Monthly Archives: September 2017

Stockley Verdict, St. Louis – 2017

21 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by in Article, Blogs, Opinion

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A Poet’s Opinion

-by Bill Watkins 9/21/2017

St. Louis Police1

Having watched in-car video of the 2011 shooting, along with a bystander video of the events, and having read an account of the events and known facts from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch—recapped in a heavy.com news article from September 15th…

Here’s what I think, feel, and how I would have ruled—something I used to do when studying criminal law cases and decisions years ago, a self-study law review I made just to be a better person, and to know more stuff!!

Former St. Louis Police Officer, Jason Stockley, screwed up.

I don’t judge him, nor do I jump to the race card with what he did.  Being a victim of multiple acts of police violence and abuse myself, I see in Stockley’s actions typical thuggery and bad acting so prevalent in guns-first, think later cops.

But on December 20th, 2011, Officer Stockley was not the only person to screw up.  A suspect who would become the victim, Anthony Lamar Smith, was apparently dealing drugs, doing dirt—in the wrong place at the wrong time, with a rap sheet to match.

Smith, though a dad of a one-year old girl, I’m sure with good and bad in him—seemed to have the disease that leads too many of us into addiction and the trafficking of addictive drugs.

A lost soul, all the worse when cops roll up—AND YOU GET IN YOUR CAR, BANG INTO THEIRS AND FLEE THE SCENE!!!

Asking for trouble upon trouble, Stockley being one of those cops on scene to break up an illicit deal, it appears.

PROBLEM:

Stockley came to the scene armed with his own AK-47!!!  This is the first sign of unprofessional behavior, and also one of premeditation.

Officer Stockley presented in the video I saw a person looking for more problems than were there, seemed unsafe.

And now we move to a high-speed chase—a VERY unsafe practice through town, the officer’s SUV careening into a TREE before slamming into Smith’s car at high speed.

Next thing, police weapons are drawn, and Stockley shoots four or five rounds into a car, killing Smith.

That is always murder to me, killing is NEVER self-defense!!

(I am a martial artist, I know self-defense, and the goal nor the needs of defense require the cessation of your opponent’s heartbeat.)

That Stockley is suspected to have blurted out his intention to kill the suspect en route during this chase does not surprise me.

Mr. AK-47, a guy who shot at a fleeing car, saying he wanted to kill somebody sounds like all the same guy.

***

I will report now that at no time in my studies have I seen or felt an extra racial component to this, OTHER THAN THE OBVIOUS FACT:

We in this country have mistreated and abused Africa-descended people since they were brought sinfully in chains to the Colonies.

Until white people like myself make conscious financial, emotional and spiritual amends to black people, we will have too many African Americans in inner cities, tempted into living the kind of life Anthony Lamar Smith was living.

Those who dig into the surface a racial element here, reporting “White Cop Shoots Black Hero” are stoking problems, and are not attacking the problem’s root.

The incident is one of thousands that demonstrate a bigger need to make amends for the ancient second sin of slavery in the country, the first being the white man’s treatment of Native American people.

***

THE 20 YEARS sentence that I would give to Stockley based on what this poet saw and could surmise from what I know—is not because Stockley is a racist, but because he is guilty of certain Manslaughter;

Of making a bad situation of drug dealing into a far Worse one.

Of waving a personal AK-47 around on the job, driving at unsafe speeds, and of himself being a greater criminal than the one he was supposed to apprehend and HELP on December 20th, 2011.

Whether or not Stockley “planted a gun” in Smith’s car seems uncertain, although the DNA evidence, if true, seems damning.

Twenty years is what Stockley should have seen, so he can calm down and reflect—read a book or two, pray to God and ask forgiveness for the life of violence he had over time embraced leading to this tragedy.

To exonerate a dangerous person is wrong, and I feel Judge Wilson made the wrong verdict, based on what I have seen, on September 15th, 2017.

Reforming Ourselves

18 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, United Nations

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It’s not the ones we hurt who
are at fault and should lead the charge
at making amends.

Former slave traders and owners must
recognize a need to repair the abuse,
crimes and lies—

I’m talking about the “White” bloodline!

If your English or European last name
is donned by an African person, surmise
with me that slave-owning is in your
family history.

Join me, and push for a fund, level the field,
and give enough to apologize for the wrong,
donate money or even a song.

Just admit the fault with me, and watch
karma go up in this country!

“CNN Sucks” is the motto of a favorite
Trump supporter, retweeted by the
former reality show star.

The Twitter user goes by @Fuctupmind,
posted a GIF representing Donald Trump
knocking Hillary Clinton over with a golf
ball.

Excuse me while I mute the screen during
drug ads or anytime the supposed president
speaks.

Right now the Idiot in Chief is whining at
the United Nations to “reform!”

I am giggling at the hypocrisy, anyone from
the peace-hating United States with its covert
war operations and lust for world domination
through military intervention speaking to the
World Peace group held hostage in New York
about reforming.

Them reform!  “Be the change you want to
see in the world,” said Gandhi—but so many
people do not read but for the headlines at
Fox News, news reports that paint your
ideas in a good light.

History is boring, let’s pop some prescribed
pills and watch some TV.

Let’s hit up our doctors for more, I’m sure
I must have ADD, diabetes, cancer in my
membrane—I’m going insane, forget God
and real healing!!

Damn the side effects, I’m on this wide road
to Hell and I like it, it suits me, there is no
afterlife so don’t bother me!

After I hit some more golf balls, then imagine
hitting my enemies with them, I plan
to stop by the club and count my money.

Let’s threaten nuclear war on Twitter, then
go to the United Nations and preach about
reform, we’ll do lunch later—grab ‘em by the
pussy.

Never mind the Indian.  The treaty we broke
to kill them.

Slavery that built the south, was never
compensated for—let’s just pretend it
didn’t happen, train our cops to shoot for
the torsos, “immigrants” must go, which
is great for Native Americans who would
finally be left alone.

Reforming ourselves starts with me reforming
me; look at yourself and what could give
you peace of mind.

Unfortunately, some don’t change—yell their
right to be wrong from the grave.

Left with words and prayer, it seems insufficient
to remember a trail of tears, children bombed
in Birmingham, civilians mowed down at
Amritsar, India—an eight year old girl machine
gunned in Trump’s Yemen raid.

I love you, don’t get me wrong.  I love the child
within the Donald, the abused kid—brought up
racist by an abusive father.

Stand up with me, Trump—come to God with
me, climb the mountain that Samuel climbed
and withdraw our desire to have people leading
people,

it’s time to go back to God.

***

In high school, I was a manorexic hustler begging
for food amongst the rich, with no premonition
or self-delusion of future word surges about
Resistance and change.

It could be a case of Hollywood overreach, but
I dream of meaning beyond the surge—call it
a word Slurpee calling us out of our alcoholes
so Jacked the Ripper misses the glory no more,
mistakes are mistakes;

We sleep in the bed we make, the Last Gasp
of the racist white bigot hiding unprompted
under prompter prompts—a misprision of
Kushner debt, the Russians asking for sanctions
relief while sitting on Crimea’s face, Ukraine’s
base.

We restrict children from voting, even if they
know and care more than us, Hoover’s
corrupt FBI growing thicker by the minute,
even next to Comey apologies, there’s still
a little matter like, I dunno,

Killing Martin Luther King, John Lennon
and the Kennedy’s.  Anyone who got in the
way of profitable war by promoting inconvenient
Peace!

Girthy homicide leading to noise-polluting
planes, helicopters committing more crimes
for law than the criminals they seek, wild animals
running for the hills, commit suicide in the creek,
Freud’s id—

Say a prayer for our pilots, who thought it right
to fly loud and fast and high in the night.  Sunday
driving, polluting at sunrise, whatever I feel like
doing—it’s my world to lies supply!

F the bible, Tao Te Ching and the quiet, losers
all of them—I’m happy in my Hell!

So reform, all you sinners at the UN
who whine about world peace, follow
me, my hair and undisclosed tax returns
to the bank, bring a camera—a nuclear war
could be good for ratings!

I forgive you, Donald, but can’t speak for
God if you drop another bomb on suspects
of terrorism while they sleep, the eight-year
old girl you murdered redeemed in this
Tweet—

Call it a tweet storm, a moral sleet, hail,
Donald Trump, who was last chosen first,
God bless our abused and confused

on this long return to our youth.

Unjustified Homicide

16 Saturday Sep 2017

Posted by in Gun Control, Murder, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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There is never a “reason” to kill, only
sin and breaking the sixth commandment,
(if you’re into those) and if you’re not…

Welcome to Hell.

***

Raskolnikov knew it well, the Dostoevsky
character damned the moment he raised
the axe.

And the police officer does not need to be
ruled a murderer by a court to be that,
folks, the crime goes punished, I now
assure you.

It is wrong to kill—the ultimate judgment
of another human being as less than you
and not worthy to be here.

You are no one to make such a judgment,
police have no justification for murder,
not one, not ever.

The old argument was that if he had a gun,
I get to kill him.

I smashed that in another poem called
“The Old Argument,” look to non-lethal
weapons and real self-defense, yes the
kind without reckless preemptive Offense,
yes, the sanity and good actions that take
you to heaven.

Restraint, moderation, holding back and
humility. Restraining from judgment, from
rash irrevocable payback, you were scared,
pulled out a gun, shot, and said it was fine
because of your badge.

The “president” (not mine) talks of
“cowardly attacks,” the “losers” we created
abroad and at home that kill, created by
our judgments, our tweets, our covert
bombing in the night, extrajudicial murder
of suspects, and satellite targets in the street.

“Take him out” lauded and applauded in a movie
house as the Department of Offense kills
another suspect.

Nevermind the murder. Nevermind the family,
friends of the dead—never mind the rise of
worse terrorist acts in the place of your man,
“taken out.”

We need to think deeper, speak less, listen
more and pull the United Nations out of a
peace-hating United States.

That or hold God in our hearts, fire Samuel
and the message the Jewish people gave him
to have a king to be like other nations.

Make God our king (he or she’s already mine),
Bill Maher and other atheists neglected to
the dictionary read, where “God” is there in
black and white, no fight,

It’s a Good Concept, this G.O.D. if nothing
else, Good Orderly Direction and help for those
who feel a need to connect to a Higher Power
than me.

Believe what you want, think what you think,
reap what you sow and sow what you reap.

You cannot escape the punishment of killing
humanity, you can’t, you try when you tweet,
CIA bragging they can go where others can’t,
accomplished what others can’t—

like murdering our own president.

In 1963, we went from bad to worse, from
human elections to murder’s erection, the
sad transfer of power to the devil at the top—
CIA interventions.

LBJ a Vietnam puppet, a racist killer who signed
Civil Rights up to shut them up, who had to
put something on the board to hide his gory
sword, greed and gore, setting up a bombing
spell Nixon cherished, racism gathering steam,
gosh can we kill Jack Anderson, that kike reporter,
we’ve done everything else murderous and evil to
kill the American Dream!!

Hunt, Gordon Liddy and the boys from CIA, the
FBI under Hoover no peach, killing MLK and
Freedom of Speech, John Lennon in our
sights, Reagan must have a clear path to
murder all the kikes.

You can’t change the world, Lao Tu was right,
but you can try.

End all the violence in your own heart and
mind, that’s the real fight. Gandhi, MLK, from
Jesus and turn the other cheek.

Warriors without guns have the real balls on
the street.

Cowards you say. Cowards. Like relying on your
gun instead of your brain.

Losers. Losers you say. God bless you to
stop judging others, and I promise you won’t
be judged.

Until then, Trump, and all the bastards who
skipped the book in school:

Shhh! Stop talking. Talking without knowing
is for fools.

Take your gun and violent way of life, flush
it down the toilet, be a hero in Longfellow’s
strife, a poet in the night, be as the Arabs
who pack their tents at the end of a great day,
steal no more, Away!!

God bless us to books and what they contain,
Mrs. Chick’s effort, John Wooden’s peace of
mine, even his 2-2-1 fullcourt press if it helps
you with yours, mine is mine.

I love you in your sin, don’t get me wrong,
Cowboy, I was just like you.

I used to be a strong coward for the right,
in favor of dropping bombs on enemies
like they were not people, but flies.

I’m sorry to God for this, the LORD a great
forgiver if you give a chance, pray earnestly
from your knees, CIA, admit the sin, and see
and feel the pain no more,

Raskolnikov to Siberia but truthful, Sonya
loyal to his truth and sinning heart until
the end.

You ask why but you know—she sinned too.

We are nothing until we admit the truth.

50 States of Peace

15 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, United Nations, World Peace

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Alabama Alaska Arizona Arkansas California Colorado Connecticut Delaware Florida Georgia Hawaii Idaho Illinois Indiana Iowa Kansas Kentucky Louisiana Maine Maryland Massachusetts Michigan Minnesota Mississippi Missouri Montana Nebraska Nevada New Hampshire New Jersey New Mexico New York North Carolina North Dakota Ohio Oklahoma Oregon Pennsylvania Rhode Island South Carolina South Dakota Tennessee Texas Utah Vermont Virginia Washington West Virginia Wisconsin Wyoming

Love Forgiveness Unity Togetherness Listening Consensus Effort Courage Resilience Persistence Non-Violence Faith God Remembering History Education Lawfulness Gentleness Moderation Reserve Quiet Loud Freedom Willingness Openness Protection Tolerance Enlightenment Heavenly Giving Spirit Unconditional Responsible Acceptance Action Justice Equality Humility Truth Prosperity Righteousness Service Generosity Goodness Progress Striving Achievement Overcoming Victory Determination

1945:

WE THE PEOPLES OF THE UNITED NATIONS DETERMINED

to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, which twice in our lifetime has brought untold sorrow to mankind, and to reaffirm faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person, in the equal rights of men and women and of nations large and small, and to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of international law can be maintained, and to promote social progress and better standards of life in larger freedom,

AND FOR THESE ENDS

to practice tolerance and live together in peace with one another as good neighbours, and to unite our strength to maintain international peace and security, and to ensure, by the acceptance of principles and the institution of methods, that armed force shall not be used, save in the common interest, and to employ international machinery for the promotion of the economic and social advancement of all peoples,

HAVE RESOLVED TO COMBINE OUR EFFORTS TO ACCOMPLISH THESE AIMS

Accordingly, our respective Governments, through representatives assembled in the city of San Francisco, who have exhibited their full powers found to be in good and due form, have agreed to the present Charter of the United Nations and do hereby establish an international organization to be known as the United Nations.

1946:

Cloak and Dagger: The Unexpected Beginnings of CIA

Almost 70 years ago, in the blistering cold of a January winter, President Truman hosted a small, secret ceremony at the White House to establish the new Central Intelligence Group (CIG)—the CIA’s institutional predecessor—and to swear in Admiral Sidney Souers as the first Director of Central Intelligence (DCI). This ceremony, however, wasn’t like most official inaugurations: The CIG began its brief existence with a phony cape and a wooden dagger.

The office diary of the President’s chief military adviser, FIt. Admr. William D. Leahy, records the rather unexpected event that took place that day:

January 24, 1946: At lunch today in the White House, with only members of the Staff present, RAdm. Sidney Souers and I were presented [by President Truman] with black cloaks, black hats, and wooden daggers, and the President read an amusing directive to us outlining some of our duties in the Central Intelligence Agency [sic], Cloak and Dagger Group of Snoopers.

CIA Vision, Mission, Ethos & Challenges

Vision:

CIA’s information, insights, and actions consistently provide tactical and strategic advantage for the United States.

Mission:

Preempt threats and further US national security objectives by collecting intelligence that matters, producing objective all-source analysis, conducting effective covert action as directed by the President, and safeguarding the secrets that help keep our Nation safe.

****

We’re for Peace, but we’ll be keeping secrets.

We might take covert action, so United Nations
of the world:

Be on notice, as we host your meetings
in our New York:

We will do whatever we want, whenever
we want, invade Korea, Vietnam,
El Salvador, Guatemala, Chile—

wherever we please, whenever we
please, our capitalist expansion and
defeat of communism more important
than world peace commitments.

Love, Forgiveness, Unity, Togetherness, Listening, Consensus, Effort, Courage, Resilience, Persistence, Non-Violence, Faith, God, Remembering, History, Education, Lawfulness, Gentleness, Moderation, Reserve, Quiet, Loud, Freedom, Willingness, Openness, Protection, Tolerance, Enlightenment, Heavenly, Giving, Spirit, Unconditional, Responsible, Acceptance, Action, Justice, Equality, Humility, Truth, Prosperity, Righteousness, Service, Generosity, Goodness, Progress, Striving, Achievement, Overcoming, Victory, Determination.

The fifty states of peace are there for
you and me.  Wide is the path to
destruction, and many are on it driven
by fear and seven deadly sins, easier to
go with the flow.

To those on the narrow, where I
try to be:

All we can do is live well and point
out our joy, give to others and pray
for Peace.

The United States of Peace

14 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by in America, Apolitical, God, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, Political Satire

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***

We are powerless.

Upon the admission, some possibilities
develop, we get some momentum,
actually get some things done—a process
of emptying out to fill, erasing the chalkboard
to learn, preparing the flower bed, like
God’s great empty canvas in the beginning.

We ask for power or strength.

Samuel rises to the peak, asks God directly
for a king “to be like other nations,”
and although a Jewish story, I think it
applies to where we are politically all over
the world.  Our kings have let us down, just
as the LORD said they would!!

Peace and those who speak, preach and
take action to secure it—is a dangerous
endeavor.  Those who love to war, and send
their kids to the cliché that is college by waging
it: don’t appreciate the simple views espoused
by JFK in ’63, MLK in ’68, RFK in ’68 as well, then
look at John Lennon in the ‘70’s about to ramp
up against Ronald Reagan in 1980.

All murdered at the peak of their Peaceful
message to the world.

Don’t forget Gandhi.  He was an enlightened
man, trying to unify his country, tried to speak
the militant Hindu off the cliff of hate, and was
killed for it.

Those names, all of them: the greatest voice
for peace in the world on the day they were
murdered.

For that reason I wrote and performed
a comedy CD once, called “The Second
Most Peaceful Man in the World”—a dark
joke about staying away from the number one
seat, a sure bet to be assassinated brutally.

We are powerless.

Even those men of peace had no real
power beyond their exceptional education
and principles.  Somehow they got very large,
and at their largest they were destroyed…

Ideas live forever, if good ones, and so not
all is lost when triggers are pulled and
horrible acts steal our human heroes.

Ideas for peace—call them “states” that
must unite against a climate and pulse always
driving and sometimes so violent!

To know when to step back, breathe and
again admit total powerlessness allows a Power
greater than us to be in the lead, to accept
the cycle of life with grace and turn the other
cheek, to walk away from those who hate
you, dust off your feet like the Prince
of Peace would teach—

is good.

Walk away from the self, take and accept less
stuff, less food, less drink—enough being every
bit as good as a feast, Mary Poppins treats.

Peace is like the great hold-back, the space
between the thought and the act, the realization
that to do nothing is superior to doing something
bad—it all takes training, discipline, and the
ultimate awareness that no matter what we do
or do not do can range in import between
“no change” to Moving a Mountain from there
to here,

if we fast, pray and believe—your water
tasting like wine without the horrible
consequence of altering brain chemistry and
the relationship you try to have with a
jealous God not fond of sharing spotlights
with bottles of flammable liquid sold in stores
and on my TV as “drink.”

There’s nothing like a bit of throw-up in
the morning to help you kick bad habits, a
hangover in a jail cell, push-ups and sit-ups
by the side of the bed having overdosed on
what your father and mother did.

You honor them as best you can, because
you want to live a good, long life—keep the
sabbath day holy if Jewish, and if anyone else:

reserve some days, moments, years to honor
and remember Life and all we didn’t do to
make it happen.

“GOD” could just be Good Orderly Direction
for some, a hoax for others, but he or she
exists because it’s in my dictionary as at
the very least: Concept.

Other ideas for peace came from great
wars.  We had the Kellogg-Briand Pact
after World War I that no one followed,
leading to a second war, leading finally
to mass nuclear murder of Jews, Japanese
and so many other of God’s children no
matter what side residing in her seas.

Leading finally to the United Nations and
its proud World Peace charter of 1945,
signed by all “peace-loving nations” in
San Francisco, California—eventually setting
up in New York, USA—the supposed
Victors of World War II setting too many
rules, including:

The indoctrination of covert CIA two years
after the UN was formed, thus thwarting
World Peace covertly.

So often, and go ahead and blame Samuel:
The “United States” of America is not a peace-
loving nation, and should not be permitted
membership in the United Nations.

That we are allowed to host the group is
laughable, the curse God promised Samuel
about kings stealing and being corrupt coming
true in the red, white and blue flag draped over
President John F. Kennedy, murdered by his
own CIA.

Oh, I’m sorry that’s not admitted yet, the CIA
locked up the facts around that, the idea
of “classified” and Top Secret killing “democracy,”
that Greek concept in America too, a joke.

Earl Warren called himself a chief justice, while
he helped Allen Dulles cover murder, “national
security” a euphemism for “job security” amongst
the criminal covert underworld of U.S. war
perpetrators, AKA “the confused.”

I love you.

Don’t get me wrong, and that’s so much “politics”
that I’m apt to lose fans if I keep going there.

We’ve already done religion, so off we go to
see what other buttons are there to push.

Doesn’t sound like a peaceful operation, but
to tell the truth, I was the guy in the basketball
game “taking charges,” finding a weakness in
defenses, exposing them and pointing them out
to win.

And as you do, you make the other guy stronger
the next time.

That is what the drill sergeant does, I think, is
tear down to build back up the military way.

The beef I have with a military that is sometimes
a great example of team, humility and discipline
is that, quite frankly:

They are killers.

I like the sixth commandment, still, that Thou
shalt not kill.

Not ever.

Killing is the most egregious form of judging
your fellow human being.  I abstain from
judging to avoid judgment, loving others the
path to heaven so narrowly walked until the
right words find a page, your ears or national
consciousness that widen the road.

“You cannot change the world,” Lao Tzu
keeps buzzing in my ear, but then Wyatt
Earp springs up, a soul committed to action, to
keeping a clean, safe street on which children
and women could walk with their feet.

Helicopters and fireworks do not please the
LORD, I’m convinced, they are loud and causing
the deer and coyote where I live to retreat
so deep into a depleted forest complete that
I can only fight my peaceful fight,

the devil defeat.

*******

God bless the warrior, whose definition of
war is the flower sprouting from the seed.

God bless he or she who stand up to injustice,
who lock arms against the racist taunts,
the sexist remarks, the hatred in the air rising
up to create a moment’s high.

Read the UN Charter with me, raise it high
like lowly Bolivia—the last will be chosen
first, humility is good, America. Following
through on our treaties to native Americans
is good, America.  Paying African Americans
a stipend as amends for sin is good, America.

Good is good, the Commandments good.  Wisdom
of the ages is good, from Solomon’s Wife of
his Youth to Lao Tzu’s waiting until the mud
settled in the pool to see to the bottom,

make a proper decision.

Love is the golden rule, find it in your
heart, and forgiveness too.

But we are powerless.  We are nothing
without inspiration, and that pause that
allows space for prayer and lifting our
thoughts to a higher plain to assure we act
not just from the selfish Freudian id, but for
the highest, greater good

as Adam Smith tried, and John Nash did.

The atheist prays to no one, stands tall in
the flood, blames the levy and that’s okay.

Inherent truths rain down on the ignorant
and enlightened in equal spray, the first
being that words are fictions, never doing

justice to the essence of leaf on pool, the
dance of Spring following a harsh un-ending
swirl around the curls and furls of Winter’s
harsh breath, you’re sure of yourself until
a strange dream takes you somewhere else,

we bellow and yell at each other to change,
nothing and no one changing until close
to the grave we honor a fallen friend by
giving up the thing that we think killed them,

only… no one is dead that strove to spread
even the most benign cell of You, the beginning
of Truth trying to end not war but the disillusion
and ignorance that started it.

The falsehood of men being men by killing and
fighting other men is the same as calling the
boy queer for kissing Dad on the cheek, he
thought he was neat, we must listen to the
real prophets whose words mean something,
survived the ages to tell us something…

Moses, David, Solomon, Jesus, the Tao Te Ching.

Oh, you can close your ears and fight upstream!

You can invent the United Nations of peace while
you steal their wallets, plot to kill and feed the
festering fear of losing all your things!

I love you, even when you can’t do what
you seem to seem, God bless you even in the
godless hate that is a seed to the flame of change—
We will overcome our worst members when
we bow to hear their complaint, take a blow

on the cheek, cry a bit and kiss them back from
the grave of chance, the last dance of the
prophets of peace who were murdered while
their ideas inspired the next dreamer to
advance.

I love Bill Maher without the slicked back
hair, hungover or sick, calling out, we’d change
his diapers, get him water and wash his feet.

He rails at the Christian hearts that beat, and
we understand, because most of us too used
to engage in hate.

We want you in our army, Bill, and any other
soldier in heat, those convinced God is a made-up
game for adults to console themselves about
not being able to compete.

We laugh until the pot runs out, and there’s
a real lull and time to think.

We can live until we are abandoned at the
home, getting changed by strangers, or…

study the way of the 800-year old Jewish
man being “gathered to his people,” a glorious
send-off of “Thanks, Dad!” “Thanks, Grandpa!!”

Thank you for all that you did and do, you
will always be here in us and in our hearts,
we let you go, and you must trust us to
keep your dream alive.

And the old man dies, not a sad good-bye, but
more like a winning sacrament completed,
a perfect game thrown before the field is
for the storm upcoming sheeted, we call
it all kinds of disease and names, but so many
just living as zombies past their call to go,

hospitals getting rich instead of counseling
family members to whether alone or with
a minister bring out the red carpet toward
heaven and watch their greyed loved one
walk upon it, away from us to God.

Dying is living, the best part of us lives
forever, if that Mrs. Chickian effort we made,
if that John Woodenian peace of mind we
achieve, knowing we did our very best…

Whether with words, deeds or actions or
all three, the road to the United States of
Peace goes through your own little heart.

The focus there, the heart that cares, we have
a chance to spread your own version of
God both here and there.

God bless…..

Becoming Sexual

13 Wednesday Sep 2017

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sex, Sexual, Sexuality

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To know who you are takes years,
layers of who you are not shed like
clothes to get to truth’s bottom,

Even the socks come off—we start
with the physical, then the emotional,
then some get to the Spiritual, olé!

First there were those naked Barbie
dolls for me, even Ken got shagged,
what a thrill or rush in the shorts,

We had to hide their naked bodies
under the dining room table between
meals when no one looked.

The minute we were found out, a
sibling and I, we were reprimanded
for being human and never told

what the hell was going on with our
body, and our curiosities!  I used to
put sugar on my Frosted Flakes and

Fruit Loops, but that’s not important
right now, the next sexual escapade was
me checking myself out in the mirror,

wearing only underwear, I wasn’t fully
aware of erection, just a growing sense
of “what an awesome sensation,” so

I recall scheduling these mirror dates
every so often.  Jump to years later, after
chasing X-rated flicks on ON-TV with

friends or alone, uncomfortable boners
without remedy… it finally came.  “What
the heck was that,” I asked myself,

totally alone in these new experiments,
thinking for a moment that I may have
been the first person ever to, yes,

Break my penis.  Puberty for me was delayed
way past normal dates, I was old according
to most calendars to not know stuff,

experience stuff, but there I was having
heard about “wet dreams” and semen in
school, but who thought all that would

actually happen to me!  Especially, without
warning or my body or dad or someone
telling me!!  A strange sensation that first

time in bed, I thought I might burn off
my johnson, wind up dead—was I trying
to make fire from wood?  Basically… yes,

in a way, heat created liquid, and all did
their job, now looking back—but at the
time I thought I had a sprain, so went back

to it a few days later, let it out, then added
this event in some way to my schedule for
thirty years until recently, when I gave up

sex completely, so that I could be a responsible
human being, in control and able to
commit to one person for life, the dreams

and thoughts of love still arise, the body
still wants and craves, I just pray it out
and walk away, make a bunch of poems,

try to sell a screenplay.  There was a weird
time in my life going to 12-step meetings,
sexuality on a hold—I was a failure at sex and

intimacy with girls, a virgin until thirty-three.
It was cool and difficult when the valves
broke open, as humanity felt good, but

those meetings became a way to go for
chicks, I had lost an ability for platonic
female friendship!  Cool and uncomfortable

all at once, I learned the language of love
and got a few gals to bed, but as I said, I
am withdrawing my career so I can commit

to one, be responsible and not be that middle-
aged dude breaking up families and creeping
around, making folks say, “How sad, that guy

is a desperado, doesn’t he know he’s too
old for that kind of thing?”  And I say, “Ah,
man, are you saying I should totally put my

naked Barbie doll away?  Just kidding,” and there
you go, an amazing thing is sex and its drive,
I wonder how it affected and came to you,

for me it was a wild ride.  I do wish I had
had a conversation with a loved one, that
sex and love be celebrated not under the gun.

When I smiled at Anne, and she smiled back
I had family members at home laughing in
front of and behind my back—and that, people,

is the very serious note of this joke: Never
get in the way of someone’s love, be they eight,
four, fourteen or forty-seven years old, read

the bible—Proverbs and Malachi touting
the Wives of our Youth, that line could have
been for you.  We grow up often in ignorance,

going from flower to flower, forgetting to be
a follower of the Tao or God or tradition.  Some
have that, and are lucky for it, some must fly

around, figure it out for themselves, do
experiments like I did, survive.  There’s a better
way, I say even while grateful I didn’t die,

Have today, my favorite one, on the way
to peace of mind—putting a Power greater
than myself in charge of Sex!

Yes, it’s powerful, and fun and cool,
sometimes uncomfortable.  Make a prayer
and decide with God what you want with it

before it eats you alive like drugs and
alcohol, the diet of every vice, addiction
edging spirit out, selfishness killing our

children trying to explain to them not
love and sex.  But how your mom and I
transgressed God and vows, split up,

called it a divorce against reason.  Man
can’t separate what the LORD has bound,
so grab your private parts, pray, let go

forever and give them to Truth!!

The High Water Line

12 Tuesday Sep 2017

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Science

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I like to walk instead of driving,
look for solutions to today’s problems
in the rear view mirror of books,
hardbacks often hard to find but worth
the struggle.

We seek and find, ask and receive—if
earnest and caring, but so much depends
upon grace or luck, there’s a back and
forth play at work between effort, love
and achievement.

The wide path to destruction might always
just be a fact, the narrow to redemption
and heaven just there was well, Jesus a
“great”—but don’t call him a “good” teacher
unless you want a reprimand.

“You cannot change the world” said Lao Tzu,
“It cannot be done,” is so wise, and yet it
is the human way to try, try, try—for what
else is there really to do but try and be the best
we can be?

“To make an effort” was the reason for
being alive, according to Charles Dickens’
Mrs. Chick, a cool character in Dombey
and Son, which was really about Dombey
and Daughter.

Irony is the bitter pill, sometimes sweet,
like that black hole though—it depends
where you are standing when observing,
it’s all relative like the Water Line drawn
again after a storm.

You wonder if they’ll keep building under
it, or will they learn to respect the force
of nature that wrecks the coast, build
up and back from the shore, deny ourselves
beauty for safety’s sake, use the lessons
we learn from history.

CIA killed JFK, we still didn’t black people
enough pay, and the natives we pushed
off their land so we could frankly: steal
it for apparent gold, and the subtle peace
of segregation and walls.

Something there is that doesn’t love a
fire hose, children in a Birmingham street,
Gandhi grabbing salt from his own beach,
oil pipelines crashing into native American
drum beats.

It would just be neat, if the wide path narrowed,
the narrow widened—which is the exact
reason to get up in the morning and write
a poem, I guess.  Something there is, Robert
Frost on my window.

I look back, try not to get hit in the front,
try to remind us about Samuel’s request for
a king, the corruption that would come
from men ruling over men—it’s still here,
but that’s the world.

We believe what we want to believe, change
walking in bearing five senses if aware you
catch them; driving fast in a metal box you
might miss the message of a cross, and eating,
eating you miss

what the fast was trying to teach, take less
at the buffet, by bread alone man does not
eat, but from every word God speaks, the real
treat is peace of mind following your best
sober day ever.

Every reach is seen and counted, your every
hair a part of universe fabric as it bends to
accept planets and balls, spinning and moving
like sex parts or Niagara Falls, the Earth certainly
alive and well.

Sometimes it’s too hot, sometimes the wind
blows telling us we are not in control,
and scientists insist the temperature is rising
over time in response to irresponsible burning
and human waste.

I am no one to argue with career professionals
minus those who keep killing Kennedy with
every tweet on social media, all of us looking
to November every four years as the Mecca
of potential change.

I prefer to bend with every four months, a new
natural season unfolding seemingly more
powerful where I live than a stated political
goal unfurling in the calm, frantic waters of
history so deep—

So jump in, measure the place where we sank
after the swim, then don’t build buildings anymore
below the mark, so we don’t have to after a
hurricane do this all over again, same with
murdered presidents.

Keep score, mark what CIA said when they
blocked this, or hid this document, hold
each other accountable—don’t let the norm
be the bearer of false witnessing before a
court still reeling,

from the truth behind an M-16 waiting, we
dare you to look, intimidation sometimes
amuck, too much pressure mounting until
whoops!!  The dang levee broke, “We have
to fix it today!!!”

Maybe.  Or maybe wait, take deep breaths,
and hike up the marsh until it’s dry as a bone,
build there.  Look at CIA in the eye, give them
all a hug, and say, “There, there. It’s okay
to lie, and steal,

if you admit the sin, try to never do it again.”
And murder… sixth on the commandment
list of ten: admit, accept, and take the action
of change away from old habits, make a decision—
declare victory!

Come back to God, honor your parents whether
they were nice to you or not, they did their best.
Honor the Sabbath day, and keep Something holy!
Believe in a Power greater than you, keep
Something holy!!

Ask for Wisdom, like Solomon did, erect
your life strong and bright—just smart and
right!  Start by keeping an eye on the past
and what it teaches so fine; start by building
above the line.

Alcohol Baby

11 Monday Sep 2017

Posted by in Alcohol, Alcoholism, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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To live forty years in a haze, looking
back on superficial relationships that
crumbled under the slightest strain,

I look for “fault” like the rainbow her
rain, and I stumble on Alcohol, C2H5OH
ethyl, again and again and again.

I think it’s fair to say, that I am an alcohol
baby, am lucky to still be here, but while
some can point behind them to

relationships made, sexual experiences and
love, then to Now at children, grey-haired
husbands, heading toward grandparenthood

and heaven above:

I have my twelve steps, amends to make, no
child in sight, a virgin until thirty-three;
dysfunctional at intimacy, I drank alcohol

instead of expressing each feeling, the devil
within me living and breathing, since that
first fateful sip I wish I never took on Dad’s

lap at five, evil and all bad incarnations of fear
and escape becoming my day-to-day, thinking
all was fine as I stepped up to every sport (a

must-win), girls were not to be tried as the prize
was not in my eyes, everything was an achievement
to achieve, love no place to penetrate,

I convinced myself that tenderness was an unnecessary
dream, I’d get there eventually with the right
mix of booze, the right lie of fools—I had no

idea I was spinning a coil of pain, still uncoiling
today, fifteen-plus years after walking away from
the devil alcohol, what a horrible wreckage my past

is, full of empty achievement and missed love
connections, the glory of the young female body—
missed, maybe forever, as I gray and sag more

everyday.  Time doesn’t wait for the sick, and the
healthy move on to create the next generation of
what we make—let’s hope they stay away from

the flammable liquid that tempted me, let’s
hope they can avoid the suicidal depression that
almost killed me in my twenties; let’s hope

they put God and Love ahead of human doings
and “achievements,” which are nothing without
love and God to fill the cup of certain joy.

Love, sweet love, was not for me when young
and strong, body firm and beautiful—yes I used
to be!!  A body wasted to the alcohol chase,

fear and escape, having the love instinct but
squashing it under fearful feet, I was spiritually
dead, now look around the ghetto where I live,

and have not one single friend from the “good
old days,” because it seems they could handle
a drink or two and have nice families!

There’s no self-pity or sorry at this time, and if
this poem started to sound that way I’m sorry for
the confusion, as I would say that my feelings

on being an alcohol baby are good in that they
reflect proper, healthy Regret, one I can use to
teach any of the next generation I have contact

with, maybe even the children of my old friends
who avoid me, have no time for me, have no need
to pause for as they sign the chit on their

social club bills… Haha, what a thrill, until it all goes
away and you join me when alcohol sneaks
up behind you, keep an eye on your kids but

you first, show an example of what and what
not to do, rethink the drink of colorless, flammable,
volatile liquids, in fact I’d avoid it and feel all

your feelings a ‘natural—even the pain!!  Yes,
the pain, that short term kind, even the nagging
chronic variety.  Better to feel it all, than to run

away into your medicine cabinet, the liquor bar
going down in ecstasy, coming back in double-time
pain, headaches, bad tummy and dehydration—

Joy is dependent on pain’s triumphant overcoming,
so the next time you are tempted to flee your
life for a night in toxic “drink,” steer instead

directly into the storm of your pain, and welcome
that rainbow coming soon at the heels of
victory, joy does not exist without it, let

God instead of lower powers heal you, but in
the end, there’s nothing we can sometimes
do but try to tell the truth, recognize when we

were wrong, try to turn around, do right. Pick
up the disaster debris, and hope

To Love a “Terrorist”

10 Sunday Sep 2017

Posted by in Crime, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Terrorism

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Good gosh, we are all just people.
The devil loves it when we label others,
divide, divide, divide.

Don’t just call it a crime, label it something
that conjures a religion, ethnicity
or way that someone dresses!

The devil in love with division, so maybe
we should think of another way to see
things, this my intervention.

People are people—crime is crime, nothing
more or less.  Crime comes from Hunger,
Anger, Loneliness and Fatigue.

There’s no excuse for crime, but neither is
there one for Judging those who commit
it, it could be you—

If you take yourself out of your comfort
zone, try a day in someone else’s shoes.
I almost chuckle at the news,

who tries to figure out in a rational way
the motive for every single bad thing that
happens, a car runs into

a crowd, those reporters often trying to
find a “reason,” like it’s written in some
book!!  It’s not, I guarantee it,

Crime committed not a reasonable thing,
so let’s stop using our brain, switch to our
hearts, begin more giving…

More foreign aid, less judging—more Twinkies,
less bombs, revenge and killing.  “Terrorism”
starts inside of us, there

is sin within us all!  To not admit that, is
to keep throwing stones in Jesus’ face,
at this or that bad man or woman,

Inflating yourself in a high for moments at
a time, making yourself feel strong, amongst
all that weakness, it’s over there!!

Not here, with me, it cannot be, ewww!  Go
away, that’s not me, that’s you!  Ewww!  You
are the devil, never mind

Mine growing in me all the time, I am afraid of
difference and change, and so therefore
pre-judge in thought called prejudice

that leads to actions that discriminate, make
moves to further not love but hate.  We must
change, or just simply wait,

Lao Tzu reminding us we cannot change the world,
so sit back and enjoy what was made by Something
not us for us to enjoy,

or go on saying that it’s all us—we are the Great
Ones that live and Create!

That turban makes me scared, their way of life
different, a different book they read, oh let’s
start grouping that group,

Let’s after another crime, keep grouping that
group until we can “eliminate that group,” and
now you are Hitler.

I don’t judge Hitler because I am a man, and am
prone to sin, but I can note that there was a point
in his life when marbles got lost,

and in the wind of despair and confusion, the devil
told him to kill a race, and he did, and he killed
himself as the story goes.

AND NEVER FORGET TO COUNT AMONG THE
DEAD OF TRAGEDY THE PERPETRATOR OF
CRIMES WHO END THE HORROR BY KILLING
THEMSELVES.

Their loss is sad, too, and if you cannot say that
I can only hope you change and pray for you.
All life is Life and valid,

It’s best to pray for and hope for all mankind to
thrive, win and love.  So while today I wear my
“Resist” T-shirt, and hope that

Bob Mueller gets somebody or other, I still root
for the orange haired man called “president,”
that God touches his life,

that we hear truth, but I do not hold my breath.

Since the prophet Samuel asked for a king so
that the Jewish people could be like “other nations,”
we’ve been in a freefall

of bad kings, leaders, false prophets and presidents
pretending to lead other people—people leading
people, the blind

leading the blind into a ditch, over the falls,
into hell, the garden of weeds, the plastic ravine,
laughing all the time,

might be God above who told us the king would
make us want to whine.  But we cannot go back to
God with words now,

The actions we take, the only way back to putting
the LORD first, judging people not… so that we may
avoid the harsh, deserved judgment

of more suicide bombing.

The waves are upon us, the storm surge reaching
twelve feet, an earthquake to the south, and we
try to hold on to our kings,

Try to with God, Higher Power, Creator compete.

We cannot.  So judge not, lest ye also be judged,
and if the press should at the “terrorist” throw
a stone, even say “coward,”

or “loser,” indeed, let’s keep our heads down,
pull another weed, our own garden needing tending
more than the community pot—

bitter leaning.

God bless us to truth, and the truth is we are
human beings (whatever that means).  Fallible
souls, scoring goals,

with occasionally since David, a beautiful song
to sing… Perhaps we can be silent until one is in
the offering.  I’ll go get some instruments,

give a song to the “terrorists” making snowmen
in the snow, trying to get a good signal to watch
a favorite show.

Ahh, they like to laugh too.  They are not “terrorists,”
unless we all are.  We are all people, dust in the wind
of a hurricane’s star.

We are all people.  Hear this, the call to you—be you,
be you, be the best you and forgive acts of hate
that could have been yours

if in their shoes you walked a day.

Peace!!  The rainbow lacking judgment, of the rain
that pelted the shore, it does not ridicule—the colors,
but reigns its shadow like love

and joy over past’s hard pain.

Grow up, we are the Same.

Helicopters and Hurricanes

08 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by in Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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The power of God, natural things, Earth
is nothing to the loud player of God,
revving and burning earth, running, driving
around—even “flying.”

No thought to the deer, the coyote, the birds
in flight running scared—the human mark
is felt, we have forgotten our place on the
ground, where spirit soars.

We want larger, bigger, and better, then hand
power over to the violent—uniformed police
and military, “make us safe” at any cost,
bullets to the torso, sirens and noise…

Boys will be boys, girls girls, Something there
is that suffers under the engines and rotors
of “progress,” the cement, asphalt and sky-
scraping truth of Hell planted in soil.

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
people too—too hot for me and you, “To
serve and protect” an expression neglected
on the firing range, as boys learn to kill,

Call it self-defense, put on a vest, say “we’re
keeping folks safe”—even Saving Lives!!  I say
that God saves on the phone line, hang up
with watch commanders, whose minds

are set on killing peace.

I thought cops were “peace officers,” but
how could they be with all their noise?

Shhhhhh!  Be quiet.  God’s at work, think
of the deer.  Shhhh!  Be quiet.  Act like you’ve
been here before, apologize to Mother Nature,
let’s change, go back to God.

Shhhh!  You want to make sounds, sing a song,
find an instrument, play like David did for
praise and love of life!!!  Be a hero in the strife!

Let’s harken back to a better time, I’m not
saying it’s all been bad but helicopters should
be scrapped—they do not please the LORD.

How many times does God talk through wind
in trees, the birds and bees, and we crank up
a huge engine, do whatever evil we please.

Putting yourself first can go along the road
a while, but there is a point at which the
selfish life fails, that point when news choppers
hover over my house, and I ask them

“What’s the deal?”

Really??  You call this news service, getting us
stories on our TV, that’s worth WRECKING THE
PEACE for miles and miles, I say it’s not!!!

Stand with me, it’s not!!!

Shhhhhhh!  Be quiet, so I can hear the LORD.

Shhhhhhh!  Earth is the right place for love,
haven’t you heard?

Robert Frost was the worst farmer in four counties,
but man he had peace and with a pen knew
what to do with it.

Mind the deer, the buck playing with cheer,
antler on antler, gorgeous hillsides teeming
with life and quiet, giving birth to the next
generation of joy—

that horrible, grinding, yelling buzz of choppers
and their engines, go away!!

Pilots, heal thyself, and come back to sanity,
to walk with me, get out of even your cars, use
your five senses, put your muscles into motion,
stop earth-burning and propelling to use
the machine God gave us, perfect and clean.

Okay, so we’re not always clean, but you know
what I mean…

We’re better off as king of animals, not the sky;
give the sky back to Peace, do it before of
noise pollution we surely die.

Uniformed excusers, you are not saving lives,
you are shutting joy out of life, put rubber
bullets in your chambers, start to live by ten
commandments, the sixth not to kill or murder,

we can turn this “progress” ship around, make it
work, our best qualities undress and give before
we scare the next wild animal clan extinct,

lost to the map of life forever…

Manly men, sports and alcohol, we’re so tough
we don’t need you all—off we go, above the earth,
“we’re saving lives” while we kill the peace, it
makes no sense, nor dollars—

heck, crown Mike Pence!

Fire Samuel, make God our king, we need to live
quiet as deer if we want to protect the land to
keep them here.

In native language, my name is Naked Horse,
I reach out to your spirit, save your soul, come
with me, save the trees.

Leave the heliport, to Police I say “Turn it
all into a foot patrol station,” come out to
schools, teach about law and put your lethal
guns away.

Shhhhh!  Make no noise, walk slow and soft
over leaves as you approach, and the buck,
so pretty in the muck, will find his dream
like yours here on earth opposed to fear don’t
duck the humble needs we have, rest in the
mother’s arms, the dirt our home—our friend,
fear it not, return to peace, return to love,
the deer at play, the seer finally saying what he
sees:

Shhh!  It’s a deer crossing; let’s welcome
peace back in our day!