Monthly Archives: January 2014

Poem:

26 Sunday Jan 2014

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“Sands are Mine”

I left in dark, buses north
to Dolores de Hidalgo, named
in part for pain the other for the
Mexican priest who told the Spanish
to get lost in 1821.

I rode the bus, stopped off at a poor village
with old white chapel, smelled
trash burning, saw smiling faces
the poverty evident.

In Dolores I snapped photos of the
balloons, the many colors, the
town so different from San Miguel
whose wealth appears here and there,
blessed by tourism, a curse for some?

I could not ignore the need, stopped
by and bought a soccer ball, played
soccer with some kids near a church,
my ball stolen at some point by a large
boy, him running off as I watched and
wondered from the great steps—

I woke up next morning at dawn, poetry
had arrived, line by line in Spanish
and in English. It was an answer to subtle
but heartfelt prayers, Poetry had arrived
on my shore, the sands were mine,

rhyming with time, this was what it
was to feel need, write it down
and shine

Poem:

23 Thursday Jan 2014

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Mom Always Said

Truth is packaged neatly in wireless
LAN unaware of its speed.

We really can change the world,
Lao Tzu was wrong. Funny, he actually
wrote he was wrong in the first line
of the Tao Te Ching.

“Hear, hear! Don’t listen to this… the
true Tao cannot be written!”

The Name of the Creator cannot be used
in vain, call it YHWH, it cannot really be
said, there’s no vowels in it.

Moms are good for stuff like that, naming
the Earth and things what they are, this
is dust, this is dirt, this is…

Men take spiritual vacations but come back
to truth. Truth is a vacation, is horror, is
all things—

Women? Specks of difference had men holding
pens and apparent “power” so long, it’s
taken so much lungpower to blow
Vanity’s masculine house down to size.

Flames burst and find reasons to shine up
or down the stream of human grief. Nothing
is everything as we find Jorge Luis Borges lamenting
his use of words, calling everything fiction.

Dickens’s Gradgrind is yelling “fact” against Borges’
libraries, we are stacking up words like this
against loneliness trying to connect people
and ideas. To inspire by rhyming, the more
opposing the idea the more interesting the
rhyme!!

Have a good time!!

This life of ours at times turns on a dime,
and suddenly after hours of not being sure
we’re so glad we could be here, if only
for this one more day.

God says “hey! Pretty good, my people, I
would’ve been your king…”

But we kicked God out of number one, let
the Creator Herself feel the sting.
So far reaching is the planet of our
thoughts, that we must revolve them
around one sun,

I call it God, some call it God’s
son, so many do not speak my
Tongue, call Life death, turn on
said dimes, seeking a path not into
Mom’s heart but God’s running on
and on until satisfied with peace of mind
we further the chain of Life, death,

Honor our parents still.

“Long life depends upon it, Bill;” technology
cannot come up with a better pill.

Laboring, waiting like Longfellow implored,
the focus of Volleyball’s Karch Kiraly—

Commitment to One!!

I’ll take that over multi-tasking, Bottom
trying to play every part, for me forty years
of living ‘til I wrote with my heart.

Mom always said I’d find my part

Chess

22 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by in Poems, Poetry, Spiritual

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Don’t do, think, step back,
go for the best, for the enemy of the best
is a pretty good move.

Then see your error, your best move failed
this can’t be fair.

God’s weaving a masterpiece, a poem
for all ages,

The Devil beating a steady beat,
calling men and women to destroy
and be destroyed.

Confusion, the Devil’s game, rampant
in and out of doors as God provides
the steady, disciplined path of humble
supplication and joyful receipt.

The Devil picks holes in easy games and
lines of communication, convinces some
they don’t need Higher Power just themselves.

A “lower power” beckons strongly from those
drumbeats, we are lambs to its slaughter

Unless…

Unless we turn around, notice every day the
kit of tools given to us to relate with the One
and his or her divine plan, that poem
magnificently weaved and being weaved.

Check this out before checkmated, dive off
cliffs, rev up engines, speed down highways
listening to the beat.

You feel high beating the system until it all
collapses ‘round the telephone pole, fire ablaze,
bombs exploding you forgot to pray.

The best move: utter submission…

Then, then come strong knowing what’s in
charge, the game reverses, we’ve got a chance
not to win but at something greater:

Peace of mind that we played it the right way.

We can sleep on that soundness. That’s a win
to Devil’s chagrin we beat the beat and’ll have
to probably do it again

Powerless

22 Wednesday Jan 2014

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No hope it’s lost, I’m powerless
the end of ends—

the great beginning.

We have nothing, no real power,
hopeless indeed we are powerless against
the storm, the future, events, results.

We try our best and rest, we kick our
feet up knowing we left it all on the
court as the athletes say.

I used to be one of them, I tried it all
before settling on verse and words, this thing
we get a grip on falls through our hands…

We have nothing, it comes back to Step One
if alcoholic, the first three commandments all
point up at Power.

three steps, into the light, we can
do this first one perfect they told me
everything will be all right.

Perfect adherence, on we go to this sober
dance; confusion behind us, God above
Longfellow words with Borges singing truth,
Lao Tsu all of us knowing words fail but
we WRITE THEM ANYWAY!

So it goes with every move we make, up down,
left right. We know we have nothing, can do
nothing to change the world—whoops!

The world it changes; we claim our steak,
the world is in my mind at times, for that
we dream and sleep

Perfect powerlessness leading to power
received.

The Yin and Yang guys were right, it’s
a bobbing up and down proposition,
this life!!

When it bobs it might bob left, for that
I wait, “labor and wait” said Longfellow,
I think he was right