Author Archive

Rambling Reflections

Posted: May 22, 2015 in "Unpoetry"

Packed prevent attack tacked on

Taste waste find friends bend not

Mend yourself tend to trite concerns

Lie your truth a mess test the list goes

On and on lasts forever tinker tell

Well right you might be you are wrong

So silently rank and detain file stick

Lacking in step lock your doors

Demand a tour round and rind real

Divulge peel ding dang strange Ralph

Linger tingle triangle whoosh liven up

Your Christmas tree gatherings with

Torches to burn them at the stake

Why not you are a good and

Upstanding KKK supporter,

You pay your dues,

You lynch right from the pew,

You falsify the truth,

You find a new way to justify a lie,

You run from the real reason

You believe the way you do.

Don’t we all? Well, maybe not,

But there are many like you.

They keep coming out of the

Woodwork around here,

It’s getting crazy!

Do you feel the tension?

Speak to me!

Tyrants and Tasmanian devil-

Worshippers contain a grain of truth,

But, no more, I’m sure.

We all grow apart eventually.

We all find other pursuits

To tickle our fancy.

I want to wet my whistle.

Let’s call a truce between the youths.

Let’s make up rays of sunshine Blues.

Let’s tease the bit of softening blows

To the head, the throat, the back,

The lungs. Where do you like it?

Anytime. Anyplace. Wherever it’s

Convenient, of course.

Democracy No More

Posted: May 22, 2015 in Poetry

Open brawls over political issues,

Discrimination justified by the state,

Bigotry disguised as morality,

Class warfare in every paycheck,

Every tax return, every law passed,

Every corporation exempted,

Every big bank profit,

Every new star of the fascist regime.

When will it all end, or,

Is it just getting started?

This game has gone on long enough.

Can’t people understand

That these things are wrong?

This is not Nazi Germany, after all.

It would seem that some

Would like it that way.

After all, didn’t Hitler

Consider himself a good Catholic?

The ways things are going,

We may just see the same type

Next election, in the White House.

Pitiful

Posted: May 20, 2015 in Poetry

Days fly by, faster than we can fathom.

Seems as though, we never catch up,

What seems important one day,

Is quickly forgotten the next.
Is there peace and rest for the weary?

Is there compassion for those in pain?

Is there healing for wounded souls,

Broken bodies, aching hearts?
Seems the world doesn’t stop to wait

For those who straggle behind,

Hanging on a whisper of hope,

Clinging to a hint of mercy.
Is there a chance for all of us?

Can we all rise to our potential?

Or are we lost in the details,

The number crunching, the cut backs?
Maybe our hopes must be exchanged

For less shiny, impressive outcomes.

Maybe, when it comes to the end,

We are not even remembered.
“Who are you, again?” they ask.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Oh, you really worked for me,

For thirty years, you say?”
“Wow, that’s a long time!

Funny, I don’t remember you.”

Yes, funny, not ha, ha.

Not silly, not kidding, not joking.
Dead serious.

What do we really hope for?

What is our goal?

If it’s happiness, we can forget it.

Bluesman

Posted: May 16, 2015 in Poetry

gsb3:

Inspiring thoughts about an inspiring man…

Originally posted on Poesy plus Polemics:

"B.B. King" Painting by Yuriy Shevchuk From redbubble.com “B.B. King”
Painting by Yuriy Shevchuk
From redbubble.com

(Regarding B.B. King)

wailing strings worried
by hard-living fingers
adroit at interpreting
pain giving soul-stirring
sound to men’s failures
of heart to the common
afflictions of spirit the
cry of dreams dashed
upon rocks of experience

oh what a sound a guitar
that would weep with a
purity like to no other

a voice coarse with gravel
and sand the erosions
of merciless time grinding
harshly on hopes leaving
taste of men’s troubles
to suffer the tongue
lamentations in words
turned to lyrics that sob
with regret for what’s lost

oh what a sound raising up
the low feelings of sadness
to high art unlike any other

View original

Sweet Addiction

Posted: May 16, 2015 in Poetry

gsb3:

So true…

Originally posted on Poesy plus Polemics:

"Coffee" Painting by Mark Kazav From artid.com “Coffee”
Painting by Mark Kazav
From artid.com

luxurious liquid

of mornings

a smooth silky brown

deep as pools of

Italian-born eyes

rich aromas of lush

equatorial mountains

a taste that transmits

to the brain

a warm wakening

opens receptors

to savory words

of an organic muse

here is stimulus

eagerly drawn

from the pleasure of

daily familiar routine

creativity found

in each sip

ingenuity plumbed

from each swallow

a gentle dependency

bearing the traits

of a vice that

by my lights

conforms to a virtue

View original

Tipping

Posted: May 15, 2015 in Uncategorized

Gala Baptist funeral dirge skeptic Apple life tied three
Loud lanky pissed-on camouflage tangled goose bumps
Trendy toppling cramps seaweed wise realms sagging
Bell bottom Sanka sweeping rowdy temple queens full
Filled to overflowing top of the mug shots simply rouge
Review rendered quack douche daring dimpled dead meat
Freed kicking you about three tables sinking envelop me
Wiring whacking me hurling mermaids freely queasy read
Rainbow tidy looming succulent saline restaurants slowly
Sinking sordid sweeping soothing weeping about me too
Steep Pete stand stiffly pleading for meager magnificent
Tricky sticky elbow sticky rude costly permanent tipping

SECRETLY A NINJA

Posted: May 9, 2015 in Uncategorized

gsb3:

This is cool. I can relate, though i think it is just a part of being human. At some deeper level, we all understand each other. Maybe, in our own way, we’re all ninjas. 😊

Originally posted on FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES:

what i mean to say is
that there’s this something
that lurks in on ya
and just sticks around
and you know
like
does stuff

it mixes things up
kind of
it’s just
it’s hard to explain
nevermind

okay
you know when
you’re at the grocery store
in the middle of the night
and everyone looks like zombies
zombies in pajamas and burkas
and yoga pants buying cigarettes
or a carton of ice cream
or trying to stealthily purchase condoms
from the self-checkout

underneath the fish tank lights
you know
security guard at the door
someone is pondering the mystery
of the gatorade end cap
anyways
you feel it then
that loneliness that makes you feel not alone
it tugs at your heart strings
and if you’re me you hurry up and purchase your
something stupid
maybe incense and toilet paper
or a lean cuisine
but you buy it all

View original 223 more words

Suicidal Child

Posted: April 26, 2015 in Poetry

Cold, sinking knife in my side…

I dream of an escape

Some way to soothe my pride

And the chill that begins

At the back of my neck

And proceeds down to my feet,

Tells me I am alone,

So, here in the dark,

I weep.

No comfort, no joy.

Nothing but terror and guilt.

I am just a little boy,

Forced to survive

Until the time comes

When I grow up

Or someone saves me

From this putrid cup

In which they pee.

And I must drink

Till it all is gone.

Violence is what I think

Can break this cage.

I will be done

With all the anger,

With all the shouts,

With all the hatred

Inside this house.

True Brothers in Christ

Posted: April 26, 2015 in Essay

“And every man is, to the Christian, in some sense a brother. Some are actually and visibly members of the Body of Christ. But all men are potentially members of that body, and who can say with certainty that the non-Catholic or the non-Christian is not in some hidden way justified by the indwelling spirit of God and hence, though not visibly and obviously, a true brother ‘in Christ’?”

–Thomas Merton, “Life and Holiness”

Contemplation and the Virtue of Love

Posted: April 26, 2015 in Essay

“…the true contemplative has no special interest in anybody for their own qualities, whether he is a relation or a stranger, a friend or an enemy. All men seem related to him and nobody is a stranger; all are his friends and none is his enemy. He will go so far as to say that all those who hurt and damage him in this world are his special friends, and he seems inspired to seek their good as zealously as he would the good of his very best friend…”

from Chapter 24, “The Cloud of Unknowing”