La Clave


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Ser honesto, la clave, el
primer paso al cielo
empieza con el viento
de no andar con vergüenza.

Trato esto, trato eso,
trato algo bueno pero
yo sé que en un año,
se puede ser algo malo.

Yo soy poeta sin casa
hasta me abraza aquel viento,
una lancha abandonada
en el mar de extremo.

Aquí estoy!

Mi corazón tuyo un día más.
Mis letras de Dios cuando
me levanta para vivir,
trabajar y disfrutar este día

en paz.


A Buffer


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Between me and love and
hate is a song of sweet nothing—
as in nothing without a thought
to God is complete.

You don’t have to call your
highest high that, call the power
that keeps you sane and
inspires what you will.

But call on it, and call on it
often!  Call on it before doing,
saying any single thing!

Because if you think it’s good
to act by your first impulse,
you will miss the golden rule,

act from lower, base instinct,

setting the bar so low, you’d
think the walls had closed around,
said in somber tones, “Clink.”

Life is real, life is earnest,
and the grave like Longfellow said
is not its goal!!

So ask God for help, change—let
go your way, pick up a code
and live the way of the ancients
plus your own invention, your

your gift to give the world, be they
children, magic or a way to
feel good while serving others
and making children laugh.

Praise God now, and abandon
the death march today…

Head for the light, be there
and pitch it to others; be a guide
in your humble search for Right.

Prayer for Donald Trump


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Love Donald Trump and all
his supporters more now than

Grant us all peace.

Especially the deceived, the lost;
the hateful and the spiteful.

Help all to know that fear
and weakness is at the core of hate
and violence.

Grant Love in the place of fear.

Help us to conquer self-will, to
replace it with your perfect design!

God bless Donald Trump.  Replace
the coldness with warmth, the
indifference with care, the golf
balls with real testicles, real feeling

and loyalty not among men and
women but to You and the teachings
of your Son, the native Great Spirit.

Forgive Trump his sins.

Forgive his supporters and their
neglect of traits like humility and
brotherly love needed to gain Heaven
at the end of this earthly walk.

Infuse Trump with your godly love
and spirit, one day at a time, so
that he may transmit that love to the
forty percent of Americans, ninety
percent of Republicans, who would
seem to follow sickness into the jaws
of death, a Klan rally, the pit of hate
we had thought demolished with
V-day 1945, and the founding of
the United Nations, soon after its
statement on human rights, Eleanor
Roosevelt a believer in peace, JFK
until his death, a final thought for
CIA who killed him.


We’re All Up Here


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At that time the disciples came to Jesus
and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in
the kingdom of heaven?”
He called a little child to him, and placed
the child among them. And he said:
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and
become like little children, you will never
enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore,
whoever takes the lowly position of this child
is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
And whoever welcomes one such child in
my name welcomes me.


Jesus touted children.

Painted life a journey to discover
the one within us;
when discovered, ahh!  There you
are.  Like a Moana song, there
is your path, your best you…



Native Americans often pointed
to elders, at the other extreme.

Kids could not talk in groups; elders
with priority.

Shhhh.  We listen.  Listen to God,
the Great Spirit through an effort
at silence.

Breeze through trees, the leaves
a dance against the face of
wisdom, yielding a trickle-down
Reagan and Bush would envy.

The peace of streams.  That and more
we left behind when we sold all
to build our cities.

I Find it Fair


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Life is sweet, no matter
what a pessimist may say,
over the rocks, poor me over
a drink of scotch on the back
of a bad bender on a perceived
bad day.

God will overcome, if we cannot,
and if “God” is a four letter
word to you—

re-count, there’s three, and
look the word up in your
nearest dictionary.

God bless us to smile and take
it in; when we get hurt to turn
the other cheek, but hope
we don’t get hit again—

this thing is lighting me up!

Life can be everything we ever
dreamed of, perfect!

Wet in sun makes the flower
grow, apples know, avocado
in Spring needing sunshine to

this cycle repeated, the over and
over game of batting eyelashes,

sporting moves, jumping fences
to land in park benches, drawing
hearts in the sky, so we can be
the coolest guy!

“Tell me more, tell me more,
did you get very far?”

Not until I stopped dying, stopped
drinking flammable liquid long
enough to—yeah—look it up
on Google—

It’s flammable!

So why…

put it inside?  Me?


It’s fair, this life, between the
pipes, one two three, Jam-
Master Jay Run DMC.

Hope to live, flip death with
a smile that lasts forever in the
eyes of the young ones who
long past you survive.

They take a peace of us,
a song we sung, so sing it loud
for the band’s begun, God is
what God does, and so far so
good we reap what we sow,

the atheists know, it’s a wordfest
doing our best, Kelly Preston
helped me write this—

Johnny Travolta disco danced
a smile on my chest, a cross
that’s blessed, a total to the
equation that means two plus
two does not always equal four;

it depends what you’re adding,
Love the final ingredient to any
good cooking.

Don’t forget to thank the wind
for blowing your leaves around, Dad—
reminds us we’re moving and that
Seasons happen, the pain changes
to rain changes to the colored
‘bow, snow to skis to Riddick Bowe.

Life is a fair fiddle, it plays
the notes you command it to play,
unless the storm comes in,
pretends to ruin your day.

The Zen master says “We’ll see,”
so listen, wait, allow the Earth
to move past your current pain,
without it no joy at overcoming,

no rainbows, no flowers, no trees,
no peace without war, nothing.

Which is… everything.

Borges turns again, we’re free.

The Mass of Things


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The sky with earth, clouds keeping
it tight, swirling day and night.

I did none of this, but responded
when made with breath and…



The mass of things that made us;
the sign of times that create us—

Songs sung in gratitude for the chance
to dance, wide open or by the fire
of a closing stance,

no breaks for the wild world, only
thanks for the mighty swirl,

those things—all of them—I did not
do to deserve life.

It was given, a simple gift; we walk
by the river or lake, must seek a good
life to make it great,

True brilliance not from me but
grabbed after pausing, lending
children a hand, starting a new band,

whatever I with God on a daily
schedule think to make.

It doesn’t always go my way, but
smiles happen when I anyways

Gratitude is the key to health, and
when we speak health we receive
it, ask Mary Baker Eddy or better
yet the positive prolific poet
named Ella Wheeler Wilcox!

Hers are gems for the man or
woman trying to find their child

The way to heaven not for men
and women but girls and boys.

You’re eighty years old?  Where are
your toys?

Smile and play, now!  Thank what you
thank, and pray thanks for now!

We did not do this!

We did not put this mass of things
together, but the wise among us
know how to thank for it;

So thank Something for it, make
a great day happen—forget the rest!

Sing a song that’s within from heaven
to your chest!

Give your life to a higher Power,
I call it God, you call it what you will;

to disagree with trifles is a bore,
and to smile and have fun is best.

History Knows


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We’re obsessed with now.

We’re so sure of our reports, that
this or that thing caused this, and
it all happened this week.

The shiny balls bounce, “Trump
is tweeting again,” but history knows
why he is.

What is a Trump “president of the
United States?”

First, the States are not united,
all of them pulled together and
over the years have bullied
minorities, starting with the
American Indian, then of course
the African slave, then the
freed slaves, to name a few.

“United States of America” declares
itself so, historically, as a bastion of
hope and freedom for white males.

European people.

Next, we fought some wars, replaced
the sixth commandment with the
second amendment, made killing

We killed and killed some more, got
good at it, and prided ourselves in
winning wars, winning territory, often
overlooking original sins against black,
brown and other people—

the “country” had an official line,
ones drawn by…

White males.


So we fought World War I, jumped
into Europe, played hero and “won.”

Instead of being humble in victory,
and mourning all the dead on all
sides, we raised our hands and did the
flapper dance for the next decade—

most of it all over the German people,
who we made pay for starting that dang

We could have graciously helped them
to their feet and forgiven them, but
we drove the stake in hard—

enough to create Hitler and a backlash
good enough to start another war,
and the Jewish holocaust.

The United Nations formed after
World War II, and unlike the Kellogg-
Briand Pact of the 1920’s, this world
peace gig seemed like it could really
work until the American government
ratified its CIA, who along with other
nations kept waging covert wars
behind peace talks.

Shaking hands with the right, stealing
and killing with the left, hiding
documents and lying in the name
of “National Security.”

“Everybody’s doing it” was surely
put forth as they gathered on the
White House lawn in cloaks and
dagger outfits, a ruse of not-so-
funny don’ts and do’s in front
of Truman, Eisenhower then
Kennedy until they killed him
in 1963.

CIA kept its rule of the USA until…

the present day, but the leash is
very long, you might not notice them
unless you loved the Kennedy hope
of the ‘60’s, miss it, and miss truth.

JFK wasn’t perfect, but by ’63 had
grown into a man of peace, amends,
just a little naive on the power of
covert ops and the growing target
on his back.

“They wouldn’t do it, would they?”

They did it.

Cowards from behind a bush, covered
it up just as in Latin America they would.

A pattern attack, this time in our
own land, Julius Caesar by Brutus,

JFK by CIA, Howard Hunt and all those
ticked off Cubans killed or captured
or wounded when Kennedy balked
at helping take the Pigs’ Bay.

But did all that make Donald Trump?

Not yet.


Look at Cold War, from Kennedy’s murder
to Vietnam, the CIA’s baby, the path
clear with LBJ, then Nixon to execute
this impossible but profitable fight.

(At least our families are eating?)  Wide
that path to destruction, and boom!

The “American army” blowing a darn
good path through Southeast Asia!!


But we “won” the Cold War!!!


The wall came down in 1989…


A good day.  A great day?!?!

Make American Great Again?  Reagan
says, “Yes, We Can!?”

Or was that Obama?  Definitely this:
Clinton and the Americans rubbed the
victory in Russia’s nose, and like in
1930’s Germany, we had created
another villain.

This one, named Putin, rose and rose,
and rose some more and again, until
he rose to a place that he could
get his sweet revenge.

Put Trump in the White House; put down
Hillary Clinton and the U.S. dance
with Global Authority, democracy and
another frickin’ flapper dance across
a fallen enemy!


History knows, even if the news does
not, why the news is crazy, sad or
weird today.

It’s none of those things, but is a perfect
growth of history’s seed.

We planted everything that is reaped
on TV today.

Mothers and babies separated at the border,
the UN reprimanding the USA!

Puerto Rico shunned and neglected
by a racist regime in the USA!

Putin smiles, a short-lived win,
revenge is sweet, the games may

Politics and history lost in the eyes
of a child, God’s will charging on—
the aware forging a narrow path,
Wyatt Earps, Bob Muellers, Truth
and Comey with your morning coffee—

John Adams against the Hamilton
frenzy, Lao Tzu and Jesus himself
offering truth against all this hoopla
walking around the White House
dangling pardons and tax scams.

God is good, Trump is not, but seek
history before you judge him or
the present moment too harshly,
for history’s to blame and they are not.

Just a Tree


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You look up from a rut, or a
pattern, and you notice the
beauty of a tree.

It feels good, the neck stretched
like branches, the blue of sky
broken by leaves, you douse
it all with your hose,

the sparkle of the tree!

We aren’t the only ones here.

Humans are one of many
living things that give the LORD
cheer.  The atheist closes the book,
let’s try to gather—don’t go!

Call great feelings and inspiration
any other name you choose.

What makes you smile?

Ahh, that’s it!  That’s what I
get when I pray to a higher power,
when I let go perceived control,
and know I am not in charge
nor able to secure results.

I can try and try; then I can
live or die—all a choice in the
garden that is life!

I “choose life,” to recall a Scottish
film with a guy named Ren,
who was hooked on death to
avoid the day to day of what
others did.

I choose poems!

I choose art, then go out and
admire God’s.  Yes, God’s—
the name I call the “Whatever
it is, I didn’t make it but it’s kinda’

Call it Jehovah!  Call it Nothing!

Call your best feelings your best
feelings, let go of the hate that
broods for long enough to consider
the tree that leans into the
sun, never judges, accepts and
hopes for the best.

Lifting the Shroud


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We grow up unaware—

Especially those of one silver
spoon-fed table or another, it’s
not about the money or ease only,
but about the hidden pool of
vomit under the Christmas tree.

Alcohol is a good hider.  Wealth,
too, anything like “false gods” and
false hopes that lock us in or
addict us to something untrue.

We curse a lot, those especially
from the east who came west
to steal native land.

They did not curse, the natives,
the first peoples living simply
with God on the ground, Nature
their supplier, one day at a time,
a task or two to do.

Nothing ever changes, but if you
try hard enough, you can leave
the human race.

It starts slow, by setting sail from
a homeland without first checking
motives with a decision-helper like
prayer, meditation or even the
advise of respected elders or
medicine men without the dangerous

Peace was there, but adventure lacked
and the disease of more, of wanting
to be famous and rich—

pervaded until in armor we showed
up to take a land by force.

Cursing we brought with us, disease.

Ingratitude for the land—nothing was
good enough until we could bring
gold out of it for money, it seemed.


None of these thoughts occurred to
us, who went to private schools,
played in private sports clubs,
sought junior championships in
sports, and cursed our way to
apparent blessings like college
(false god) and other ways to live
apart from God, nature, and the
healing ground.


We laid cement down, crushed
the glorious rocks to pebbles to
pave our walk.

We burned Earth, traveled fast
past most of our senses’ need
to express or feel, so that unaided
by alcohol or drugs we could enjoy
life on its terms—

just as it is.

We were clueless.

Holding trophies and prizes up
against our ancestors’ lies, the
lies told to native people, slaves
we kept to build our lives.

And we kept going, because to
go back now seemed like an
impossible work, unless…

Unless you found Alcoholics Anonymous
or some other program that okayed
and even encouraged a look back
to make amends for wrongs done.

We look back enough, see and admit the
faults, that glorious destination
called Peace of Mind awaits a quick
jaunt back to fix, apologize, maybe
even return to the homeland to
stop cursing, start blessing
ourselves and this one life given
to make a crooked childhood straight,

the path to Heaven’s gate.

I Like Life


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Just as it is.

It needs not our sour rot,
the grape is better than the
wine—a reason they call war
trophies spoils,

the disease of more plundering
the till that is perfect as is,
Lao Tzu’s quiet, uncarved block.

I like Life!

Sunshines and rays against the
mist making ready rainbows of
our worst rains and pains…

I like life!

Just as it was; God, Higher Power
the mantra hated by an atheist,
his or her right but look not to
altered states—

Put up a fight!!

Do not say good bye until true
fatigue sets in, the eyes close
in a smile—

Good night!

I like life, citizens of Rome, nothing’s
wrong until we think too much,
adult games forgetting that philosophy
that to get to heaven (peace of mind)
one must be like a child.

I like life—

Calm in the middle of strife.

The worse thing that can happen
often out of our control, ask
the powers above for Wisdom,
be like King Solomon and grow
very old!

Not 100 years like today, but
hearken back to the Old Jews’

“He was 946 years old, and was
gathered to his people.”

I like life!

Sunny, rainy, put up a fight!  Sing
song, God, good, no?

Rain.  Sunshine.

Bow.  Rainbow?  Fine—the end?

no.  Beginning?