Death is death, life life, good
and evil separated by clear lines
of wrong and right.
White coats, science, voices of supposed
authority rise against spiritual tides,
seek money, material, a “living” telling
with authority patients things like:
“You are dying. You need me. You need us.
Pay me. You have insurance, pay me more.”
There is real expertise here and there,
and when I get scraped I seek a bandage
like the next guy.
It’s just that God, not white coats—is in
charge of my life.
The CIA killed JFK, Oswald the cancer
diagnosed by pro-Vietnam anti-Castro
killers prepping to take Cuba back for
Cancer is a myth, complicated diagnoses
for pain, misery and death.
Disease is mostly for the rich, the idle,
for folks with money and time to sit around
The poor lives or dies. Wake up or not, are
grateful if awake in another day.
Blessed are the poor, cursed are the earthly
rich; not until we give up our things can we
I missed the president’s speech about tax
reform, as I was dying in a flood, believing
men can rule over men justly is a moth to the
flame, building homes below the high water
line, but oh what a great view!!
The customer is always last, big corporations
like Verizon and Bank of America taking a pass,
weapons used by cops to kill, never mind the
sixth commandment and my PTSD.
Fireworks boom, we love war then host the
United Nations dedicated to peace, their
charter an ideal impossible to follow while
CIA and FBI tail your car, steal your wallet
and set up murder.
All in the interest of national security, God above
waiting for “them to come back to me…”
Polytheism spreads, each “tumor” spotted we
bow and pray to, sign up for more meds, the
insurance company expanded its drug program,
Hey doc I see a pretty one on TV, will be sure to
take away the pain.
Red ones, blue ones, pink and red—this one’s
for that disease, yell it out and pass the “word!”
You’re working for the devil now, following the
herd—get a faster car, burn more fuel rush around,
the next leader is sure to lead us there.
Yep, another flame.
Cancer is a myth, a tale told by complaint.
What we do when we stop saying thanks.
Thanks for today, God, we don’t know about
tomorrow. Thanks for today, God, we have no
joys without sorrow.
No health without an occasional cold or pain,
I accept the whole piano—light and dark keys alike,
top to bottom, no bottom without a top—
the top screwed onto the bottom. Pain is the
thing to overcome not name and call your god,
renounce it, “cancer” and any other name but
God’s and find that bloom on the hill for today,
claim gratitude as your sanity, open up your
curtains to God’s glory.
Stop complaining and call it all “fine,” the
day a blessing, positivist reminders from
Mary Baker Eddy to Ella Wheeler Wilcox speaking
words of faith and health—belief in the sun
making it shine enough for the world to give
up flammable liquid imbibing, making
grape juice from wine,
the gods sunk for Truth to emerge, solitude to
the sour, wheat to the brave, despair to
he who whines, love to the strong who feels
a pain, bears the cross and comes out fine.
Love conquers all, say the words of belief in your
prayer and cast off negative talk.
Step into your day. It’s all we have, so smile
even through the sad, and when we’re ready to go:
see the celebration that you came, you lived
and you piped the horn of Thanks a few times;
the world was better for your rhyme, and when you
pass you don’t die, your ideas multiply and you smile
in the face of doubt, doctors frowning and pretend
knowledge of futures and dim.
“Thank God for another day. There is nothing else,
this pain will pass and I’ll smile bigger when it does.
The name I call is God, never disease, and in this
I start with the LORD, then the whole world please.”
Shhh! to cancer and disease, the LORD is working
Never fear, take up your beds and give a cheer!!!
The LORD God is working here!