human perversity

Screaming in the wilderness
where none listen
No one hears over their own 
silent screams
each alone
unaware
of all these others screaming,
scurrying
every precious human moment
in service to the Man, the Masters
who dare not allow us the time,
the leisure from survival pressures
to get together,
offer ears and mind,
learn, then teach our,
all of our children, to be kind,
even wise.


Have Fun
Enjoy every day,
twilight, night
of your precious human life


Important to be part of
what we see every day,
extending out the directive of
our value -- to connect


Humanity is a very big tent
We ought to have everyone we
need to succeed
Those up top organize the rest
of us to do the work they require
for their profit and power
Why aren't we organizing for
ourselves, to provide what each
and all need, then create from
our imaginations for fun?
Do the labors of
organization
appeal or lead to
megalomaniac ideation?
Are we so much more compelled
by defensive hate, explosive
irritation, that cool rush of power
that cruelty can bring?
They say:  "Hurt people hurt people"
yet, clearly not all hurt will pay it
forward; not all bullies were bullied.
I say we all have the capacity 
to suck.  But we can pay aware
attention, and become more kind.



The primary person your hate hurts
is you -- then ripples into the souls
of those you love, who care.
That vicious dark red sword of
inflammation burns your
ruminations, deceives your 
blaming heart, allows it to
shrivel, become one stabbing beat
impelling violent ideation
that overwhelms what could have
been -- your precious human life.



 Open to the potential positive
possibilities of panhuman
mutual appreciation
of each and every one for
exactly who we are, our essential
part of our potential
positive possibilities for us all

Keep your feral fear until it
dissipates, reactivates as love.



Hate is a reaction, a barrier
against pain



Politics does not require lying,
disinformation.  Its proper
foundation is to acknowledge
differing ideas of what the people
need.  Effective political speech
ought be true and clear, that
differing choices be well considered
Obfuscation, deceit, are not politics,
but cutthroat competition


A lifelong connection
revealed on meeting



It's too ubiquitous
The Horror
every day tragedies of cruelty, of humanity
proving our illness, our deadly debauchery,
escalating the companionship of misery
of the bad we do each other
becomes too much to see




Our human world seems tugged between 
our urgent need for connection, and our 
desperate fears, for some of violence, 
or rejection




people are complicated
for some our art is the best of us 
and can be appreciated for its beauty 
and emotion despite the ugly callousness 
often found in the artist



the revolution will not be artificial


Tears in silence

The future has no substance
The past cloys, tumbling images charged
and sent forward to slaughter
over and over
None to take in, to comfort
Harsh, sharp streets; frozen skies
Fog-draped feathers arise, batter
blood-shot eyes, as if this foolish
fantasy carries the weight
to crush
Decades under suffocating rubble
From above, hints and rumors warn,
Stay:  it's worse up here
Flutters of fear smile, sting
keep anxious guard
This now gapes like a wild presence



It's a myth
a good one, Mama
Of magic that gives and protects
no matter the nattering miseries
we believe are the boss of us



I get it
It's just a lovely fantasy
to indulge in
nothing that might impinge
upon ugly reality



Good times are boring
We want drama!


What is precious about a human
life?  Is it free will -- though
actions so often far from free?
Yet, we still get that exquisite
torture, knowing who we believe
we could be gets thwarted from
any chance by rubbish circumstance,
faithless fate.
Turning each page, again and again
Maybe this time the chapter will end
with my mission complete, when
amazing people I meet welcome me
in.  Is it like that for you?
Dreams destined to fade
The bargains you've made to
find an eventual peace that refuses
to eventuate, again and again ...



What is love?
What do we speak of
when we invoke that magic name?
Hearts in syncopated rhythm,
in sympathy
in symphony
Impressions taken in, synthesized,
given expression, art or depression.
How reconcile a born in need to
be seen, with directives against
being noticed?
No worries.  No one truly sees
beyond each our own
consciousness.
How cruel to yearn for
recognition of audience
that can never exist.
Do you see the fools who
follow cults of celebrity?
Such abyss of need subsumed
within desperate belief --
so sad to end up so accepting of
"the norm"
"What harm?" you (if you there is)
could say.
Nothing but harm 
this soulless waste of what
ought be precious human life.
How explain?
And back to Love, we claim 
will heal us?  To see, to
apprehend as panoramic vision,
overwhelmed for that moment in
ecstasy -- how feed, nurture,
through day to day drama
-- pure existential truth we
aspire to, this Love.

 
8/23-10/7/26