Monthly Archives: January 2019

The Voice of God

13 Sunday Jan 2019

Posted by in God, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Spiritual

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god

Who’s listening?

There is a pulse and a spirit
under and over our lives,
giving us sanity, clues, natural
grooves to those who are
willing to stop, walk up the backs
of crevasses and ravines, nature’s
cherry, tall mountains yielding
peace in the mind of the sound.

We come out fighting—sperm to
egg, out Mom at whatever pace
gets results.

We have to develop sixth senses,
cosmic attachments to energy
there when we ask.  I asked
for poetry, travelling the song
that is Mexico.

I don’t like music anymore,
because it gets in the way of
God’s voice.

Shhh.

Who’s connecting today?  Where
is the medicine man, the prophet
designated to go up the hill and
ask for God’s blessing.

A priest denying himself sex?

Folks who meditate in buildings?

Who knows what the earth wants,
can report the facts to others,
pick up an instrument to play again
only when we’re on the same
page, one pulse attempting to please
the LORD, like the Jews in the desert.

Burn the incense, retreat back to
the dirt and calm—

God forgive our running around
with cotton in our ears, so eager
and ready to spout what others
say—

We “Edged Out God” the acronym
for ego used today.

Shhh.

Give us peace, God, and with it
your voice to teach us the way!

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Forgiving Circumcision

12 Saturday Jan 2019

Posted by in Circumcision, Health, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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baby8

I was a few days old, a bundle
of skin and effort so feed me!

Please?

Put out the welcome mat, I’ve
been prepping in a little bubble,

I’m psyched to be out, show me
the way?

They are strapping me down, this
is uncomfortable.  I am powerless,
I can feel this but barely see.

I have no words.  I cry.  I let them
know I am against this course of
action.

Someone is rubbing a sensitive
area, but I trust them.  This will
be okay.  Wait

****

Let the little children come to me,
and do not hinder them, for the
kingdom of God belongs to such
as these.  (Mk 10:14)

The pain of hindering.  The scream
is from a shocked God, the
creator of all things offended at
the attack.

Take heed that ye despise not one
of these little ones; for I say unto you,
That in heaven their angels do always
behold the face of my Father which
is in heaven.  (Mt 18:10)

What’s better, an old quote?  The
gospel?  The bible, or ancient thought
or nature itself?  What is natural?
What is rational?

Did God screw up?  Did evolution
mess up?

Is it more plausible that bible stories
are man or God-made?  Could men
or women be inspired by God or
higher power to write, but is it
possible we have injected our
fallibility and perversions in these
stories?  Is alcohol—a flammable
liquid—good to ever “drink?”

The story of Abraham talking to
the LORD, where the LORD demands
male mutilation to seal a vow…

Is it sound?  Sensible?  Rational?

Should the Jew have his or her
mutilation, but stay away from our
health facilities—those who respect
the human rights of all babies?

Don’t hurt children.  Don’t abuse
children.  Guard them in the Christian
way, if you be Christian.  Intervene
for them, if you care and are in
touch with the feelings of infant
life!

Protect children!  Join the angels
that bear God’s face, and keep them
from harm!

***

I myself am a victim of child abuse.

No one set out to harm.  No one
intended malice!

The Devil is an amazingly subtle, skillful
foe—who can Trojan horse into your
most sacred rooms and infect our
generations, our loves, our passions,
our children.

The only way clear is through
enlightenment and care—the kind that
comes through trying, showing up
and grace.

Wide is the path to destruction,
and many are on it.

Forgive them Father, they know not
what they do.

Well, I think it’s time to tell them
what they’re doing.

Do we need baby whisperers to
interpret their screams?

We all know what is right in our
minds and hearts, as we connect
with Creation—

breathe deeply and meditate on
God and right.  Read the Tao Te
Ching, go with the flow, do less
and let the next baby born be
a baby.

Keep them out of your religion, until
they want to be in it—or not—at
a later date,

Let’s stop the abuse before too
late, God forgive circumcision!

We forgive the writers of the Bible
and others through history, who
have proposed it.

I will convert fully to the Native
American Great Spirit, before
I bow to a God that would
advocate hurting little ones.

I do not know.  Truth comes to me
in dreams, and I write it all down,
the gift I was given perhaps to make
up for foreskin lost.  Perhaps
I’ll take my pain to the stage, make
some jokes, plant my Forgiveness
Tree in the next baby we save.

Truth, with or without words, and
Nature’s perfection places us in
eternity the moment we listen
to the real voice of God not in
books.

I’ll Miss the Winter

12 Saturday Jan 2019

Posted by in Nature, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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winter

Before the change, you wait
until lo and behold: it’s too late,
the wind and the spin of the planet
beginning again around the sun,

ninety to a hundred times seen
per blessed life, Hebrew kings
and justice is still right.  Pinch here,
pinch there, we’re different

I’ll miss her.

As long as I’m alive I’ll live July
missing winter.

Something dreams and I’m stronger.
We get up in peace, as long as we
yesterday struggled and sacrificed
enough, took our shopping money

to the street, clothed a man on his
last leg, wet pants—you said and did
the right things, changed him with
a tear as he said three cheers.

You walk at limp pace with the suffering
masses, being sure you’re not “ahead
of your skis,” the advanced run wisping
by trees toward Heaven.

There are no signs for it, minus the
aforementioned dreams.  And they do
not come remembered until you commit
to truth, take off your own threads,

give your life to powers unseen, see
your part in the general flow, put an
extra coat on—hoping for one more
splash in the song that is today.

I’ll miss the winter, when long
from it I wet my own sheets dreaming
of she’s and he’s who like me, admit
they can’t do it alone.

I’ll miss the winter, when in the Truth
of now I shine a light on age, rocks
sagging off a sheened rebel coast,
Scotland crags, Welsh hills awaiting
decoration—

As we stand to holler one more time.

I’ll miss the winter, as I shout my
colors into the wind, national flags
sagging likewise around children and
infants raped by ignorant knives

as mother cries, father and so many
on the wide path of “I don’t know”
and “Whatever they say—”

We abdicate our will to white coats
until grace appears at point of death.

We see light at last, breathe and smile.
Dealt this, we cope, try to accept the
wrongs but call them out so the next
little boy and girl tastes opportunity
and freedom sooner you hope—

than you did.

Sighs breed change as winds their
leaves returning—yell out “God”
or something like it now.  Grab
today!  The hope, stay warm at night
say good night and pray.

It’s getting warm again, as you knew it
would.  You shake it off, stare at the
firewood.

“Until next year,” you think of things
only God should.

Around the Sun Again

01 Tuesday Jan 2019

Posted by in New Year, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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sunset-815270__480

Happy New Year, much like
the old cheer—

games played by humans and other
beings to remember now against
the hurling, tumbling dreams and
action of the ages;

actors, dancers and sages passing
away in body but leaving spirit
soaring, the steady drum of the awake
seeking truth with proof that cannot
be faked, no matter the tone and
tenor of presidential tweets.

God forgive our missteps, and guide
us onto the straight and narrow path
that defines “respect,” universal codes
sought instead of deified leadership
posts, politicians giving money back,

realizing the community needs workers
not suits, keep dreaming on—this could
be a call to you for more.

But if addicted to the clichés that made
us, the alcohol posing as “drink,” colorless,
flammable and volatile as we slurp the
toxic clink,

studying harder we drink instead of
God and life, water less strife, the
grape juice better than whine, the
ripe tasted better than moldy on the
cursed vine, so we walk away as the
band plays—

Happy New Year!!

A song with cheer, a moment we raise,
the only true melody one of praise,
Higher Powers are at work, supplication
keeping me from lonely worries about
sad mortality, the end in a wink of
this life is not what we think—
the native way to discard the concrete
and the fray,

be calm, take off your shoes and see yourself
a part of the earth we burn too much.

Sink your toes in the sand, eternity
is in oneness with the grains and time,
laugh at our journey ‘round the sun
again, roman calendars marking it
the first step of 365 logged here
and somewhere else…

That place or thing that runs all
things, places markers in energy
for which we strive.

We celebrate another trip around
the sun made, this spaceship earth
calling all to pride, think of it
and others to high levels and never
think yourself apart but instead a
special part.

Eternity is in forgetting the self,
seeing ourselves as one with All.
Be not deceived into isolation’s
worry and regret, go out and
leave a prayer in their place, be
free in your signature, writing your
name in this vast space.

Happy New Year!

Be the smile we occasionally offer
on the whole of time’s face.