Reality is ………. I Don’t give It A Name

I’m very careful now of what kind of media I allow to enter my inner space and I wished I have had the insight to start earlier in life. It leaves me with a lot to unlearn. You youthful ones out there that are waking up are very lucky. You can live in a wonderful world if you organize and create it yourself. And you are doing that, and I just love you for it!

I  MACHINATION

Hidden secrets,

Corrupt agendas,

By governments,

And Corporations,

Surface to awareness,

My blind trust exploited,

As my awareness expands,

I see I’ve been tricked,

Into trusting exterior things,

So where to turn now?

To the Love within!

Love can be rejected,

Or completely Ignored,

But it can’t be destroyed,

Eradicated or overpowered,

Because Love is all ,

That exists.

 

And so, the world will continue to mirror back to me the things in my own life that need changed Within. Greater amounts of light, harmony, balance, calmness, love, and compassion all come from Within and then flow out.  The system, that Big Machine that seems  “out there,” is not even real and I will not serve it, it is no longer my master.

 

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

 

 

 

 

The Other Half Of The Sky

THE MOON

They’ve stolen our Goddess,

And gave us bulimic,

Photo shopped vomit,

Of run way models,

That mimic,

What women should be,

Anorexic and sick,

Young heroin addicts,

But hey,

It’s all just show biz,

As she strips naked to star in a flick.

 

The feminine aspect,

A church whore now,

Putting out,

To a mass produced,

And traumatized,

Mankind.

Our strength,

Comes from,

From The Mother Divine,

You can not suppress her,

Erase or deface her,

She’ll come back stronger,

As spirit into matter,

Manifesting,

A perfectly,

Well deserved storm.

 

Instead of of ‘Our Father’,

It should be ‘Our Mother’,

She’s the true art,

Falling from heaven,

And everything here,

Is coming from Her,

And as quickly can all disappear.

 

Dr Shadow

Sometimes it’s all,

About loss of control,

I like when my mind,

Escapes from it’s cage,

And rushes head first,

Into hot melting shit.

 

Chaos breaks up,

The mundane,

And gives birth,

To change.

 

VA WARD #88: (mumbling quickly so no one will hear)

I’m safely dressed so I glow in the dark, and I’m driving while safely in park. And I sleep and I sleep, and I only  wake up to not miss the latest dance craze: The Thorazine Shuffle is sweeping the floor. But it’s ok, it’s really alright, I came from a dream and I’ll return to a dream, and in the mean time I’ll just dream some more.

I told myself a bedtime story, where everything that appeared out there was really all in here, sunny-side up, and projected into my brain like a movie no one else sees. Everything I thought I heard was just vibrations in the air, entering my ears where in my head sounds were formed, then deformed like the things one would see, when things that are seen are too ugly to be seen, and no one should ever see that! They asked what I saw, pretending to care, but their words would blindly butt in, and with pill after pill, they would let me go home, if I heard what they said I should hear. (“Fuck man, another order from another asshole,” thinking but never out loud). These shrinks in white coats and ties ’round their necks, like nooses from Zeus’s abode. Blanket covered minds fresh from college,  whipped and stripped of their souls, they wanted me to see what they saw. She saw see saws. Dr. Shadow’s big ego, his truth wasn’t true, and George Orwell would shit in his grave. (Play the game, soldier, play the game so we all can go home) … I was just a Corporate Hitman playing Army because the movies all lied. ”But now you gotta live with yourself. Need help with that? Call 1-8OO-FORGET … then hold.” But don’t, it’s just another one of their tricks.

They said that the Hobbits and dwarves, the spies and the creeps, were all just made up in my head;  But I know what is real is what I feel when I’m feeling what’s real. Red freckled doctors and candy cane shrinks are waiting to put me away, unless I agree that what they all see is what everyone sees, and the only things really for real. So they took off my wings, killed my spirit and then, took my ability to levitate too. (I used to be able to fly, and I’m sorry I don’t mean to brag).

Faces with legs and claws like a crab are chasing me ’round the psyche ward. But if I take enough pills till I agree they’re not real, then they’ll let me back out on the street. And they recommend I believe in some Christ, or at least think that Santa is real. Melting my brain with their cures to forget…to forget… for get … fore-get … tick tock. Tick Tock. . . . . .

But I forgot to forget, or I faked it I guess, and I hope that they never find out, ’cause I’m cured and I’m no longer scared. So now I know that waffle irons aren’t just for wrinkled waffles. And pancakes are flapjacks, but black jack’s a game, unless you’re out of your mind.

I’m freezing to death,

But they insist with a threat,

That I’m really feeling quite warm.

 

So I want to make clear,

That I’m really not here,

And if I were,

I’d be just in your head…

 

Funk

depressed man

I am lethargic
Confused
And stupefied too
A state of numbness
Just oozes
From each of my thoughts
At least the main thing
That I think
I’m thinking about
Is how a wasteland
For the wasted
Just floated ‘cross my mind
A frosted playground
In the desert
Where my language decays
Composed emotions
About nothing
Rot and reek in the heat
Rock and roll me please
Out of my funk
Let the drums get it on
Lay down a rhythmic
Pleasing diversion
As I turn inside out
To face the music
And pay the piper
For a last chance
To dance
With you

The Bubble Genius

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The little boy was hypnotized by the bubbles he was blowing, as they floated through the air. It mesmerized me just watching his big brown intense eyes, with the lack of a smile like a scientist on a mission. His face so serious as he searched the space filled with bubbles of all sizes,  exploding at different times. Some landing and rolling on the ground  for a while. Some popping before they got a few feet away from his innocent breath. What did those young eyes see that created such astonishment?

Each bubble seemed to be an entity, just like a human life.  An invisible mystery surrounded by a thin shell. Each one different, but each one the same. The shells would pop, and a tiny droplet would fall to the ground, while what was inside the bubble kept floating away. Some bubbles lived a long time, seeming to break some kind of law of physics. Some burst upon the slightest touch with an object. Some melted together. The double bubble. Ahhh, look at the little boys face. The bubbles burst as he tiredlessly keeps blowing more. What was he thinking?

And he caught me looking at him and saw me staring as hypnotically at the bubbles as he was. We exchanged a short heart felt childish giggle, then he went straight back to blowing bubbles. More and more and more bubbles. And through our eye contact, I realized I peeked into his bubble, and he into mine. In a sea of bubbles, this boy became my little friend, just for a short while. His mother appeared and saw the bubbles and looked down at the boy. Her son, but she didn’t really see him. She was pleased he had occupied himself and there was no doubt she loved him. She just didn’t grasp his genius. She smiled at me and I smiled back to reassure her that the boy was definitely not bothering me. So I looked into her bubble and she into mine. And for a second, we were two friends. Two bubbles making contact in a vast sea of bubbles. And she picked her little boy up and turned to leave. The boy looked back at me and without hesitation smiled and waved good bye.  His bubble trance was now broken,  but I knew he’d soon find something new to study somewhere else.  I just wonder what it will be?

Grandpa and Jesus

Somewhere between running water and voices,  I hear drums. I can not make out what the voices are saying.  Just a low murmur.  I sure like the way the water and drums drown out the conversations that never stop. Pitches. Running water makes music and has different pitches in it’s rhythm. And the drum mimics the heart beat, but with decorations and ornaments that make the dragons fly by.

Grandpa was  clever at devising ingenious devices, the man with the grizzled beard always kept his eyes on the world. His advice was full of cut and dried old phrases. A lifetime working at the rubber plant left him with a lack of imagination,  he became an ordinary guy.  A descendant of the Dutch, settlers of New York, just an off handed, lonely, Knickerbocker guy. An old patroon. He was the guardian of activity…a divine entity. But he hadn’t a clue.

So anyway, the old patroon was legally blind from a large waterfall of cataracts. Clouds over the pupils. Hmmm…  He had them removed before laser surgery was discovered,  and now he was 92  (now being back then). He once asked me, as death got nearer to him, if I believed if Jesus really rose from the dead.

“I guess spiritually Grampa,” I answered and thought it was a pretty good answer. But like an admission of guilt, the words escaped from my mouth and ran into his ears and did not bother to hide in the halls of his brain till it made sense upon further investigation by him.

A great hostility and rage he became. “I know spiritually! I mean literally, do you believe it?” he yelled back angrily. The doubt on the face of a man wanting so badly to believe. I felt awkward so I said nothing. Perhaps I should have been honest and said no, but I remained silent…such an empty reply. Grandma, his wife and Baptist Christian believer, died two years before. And now his lonely body was nothing but a vessel for pain and grief. Poor guy, 92 years of life, only to be reduced to this. How fucking rude of life! He wanted to see his son, who died in World War II by a Kamikaze pilot, his 18 year old body lost in the ocean forever. He wanted to see his wife again, who through the years had became half of him. He wanted to believe the Christians so he could see his wife and son in heaven, but his doubt was torturing him. He was stuck in rational mode trying to believe a story full of holes, and his mind became strapped down and wasn’t free to wonder. He just couldn’t jump the hurdle that the church put up. Strangulation  by dogma.

As he laid dying in the hospital, his daughter, my aunt, lay dying from lung cancer just down the hall. But nobody told Grandpa. It would have been too much for him, they thought. I don’t know. I just let them think their thoughts, and do their deeds. My then much younger mom, his other daughter,  was with him when he left this world.  She watched him sit up in bed with his arms extended and call his wife’s name. My mother was sure he saw her, as he hugged the air and laid down and died.

Now I ask, “Grandpa, is there life after death?”

Silence…such an empty reply.

But somewhere between running water and voices, I hear drums.

Sick Again

r-BREAKING-UP-large570
Home alone and so love sick,

 

I’m reading all your letters,

 

Thinking I might find a clue,

 

Of where it all went wrong,

 

And I can’t help but think that you,

 

Were pretending all along,

 

Your bronze skin glows,

 

I miss the touch,

 

And I can hardly stand it

 

I’m missing you so very much,

 

But I’ll never admit it.

Ghost Town

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Wood that crumbles to the touch,
Silence that becomes too much,
Foot prints on the dusty floor,
Of an old forgotten store.

Broken windows in a room,
And a cob web covered broom,
No one sees the sun go down,
In this old forgotten town.

Darkness brings familiar fears,
As the shadows disappear,
Walking down this empty street,
Feeling somehow incomplete.

I dream while I am still awake,
But with every step I take,
I always stop to look around,
At memories in this old ghost town.

 

Mushroom Clouds

Psychedelic-Vision

When the world arises in me,
It’s just an illusion:
Water shimmering in the sun,
A vein of silver in mother-of-pearl,
A serpent in a strand of rope.

From me the world streams out
And in me it dissolves,
As a bracelet melts into gold,
A pot crumbles into clay,
A wave subsides into water.

I am God sounds a bit arrogant doesn’t it? How about this, I am God and so are you. Better? Well, only if you really understand the allegory. God is a concept that stands for that which we can’t identify. That which gives us life and co-creates this experience. Him, Her, It, the Force, Consciousness and many others names can symbolically be given to what some call God. I think it’s fair to say most have given up the thought that God is an old white bearded man in the sky, hopefully. Not all, and maybe not most. I do not personally know most people. I’ve only met a tiny percent of the world’s population, so most is mostly a useless word. Useless words shouldn’t be used. Too late now, but I’ll make a mental note about that. (Which would be useless as I can’t remember anything for very long anymore). (I just used useless again, didn’t I? I’ll never learn).

This Consciousness is in everything, absolutely everything, and in fact is all there really is. The last psychedelic trip I took was very interesting. I could see, feel and literally Be everything I saw. A rock, the wall, food. Everything was consciousness and I was connected intimately with everything I saw. I literally became that thing. Alas, explaining a trip to someone who’s never tripped is like explaining color to someone born blind. It’s impossible. But many might say, “Yes, but you were in a drug induced hallucination.” But no, it was a spiritual experience. Watch the movie DMT, The Spirit Molecule. Read how the Shamans used mushrooms. Catch up on some Terrence McKenna lectures. Better yet, take a trip if you’re an adult. You’ll never be the same again. (Don’t just find some stuff and take it, do it right, read up on it and have an experienced guide with you if possible. LSD is actually not the best for this, but it’s the easiest to get and will work just fine. Disclaimer: I did not just endorse hallucinogenic drugs, that was just your interpretation and twisting of my words. (Shame on you, implying and what not). :P

Or just start meditating, that is the slow way, but it will get you there. You will understand that reality is mostly made up of beliefs. Belief that an object is solid is the biggest illusion. It’s a mostly empty spaced atoms vibrating at a speed that makes it impossible to pass your hand through it. But it is not solid. And all ‘matter,’ including us, is connected to the invisible force I prefer to call Consciousness. There is no time, that’s also an illusion, a tool that helps humans function, but it’s not real. It would seem that Consciousness is flickering off and on, pulsating eternally, folding and unfolding into Itself, allowing us to experience that which is Ourselves. We are like a computer and Consciousness is like the server. We are like a virtual reality game. Reality too is evolving, and we will always be a part of it. Death is an illusion that only exists in the minds of the living. There is no end to existence. Don’t you think it odd that you exist right now, in this time, but never did before and never will again? It just doesn’t work like that.

Science and physicists know the nature of reality isn’t grounded in their fundamental materialism that they seem to be stuck in. Until mainstream science takes the leap and admits publically that there is a Force that animates us things will not change, but evolution by nature betters itself, so the time will come when we realize the system of fiat money and dependence on material things hurts us. It might be 10 years or 100 years or a thousand years. The reason the flimsy paradigm of science isn’t changing quicker is because of the fucking 5oo year persecution of the church. That resulted in science setting itself up us only materialistic with spirituality strictly taboo. Religion and science were once one entity. In ancient Egypt, they KNEW there was no death. They KNEW intuitively, from direct experience, not belief, that death was an illusion. They didn’t even have a word for death. The Hindus call the ‘dead’ the disappeared. They are still here, but their body has disappeared. The Buddha said everything is an illusion, the Hindus called illusion Maya. Mysticism and science do belong together.

To get your knowledge of reality from a religious book issued by a government for the purpose of control is insane. Words written by other humans are not to be worshipped. The meaning of the words have been lost anyways. The ‘Jew Peter’ is mythically ‘Jupiter,’ (and mystically something else long forgotten, or driven underground or out of existence), but it’s a form of chasing your own shadow. I.E. The statue in Rome of Peter is an old statue of Zeus, or Jupiter, right in plain sight and we don’t/won’t see it. Belief over rides reality. (Kennedy’s head went backward and part of his brain landed on the trunk, yet they say he was shot from behind AND called it a MAGIC bullet, and people believed). We really need to stop and analyze our beliefs. We can learn that we assign a belief to everything. There is nothing in our reality but beliefs, illusions, and not knowing this is hurting us, not helping. We need both a  spirituality based on reality and a “material experience” to be fully Human. Our purpose is to evolve and become Love. To realize our full potential, or better said, Remember our full potential, as it seems we had it at one time and lost it. That paradigm will come, I predict, when science makes that long awaited announcement to the public about what it already suspects.  Many PhDs are speaking out even now (but mainstream ain’t having anything to do with it yet), and their theories are harshly ridiculed by their peers. Stubborn and stupid, indeed it is. Oh well, it’s all in cycles. A circular circus. Like the snake biting it’s own tail.

Left Love

Alcohol-and-health_2

She left me for a liquid
Left her children
Left love
Love
Wrapped itself around her
Strangling her
Squeezing her
So she escaped it
To strangle herself.

Dying in insanity
And trying in vain
To beat the odds
And have it
Both ways
But the ruler rules her
And she obeys
The liquid
And it’s false promise
Of comfort.

Damage
Look at all the damage!
The lies
That result
When you follow your impulse
Instead of your heart.

Echoes

Echoes

There is a fog and dark grey skies,
A single tear drops from my eyes,
I step outside in my bare feet,
The whole wide world is out of beat.

Even the birds today don’t sing,
The phone’s unplugged so it won’t ring,
I sink in quicksand of the past,
And hear their echoes that still last.

I guess I’ll never understand,
Why you left with another man,
It’s strange that things turned out this way,
My butterfly just flew away.

I’ll set aside this day for you,
There’s nothing else that I can do,
I lean against a dying tree,
And wonder if you think of me.

We said goodbye so long ago,
I’ll wonder why but never know,
You meant so much to me back then,
I had no clue that it would end.

 

Red Light

Today I searched inside my mind,
To see what I have left behind,
Sometimes it’s easy to forget,
Or remember just to get upset.

I love the living and the dead,
And everything that’s in my head,
There’s nothing in my past I’d change,
(A few things I might rearrange).

I blaze the trail of my own past,
And see it in a new contrast,
If not for all the things I’ve done,
The me today would come undone.

This fear I’ll fall in the abyss,
Today I learned does not exist,
This temporary candy kiss,
Tastes sweet now as I reminisce.

Angel On The Beach (Simply Brown)

ma_bg
I lose my mind,
Almost every time,
Your hair falls down,
On you shoulders.

You’re so customized,
With sultry eyes,
Like an angel on the beach,
Hungry for a ‘true love’ feast.

You are a wildfire,
A woman child,
And laughter is your song,
With me you once belonged.

And when I clowned around,
It’s because I found,
I was so comfortable with you,
And so in love with you.

We once were interlaced,
Until I was replaced,
But always in my heart,
You will be a work of art,
Of beauty and brains,
That could never be chained,
An angel on the beach.

MENTAL BLOCKS

psychedelic-spirit
I built a castle with the blocks in my head,
A place for me to dwell till I’m dead,
And when I feel surrounded with gloom,
I’ll get more blocks and build a new room.

I’ve got to go slow though, brick by brick,
Working too fast can make one get sick,
I’ll use rainbow paint for the ceiling and floor,
With stereo birds and a waterfall door.

An indoor tree I can climb to hide,
And maybe a window to peek outside,
I’ll cut out a hole and put in a lake,
And hang up a sky in case heaven is fake.

I’ll sit on a leaf and travel around,
Going outside without touching the ground,
The wider my eyes the more I go blind,
Which fine at this time I see more with my mind.

To You … (Yes You)

You_logo_608
I laid my self down beside my self, and soon thoughts buried deep within came creeping through my skin, begging to surface. These thoughts, thoughts so engrained there are no words, seeped and creeped to the surface,  turning my body into transparent dots, separating my molecules and turning me into, well, I can only describe it as a kind of energy that allowed those things beyond words to crawl to the surface. The things that tickle my subconscious, and prefer to come out to play when I sleep,  filled my head last night.  To trick Zeus I pretended to sleep, so as to catch a peek of the creatures within.  And this is what I saw, and I swear upon the grave of Sir Frankie Crisp:

I saw that we are all so very, very beautiful, and not in some surreal and plastic way. Parading before my eyes, displayed upon the screen of my mind, were rows and rows of people, surrounded by a colorful sunrise and 1o00’s of trees so thick you couldn’t see the forest even if’n ya wanted to. And the curves and lines and shapes of us were wonderful and sexy and downright lovely. The girl who believes herself a bit over weight, her beauty shined on me. And not just  her inner beauty, although that’s a definite reality, but her outer physical beauty kept turning me on. A pretty lass with amazingly pleasing features. Easy on the eyes. While she thinks about dieting, I dream of kissing her. And I saw the intriguing beauty of people that are black, their curves and outlines and pretty lovely faces, just blew me away,  like a cloud of love, it just blew me away, man. The beauty of the boy with the too thick glasses, worried about his acne, made me want to reach out to hug his spirit. The girl with the small tits, which makes her feel so inferior, is a work of perfect art. The gentleman with the balding head. We are all so beautiful. We are songs and treasures, heroes we are. And beautiful beyond words.

My God! We are works of Divine art. We are all so beautiful!  As we look into our mirrors and see illusions of what we perceive as our flaws and faults, step back. Put down the mirror to see the whole picture. See it? Sure you do. You/We are beautiful people. (And the rest of my thoughts remain wordless. It’s an abstract broadcast of vibrations and taste buds and blurry sugar and apple cinnamon treats). And so now I think I’ll lay back down and put as much of the clouds into words as I can. I need to now return to that place between matter and anti-matter. I now understand with all my heart that everything is beautiful. Beautiful beyond words.  Every particle of dust is exactly where it’s supposed to be, and have I told you how beautiful you look today? You’re so beautiful. One can’t really help but to love you, and hold you, and embrace you like a chest full of glitter and treasures. Without you my life would be much less enriched than it is, my blessings would dwindle away.  Without a you there would be no me. My higher power, my God, lives in other people. I look at you and see Him/Her/It. Hey, smile. You look really beautiful today!

 

A Crack In Reality

Crack_in_reality

I found a crack,
In reality,
That shattered my dreams,
And scattered my thoughts.

Now I’m Free,
Like a cat in heat,
Scratching for treats,
I rip off my mask,
And bare my soul,
For the master key,
Of bohemian worlds,
To unlock my mind,
And widen that crack,
So I can see through,
Material things,
And awaken myself,
To let me see me…
Again.

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Tainted by sublime and superbly performed brainwashing, their minds were made up long before they created lies with their lips and eyes. Blinded to their deeply ingrained, warped and prejudiced programming, they make believe they are thinking quite clearly. Quite freely.

What a dirty trick they’ve played on themselves, for if you could dissect their thoughts with the scalpel of reality, and remove the clouds of ignorance from their mirrors of denial, the truth that they have been bought and sold would surely kill them. A pre-packaged bundle of perspectives, falsely labelled ‘free will’, that seems so real to them that they’re ready to kill for it. War for it. Die for it.

A glimpse of truth or a moment of clarity scares them into uniformity, where they stand in line and wait to be told what to think next. And that is their freedom. Freedumb. To stand in line and be told what to think, while waving an American flag made in China. Fools with no imagination. Particles of dust blowing in the wind, this way and that way. Anyway. The wind blows. Until they die.

Serial thinkers with no emotions, and without a clue they pass the disease to their children and say it’s free will.  It’s so unreal, peculiar, yet efficiently efective. Symbol minded people wrapped in flags of righteousness, and gathered into colonies to throw stones at anything that is different from them. They fear true freedom. They are feeling dis – eased, and they will beat you with a Bible Belt until you are just like them. Forgive them Mr Blue Sky, they don’t know what they’re doing.

Let the nonconformists conform with the other nonconformists, dressed in casual fear. Make the world stop, as if an IV of cement has been placed in the arm of each of the players. Standing stoned like marble chess pieces. Then suck their fictitious illusions out, and stir their spirits together, creating a blend of compassion. A hurricane of acceptance. A tornado of love. Blend. Mix. Becoming one race. The human race. One Self. Earthlings of Gaia. And with a mighty force let the Spirit of True Man and Womankind kind blow the chess pieces over and emerge their spirits in the crockpot of reality. Slow cook, melt, and blend. Reality stew, stir occassionally. Wait.

And when they awake, they will care for one another. They will dance in true freedom. Watching the lies dissolve and the hating stop. Let them marvel at the wonder that is Life, and let them share, like children playing with sea shells and splashing in the water. Butterflies.

“We share the sun. Let us share everything under the sun!”

‘call 911…he’s had to much to dream…’

(static)’is he down? is he dead’?

(starting IV)”rescue”!

…(static)…

Our physical life is a temporary experience that tests our souls in a challenging realm of great deception.

Forever Stunned

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I’m living on a lightning cloud,

The thunder strikes explode so loud,

And I don’t know what to do,

‘Cause all I do is think of you.

I look around but your not there,

I close my eyes, you’re everywhere,

I’m gonna be forever stunned,

Because I lost you, my dear son.

I know this void is here to stay,

I think about you every day,

I thought I’d be the first to go,

The more I learn the less I know.

This emptiness that makes me cry,

Will always keep me asking why,

You know I think it’s just a crime,

That I can’t see you one more time…

 

 

 

RIP Gary,  Son – 1975-2001

Free Zen

insanity

 
The world turns but I’m not here,
I really want to disappear,
I don’t know why I’m in the dark,
And don’t enjoy this cosmic lark,
When everything is said and done,
I try to laugh but nothing’s fun,
Why drink?
Why smoke?
Why take a pill?
Why try to hide if nothing’s real?
How do I cry yet not shed tears?
How can I face my phony fears?
If you were me what would you do?
Who would you tell your problems to?
‘Cause if I found someone who’d hear,
I know I’d talk then disappear,
It’s not my fault I’m not to blame,
I think I know it’s just a shame.

Static Quo

GNP.HOMELESS1.092609.RR

 

Static Quo

Lizards, birds and jungle snakes,
In hanging gardens nature makes,
Below’s a giant waterfall,
That never makes a sound at all.

Vultures circling like drones spying,
Flying, waiting for the dying,
Casting shadows on denial,
And a hungry crocodile.

The lion and the elephant,
Are dancing in a nervous fit,
This jungle of the paranoid,
Is hiding what it can’t avoid.

I stand here naked on the street,
Where the jungle and the city meet,
The homeless in their cardboard tents,
The rich surrounded by a fence.

The paranoia’s everywhere,
The sickness of it fills the air,
Perhaps these are just pointless views,
Distorted by the evening news?

Our love can make them go away,
The problems that are here today,
‘Cause what you give is what you get,
I haven’t lost all hope just yet.

Now and Zen

Spirituality-Reality-Check

NOW AND ZEN

Sneaking up without warning,
Another –
Tomorrow morning,
Yesterday is history now,
Let it go,
(But I don’t know how).

Surprises stored up for today,
Arrive on time –
Without delay,
Like in the middle of a dream,
Treating me,
To more ice cream.

Look around and see the tragic;
Or look inside –
And see the magic,
Man this is really quite a show,
That all began,
So long ago.

Everyone plays their part so well,
They’re just acting,
But I can’t tell,
Suddenly and without fanfare,
Day is done,
And I don’t care.

 

On The Track

railroad-tracks-35_4

 

I walk along old railroad tracks,
Looking ’round to gather facts,
For miles I admire sights,
I weather storms and put up fights.

The tracks will hide around a curve,
Like future things I can’t observe,
At times I feel I go astray,
But never really lose my way.

Sometimes the weeds will wrap around,
The tracks that stretch out on the ground,
And make it seem that I am lost,
And tossed about and double-crossed.

Eventually I know I’ll find,
My life was being redefined,
With no regrets as I look back,
As long as I stay on the track.

Playing In Dirt

From time to time I get the urge to write “poetry” or short stories. I haven’t shown them to anyone, so I don’t know if it’s any good or not. I’m my worse critic, that’s a fact. But what better place to try them out than here?

Playing In Dirt

The sky was crying on the ground,
That’s when I saw an angel frown,
She whispered that the things that hurt,
Were just like roses in the dirt.

This angel with a broken wing,
Promised to tell me everything,
I turned to run away in fear,
But stopped because she shed a tear.

I sat down where the roses grow,
And looked up at her brilliant glow,
I asked her how her wing got broke,
She seemed to cry before she spoke.

She pulled two roses from the dirt,
While both her eyes filled up with hurt,
She kissed the one without a sound,
And laid the other on the ground.

She whispered in her angel voice,
That roses really have no choice,
Again she looked at me with hurt,
And said, “people too must grow in dirt.”