Tag Archives: Gospel

One Man

04 Thursday Nov 2021

Posted by in Homeless, Poem, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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Homeless1

He had lost half his nose,
the right side of his face
marred by the streets.

His eye on that side
bloodshot.  Barely here,
laid out across a driveway—

Concrete and asphalt his
best friends, along with
the devil alcohol…

Near naked, shoeless,
writhing on the ground for
traffic to finish off,

I asked him if he needed
help… He groggily said “yes,”
I called 911, waited, then

watched as paramedics
kindly carted him away for
a short or final rest, who

can say?  He was not really
another man, he was me.

He was a man, like me.  He
could have been me, a
long-lost brother.

He bled red like me, a thin
line of it glowing where his
nose used to be whole.

A red eye like mine, skin
and sweat… Was he ever in
a sandbox at school?

Branded homeless by the suits,
a “problem” by them and
others, when really…

He’s just a man like you
with a disease.  One man,
barely breathing, hoping

for something good, some
moment of light before
the end to signify forever.

We are here, equal.  None
better than another.  This
man was me.  You…

Our job to love him as
we love ourselves, remember?

Love Your Enemy

05 Thursday Dec 2019

Posted by in Gospel, Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, San Miguel de Allende

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Cross1

There’s talk of gang activity
in San Miguel de Allende
tempting many to fear, worry
or be angry.

Love your enemy.

They set up, they say, as if
evil is organized and linear—
threatening and killing shop
owners here.

Love your enemy.

People are people, somos
igual; gang members, white,
black, red, brown, purple,
policemen…

Love your enemy.

There’s an answer to all
strife, all hands seeking pay
or games with bedeviling drugs,
violence all—

Love your enemy.

Only God is Good

17 Monday Sep 2018

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

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We deify ourselves, to our
own detriment.  We throw the
ship off balance, forget our
place, and suddenly we imagine
we did this and created it all.

So we register, buy a car, sign
on with a “doctor” and do what
everybody else seems to be doing.

The goal to live a long time, right?

Only God is good, taught a rebellious
rabbi from Nazareth, and for those
who do not believe in God?  Find
a dictionary, or look at Google.com,
some place online, type in the letters,
G-o-d, and see the concept defined.

God exists.

***

Next, break away from all
convention, and all things you do
and have done because other
people said it was good.

Ads on TV splashing a flammable
liquid around in fancy glasses
and bars, telling you it’s great
to drink!

That man or woman in a white
coat telling you you have a grave
disease that requires much care,
stated with assurance and high
education, Latin terms and bull.

When was your last hike in nature?
When did you last discard your
wardrobe, walk naked in the
sun, feet on earth, taking in
the Great Spirit, a song in birds
sung, the click click of a squirrel
being chased by another squirrel,
the deer waiting for quiet to speak,
soft tracks by the creek? Jump in
it’s wet, cleansing and a reminder

we created nothing.

Only God is good, look it up—
I didn’t say it first, say it now,
not last, aware I prayed to God
for poetry and got it from my dreams,
prayed for a sense of humor,
and got it right away in a car burning
earth as it rained sunshine, cooler
than it seems.

Family Are Those

19 Sunday Aug 2018

Posted by in Bible, Gospel, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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Poor we find our true road,
born that, hand out from the start
yet no one criticizes babies for
being deadbeats.

Our blood lets us down, some
confused into thinking if I can
just make this biological clique
happy, impress this fifteen or so
people, this nuclear blah blah,

until you set out on your own,
having found God you say to them
“Nah, nah,” and you build friendships,
look up in a good book to see that
a rebellious rabbi once said,

“Family are those who do the will
of God.”

Those who are nice to you,
those who consider your feelings,
are open and loving with you—

your family, nothing to do with
sharing blood or genes, DNA or
the time of day,

We divorce ourselves from the clique,
say hello to the broad highway
to heaven, come with me—

Let’s walk it.

***

Poor we find our true road,
born that, hand out from the start
yet no one criticizes babies for
being deadbeats.

As children we enter heaven, not
as old, complaining adults.

Give to God your life that was never
really yours, and fear not.

Not death, not failure, not truth,
not lies, not the whip, not the cold,
not bitterness, not growing old.

Be the family you want to have
and get married.

To whatever you want to be, be
true, rest and see, relax and know
you never lost by not having a perfect
home, all redeemable on the road
to what you gloriously reap when
properly sowed.

Love

Get the Log Out

11 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by in God, Jesus, Lao Tzu, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political, Tao, Tao Te Ching

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“War is conducted like a funeral.
When many people are being killed,
They should be mourned in heartfelt
sorrow. That is why a victory must be
observed like a funeral.”
—Lao Tzu

It’s a tempting thing, to
criticize and judge everybody
else’s Tao Te Ching;

their way and truth, the what
they said and what they do.

“They need to de-nuclearize”
from a country with thousands
of nukes.

“Those MS-13 animals,” from
a country whose CIA backed the
murderers of El Salvador’s
Archbishop Oscar Romero.

We, the United States of
America, have a large log in
our eye, blinding us as we
seek to remove your splinter;

again and again we throw
weight around making noise,
as the old world shakes its head.

We “won” wars, which is
impossible, and ever since, have
thought ourselves great.

Wars are a necessary evil at best,
and should never be boasted
about—

Lao Tzu’s got a feel for that,
Jesus of Nazareth six hundred
years later with words from God

to keep us happily, humbly
separated.

Babel being built in every
modern city until the next
mass shooting tragedy, God
still picking targets with the
help of hell’s favorite angel;

“From there the LORD scattered
them over the face of the whole
earth.”

“I’m not good.  Only God is
good.”

“You cannot change the world.
It cannot be done!!”

But still we try, and we try,
which is why the United States
government often pulls splinters
out of the world, while failing
to remove the log from our
own eye.

Wise and Soft

31 Thursday May 2018

Posted by in Gospel, Jesus, Jesus said, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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Sol’ asked for wisdom,
a wise move that turned out
well for him.

True wisdom comes from
beyond our first thoughts.

Some use prayer, some meditation,
some plant seeds, watch them
fight to fruition.

The song is sung, the praise made,
the bed is prepared, and we
reap the sown—

planting full of unknowns, our
efforts and work sometimes
with reward.

At others, we get the lesson of
the storm, the locusts come,
the drought,

the blight of uncertainty leading
to the glory of overcome obstacles
in eternity;

songs sung, the battle won, we step
up to ask, then receive the gift
of another day,

a chance to rise above the fray,
take a back seat to all that’s grey,
songs sung,

glorifying the altar that is on the hill,
waterfalls heard by standing still.

Wise like the serpent, soft like the
dove, we ask for Sol’s blessing,
the ancestors—

imperfect and sweet, like us,
somewhere between rainbow and
geese, songs sung

so we can look back, say
“We won.”

We did it, Longfellow’s hero in
the strife, heroes by trying hard,
and living life.

The Search for Reason

31 Thursday May 2018

Posted by in Alcoholism, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Relationships

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Sometimes the closer you
delve—the farther you are from
the truth.

You must back up to see the forest
from the trees, they say, each
cliché with

elements of truth, so repeated
until there’s a catch—maybe
something

to be used or useful to people.

Often I get upset about what
someone does or says, then
investigate

into a black hole of unknowns;
so much so I start to think that
what could

be going on is above my paygrade,
like a deep problem in the person,
like alcoholism,

day drinking and depression. If
such a thing is going on, you
are liable

to get caught in bigger problems
than you bargained for, you keep
searching

and wind up in a haze of powers
bigger than yourself that have nothing
to do with you.

Approach life and its relationships,
even quick interactions, with small,
light,

gentle intentions.  “Be as this little
child” to get to heaven, said a wise
rabbi once.

Be small.  Be as the child.  Smile,
and never harbor grudges, deep or
dark adult

feelings, knowledge of the apple
eaten bearing its bad fruit—

don’t let it fester, do what the toddler
does, and smile.

To Throw a Stone

31 Thursday May 2018

Posted by in Gospel, Jesus, Jesus said, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Religion, Sex

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It’s easy to judge.  It feels
good for a while, to size someone
up and find them wanting—
You see a flaw and flick it at them

To maximize damage, thereby
increasing the rush you feel, a cop
you steal, imbibing holier than
thou spirit, then…

You call a friend.  “Hey, look
at what so and so just did, said—
is or was!  Isn’t he or she a scandal,
where are the rocks?”

The what?

Let’s throw some rocks at him!!
Yeah!  Yeah!!

Throw rocks!

Wait, we don’t have any and I
can’t see you, this is a computer or
phone, everything’s online!!

“It doesn’t matter.  Tweet at him,
retweet ugly things, put downs and
all the ways you are better than him.”

#MeToo is truth and good, but
let’s stop short of throwing stones.

***

Sexual impropriety and crimes are
bad, but let’s stop short of throwing
stones!

Unless…

Unless ye, without sin, should you
want to step up, cast a big rock with
all the sin that you are not—

Go ahead.

Waiting…

***

No human without sin, it’s a long
wait, so let’s save it, breathe deep
and pray good thoughts for the sick
person who had a bad sex day.

Do unto others, as you would have
them do to you.

Do you want your mistakes shoved
in your face?

Or would you prefer everyone to
stay in their own lanes, try to
improve ourselves—

The judgement of others breaking
the eleventh commandment showing
no shame.

The Truth

25 Friday May 2018

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Truth

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Things are whether we call them
such or not; words inappropriate
vessels for the Truth.

And yet, when we try, and at the
right time these symbols hit the
spot, music in time.

We cannot tell our own true story
and feelings until the room is safe—
we’ve been hurt before,

so sometimes back off at the moment
to secure ourselves from further harm.
Seek ye, and ye shall find

was spoken by a teacher who preached
“gospel” from the old English “God-spell,”
stories about God,

“good” and true requisite, the evidence
of truth being the oneness you feel
or don’t feel, the thing

wins or loses, you know truth when you
read or hear it, most of the time!  We
lie when afraid, when running

and hoping everything will be all right
if I can just get by this tricky moment.
Plenty of time for truth…

Just not today?

Hmm, tragedy bleeds a different ray,
golden sunshine at the rain yields
color.  The pain un-

medicated improves, and beyond that,
the thrill of overcoming becomes its
own high-level joy, so…

Go for it.  Tell your journal first,
if you’d like, but find that safe room
and tell the truth.

Be a safe pair of ears for someone else;
advocate for truth, but you must seek it
first!  It may mean you enter

a place you have fears about entering,
a 12-step meeting, a spiritual retreat,
where the schmucks there

don’t appear to be “doing” anything!!
What a bore!!  You look for a basket, a way
to achieve and score.

The rug will be under your deception as
long as God wants it there, but when it
is pulled, go with it,

and come down to where I kneel, it’s
fun to not only feel, but to report the
feeling, band together

with your brothers and sisters in truth,

and sing.

Wide is the Path

22 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by in Nature, Philosophy, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Religion

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The narrow to “heaven” is a hefty
mount, a lofty walk and a harrowing
drop—

the leap it requires of faith, fasting
and prayer?

Atheism, wordlessness, meditation
and just being there?

Hard turns, listening, being, breathing?

A rose by any other name as sweet,
brevity the soul of it, god or Shmod
you decide what to call that which
yields its famous bliss—

words ascribed to it in English
being “Peace of mind.”

It’s hard to have a firm view, open
up, and listen wholeheartedly to another;
but to do so allows a soul to advance
toward childhood,

life a journey of return to learned
senses without words, then a
departure of body leaving spirit
and words, ideas which never die
no matter how many killed in the
name of “National Security.”

Wide is the Path to Destruction,
and Many are On It.

Some call “Jesus” religion; I do not;
I call the Son a Sun, the art of war
being to never wage it.

The true artist restores peace when
out of alignment, moving on without
celebration, without declaration of victory,
for a combat yielding injury is never
cause célèbre.

Tend to those injured, and start to
glimpse the road less traveled, build
your rock, ascending and secure, on
the bed of weedless sunshine providing
no rain to the cowards, no judgment to
the fallen, no gifts to the barren;

It is dry, the valley of history, with
all its un-amended sins and mistakes.

If you stop reading and talking long
enough you see the rainbow in the rain;
the end of pain,

The coming of solace for the argument
that Higher Power must exist.

Why not call it God?

Because that word offends those abused
by those who would use a Name to harm.

So fall.

Let the words go, and let Mom embrace
you after we demolish the concrete,
find the stones, the path back

to Nature.