly
because they have a rationale,
even though that rationale is
irrational, based on false information.
 
 
 
Is Trumpism the most popular religion
in the US today?
 
 
 
We could be using our modern
communications abilities to
figure out better methods to
perform democracy.
Instead, we pick mean fights
over parties and candidates
far removed from our real lives.
 
 
 
Those scenes we again, again review
What we have done, should if we could
re-do.
How those magic hours, brought back
to exult, exalt precious power
happiness imbues
Traveling memories, tourists through
these self-narrated,  curated dramas --
not cautionary tales
or subjective lesson plan --
trailing images that are our lives.
 
 
8/29-9/3/20

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

September Full Moon reflection

 September reflection

 
 
Golden night.
High fields of food and seed
aglow for harvest.
Aching for thrill and release,
late summer serenades
romance
wraiths, spirits of Pan,
amorous nymphs a’hum in ripe foliage.
Crickets, nightwings,
mingled weeping and merry cries
slowly reveal
stragglers on night shores,
legends told in voices, echoes
migrations.
 
 
Harvesting Moonlight
 
 
Today the dark approaches, loosens veils of entropy.
Pixel colors whisper, hum of trails diminishing.
Lumbering, tales sweaty from slumber sweep
crumbling crusts, twigs and dust,
unencumber twinkling.
Luscious Moon, brilliant, rises
like a sacred flower unbinds, radiant,
smiling indulgence.
Celestial song, deep-breath effulgence,
wise spirit.  All we who hear it open our wings.
This night we fly over poignant fields of work requited,
imbibe euphorious mystery of peace.  Sweet day’s release,
rewards of harvest, ritual feast of play.
Uproarious dance with moonlight; voice, arms, lift
in embrace so strong, complete.
 
 
 
crafty synaptic flow
dreamcatching from all hallowed and harrowed
tasting subtle essence in the bitter grain
of sanctified harvest sacrifice
 
 
 
Celebrate
exultant vibration.
It is time to reap ecstatic harvest
of moonbeams dancing to dawn.