Tag Archives: Joy

Diapers and Dementia

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by in Blog, Blogs, Health, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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The Hebrew patriarch used to live 900
years, call it a day, was “gathered to
his people,” and passed away in peace.

We live shorter lives with more on the
planet now, and there are at least two
distinct camps:

The deists and the atheists use different
words to describe the same things,
which is fine—and in the end, words
are fictions, as Borges wrote.

We want to feel a part of something,
feel good, loved, connected during our
lives, and when it is time for our bodies

to expire?

A panic ensues for some who did not
prepare for the moment, keep loved
ones close, families between this or
that belief, just knowing it’s easier to
let a “doctor” decide.

We turn our will and lives over to
White Coats, to cold offices with
test tubes and vials, experiments
going the extra mile

to hope and fight and extend our
physical lives.

But at what cost?

Should we extend physical lives deep
into dementia?  Should we keep loved ones
in hospitals to end lives, while we keep
busy “doing me?”

What if we took a timeout and gathered
to our loved ones, prepared ourselves
for the transition, from physical life
to spirit?

We could do without the diapers.
The pain. The cost—both financial
and emotional!

We could be free the moment we let
go of this fear of the body expiring!

I almost died last night, because years
ago I overdosed twice, messed up my
insides.

Now, if I don’t get eating right, I go to
bed and risk not sleeping through until
the light.

I fight hard, and some fear of death is
natural and good!

But, if we pray and connect with Mother
Nature or God well enough, we’re sure
to get some peace, allow and accept the
beautiful transfer of our aging lives and
spirit to all that we loved and has loved
us.

“Terrorism”

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by in Crime, Criminal Law, Law, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Tao

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is a myth.

We’re trying to group and organize
our thoughts and conditions,
what racists do to keep things easy.

Brand a group or situation “X.”

Mark the spot of a crime “Y.”

The devil loves conflation, combining
and confusing, hates when we make
decisions, loves when we lump and
generalize.

Declare something “Good” or “Evil?”

Judge not lest ye be judged was not
a religious statement, but true.

Ask not what your country can do
for you, but what you can do for
your country was not political but true.

It’s a tragedy when murder happens,
but does it help to label the evil with
further labels like “terrorism” or
“terrorist act?”

Evil is evil, wrong is wrong, and to go
further to categorize is to welcome
a slew of lies.

Muslims.  “Radical Islam” are terms
born from these lies, we start witch
hunts against a group instead of fighting
the evils inside your own heart.

Gandhi was right, in part, and at the
time of his murder was a great voice
for peace.  (why he was killed)

Did terrorism kill him?

Irrelevant, your honor, it was wrong,
unfortunate, and God shall punish
all such acts, where God could be:

Good
Orderly
Direction,

a Higher Power, or just good
common sense.

A good fence.  The neighborhood in
check, my mind and body in balance
because I prayed first,

then acted.

Or did nothing—the spiritual way
of the Tao.

Aloe

30 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by in Nature, Overcoming, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Strength

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I can’t remember the last time I
saw my green ivy, up the walk
along the steps, the rocks of
my entry, smiling saying “hello.”

One night a neighbor sprayed
poison on them, ‘cause that’s
where I live!  Los Angeles, the city,
“civilization” without sidewalk
security,

litter on the streets.

Crime and lack of care, but
there… There we are, finances
have you where you are for now,
trying to make the best of what is…

There were a couple aloe cacti
on the rocks, as well—and when the
ivy died, taking away my green,
the aloe grew, started to take over.

Something there is that doesn’t
love ivy-killing spray, rises up
in the fray, becomes the ship staying
the course in the spray—

they tell you to walk away, to
not see your uncle buried at
Arlington with full honors but
you go anyway.

The orange of the flower replaces
the green of ivy goodness, as we return
home every day.

The hate cannot steal the hope and
its neverending growth and ray,
the devil a coward when you call him
out, then Decide.

Ahh, he hates a decision as you
stay your own path against the tide.

Self-doubt, used to be their shouts,
you block it out and advance on
heaven, a narrow walk for only
certain, chosen soldiers who look to
left and right, even dangerously behind
to help another onto the trail
before we die triggering eternal life.

Aloe Vera is tougher than the poison
as is to death life.

Accepting my Balls

29 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by in Acceptance, Anatomy, Blog, Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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As I see and feel balls sagging
from right to left, left to right,
I like to think someone’s been
swinging them.

But swinging them doesn’t bend
them down to stay.   Nature does
that.  Time, age: you wake up, and
your rocks dropped.

***

This can be a sad event, and was
for me, especially when I felt
nothing much happened in my
youth, no great wear and tear

that would leave an item or thing
stretched out or overused,
necessitating the sag, precipitating
a change, a drop, the swing—

Sad!!

I turned thirty years old, and
they dropped.

It was not at the brink of death,
closing in on very old age but
thirty years in, thirty times around
the sun, and they sagged!!!

I wrote several books, a screenplay,
thought of all different ways not
to think of my sagging rocks;

wrote about kids, a Kids World,
figured I was done so give the world
over to the tight-balled and perky
youths, think of myself less and less,
that’s it the ticket is to be more and
more Selfless!

***

That didn’t work, and I stayed depressed,
did the twelve steps on the problem
at last, and it went away for a time, the
depression about sagging—but then it
came back with a vengeance!

***

Then one day, it went away.  I accept
my sagging balls because they’re here
to stay.

What’s more, I’m powerless over them,
my age, and this rock spinning through space,
giving me cool ideas to write as long as
I walk on her and thank.

The best way out of a good depression
is to do nothing, wait for it to pass,
accept all things and Thank.

Racism

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by in Blogs, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Racism

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Judgment of others from fear,
we are concerned with not having
enough, being enough, so point
over there to them.

It’s the calm before the storm,
to coast along racist and okay with it.

We cannot be where we are not,
are wise to accept some things
until that day when we ourselves get
hurt.

Now it’s time to change, a sensitivity
develops we did not know existed.

We used to call out difference or
perceived difference as a way to not
only point out difference but a
Trumped up superiority.

Truth is, and will always be, no
matter what we as people with our
words do or see!

“God” might just be…

Good
Orderly
Direction,

a morning defection from a country
or land of persecution or abuse.

The progressive welcomes the traveler,
while the nationalist, the racist:

Afraid of change and difference or
perceived difference…

Keeps the difference or perceived
difference “out.” A “purity” is striven
for, a racial cleansing no matter the
history of a land, the one race will
lay claim to it all.

Look at my skin and its color!

It is better than others because I
said so, “And I’m very smart,

Believe me!”

Racism is just another way to hell,
the wide path to it staying wide
the narrow to enlightenment, care
and heaven just there, as well!

Nothing ever changes.

Then… behold.

A great change on the horizon!!

A human race under higher
powers!

Something only has power when
given that power, so racism without
reaction is just a lie, a piece of bait
on the line.

Don’t bite.

Pray for the souls that suffer so
much they lash at others, find
a safe place to prosper, and never
give up being the perfect you
against the storm that is the
Devil’s confusion, judgment, a lie
that fellow products of man and
woman’s love are somehow better
or worse by looks or some loud,
insecure bully’s voice.

The Noise of a Helicopter

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by in Blogs, God, Native, Nature, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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Did we pause to ask?

Before we reached for the sky, turned
on the motors, did we ask?

Peace.

Peace of mind… fighting the winds
of change and some’s progress
while the birds hang on and chirp,
the deer and coyote hiding.

What is truly good for us?  Is “no”
a complete response sufficient to
stuff the ask?

The disease of more, the frantic pace,
the never-satisfied on the move race
of running fast, burning fuel and
unsettling the score.

God forgives us when we ask, but
cannot help you at 10,000 feet
and 300 miles per hour.

Heaven is a peace of mind, knowing
you did your best to be the best
person you were capable of becoming.

John Wooden and I invented that after
he had won 10 national championships
without focusing on winning.

Each and every skill defined and perfected,
the game and our lives broken down into
their parts.

Find it in your heart to stop.

***

The rotors must stop for us to hear
the LORD, Great Spirit, Mother
Nature, the Lady of the Lake yearning
for our quiet so the deer can
return to inspire us.

God is not in the weeds but in their
pulling, the mulch of strength covering
the growth of evil as the dragon
breathes death on the disrespectful
and reverent alike.

Shhhh.

Be quiet.  Stop doing.

Turn over all will to good, then decide
whether the speed is worth the loss.

The being on hyperspace, whizzing
by the lights, making noise—

How did it help us sleep?

Shhhh.

God is talking

The Orange Negotiator

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by in Blog, Blogs, Humor, Political Satire, Politics, Satire, Tragedy, Trump

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Trump2

Peace dreams of having many friends.

Flourishes in groups of one mind, or alone on long hikes up the mountain or to the lake.

Once upon a time, there was a large, old, orange negotiator, who had weaseled his way to leadership in a large nation with borders, history and clout.

He was notorious for lying, cheating on his wives, a bumbler and a bully—an avid golfer and talker, highly in debt abroad but always pushing his own business “success,” always assuring others of his prowess and abilities.

He likes to use catch phrases poker players might call “tells,” such as:

“Believe me” = I am lying.
“We’ll see what happens” = I have no idea what I am doing.
“There were good people on both sides” = I am a racist thug.
“Fake News!” = Stories published that hurt my image.
“He’s a Great Guy!” = He’s about to be fired.
“We’re going to take care of” = We’re skating by this moment, saying what makes story die.
“The incredible men and women” = I deify people, because I am myself a god.
“Billions and billions of dollars” = I am obsessed with money.
“Witch Hunt!” = an investigation I do not like.
“Many people are saying” = I am saying.
“Smart people” = People who support me.
“Total disaster” = I didn’t create it.
“CHI-na!!” = Racial slur hidden under tone to stir up racist base.
“Wiki-Leaks!!” = His savior, allowed him to “win” election in 2016 by cheating.
“Nobody really knows,” “Nobody knew” = I didn’t know.
“Lock her up” = Misogyny and misdirection.
“Build the wall!!” = I hate Mexicans, brown people.

COMBO ALERT:

The orange negotiator liked to combine catch phrases, too:

“We’re going to take care of it. A LOT of money! BELIEVE ME! But, we’ll see what happens.”

“Lock her up! Crooked Hillary!!! Wiki-leaks!!!”

And the crowd would erupt.

“Build the wall!” a code for “I’m racist like you!” and the crowd would go crazy again, lift the orange negotiator to leadership of this country.

The Search for My Fourth Wife

27 Sunday May 2018

Posted by in Blog, Blogs, Comedy, Humor, Humorous, Parody, Weird

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By Will Workinson

***

Hello, my name is Will.

That never seems to impress anyone, but I say it anyway because it is sort of true.

I steer away from absolute truths most of the time because they can be somewhat boring and inconsequential.  I write comedy pieces a lot, which hardly anyone likes.  I am better at poetry, maybe because I was named in part after William Shakespeare by parents who never read.

Years ago, I read in an old second hand bible that Solomon had many wives, but also had written Proverbs—one of them exalting the “Wife of Your Youth” and that you should rejoice with her, be with her, honor her, etc.

Then Malachi came along and warned for us not to “deal treacherously with the Wife of Your Youth…”

I am currently seeking my fourth wife with vigor, despite these warnings from the bible, one of which especially suspicious due to one of the warner’s polygamy.  One thing I’m pretty sure of:

Little Billy, Tommy, Ricky, Mike, Jonathan, Suzy, Penelope and Roberta will be so happy to find a proper mom.  If you are out there, give me a call!!

I tend to carry my kids around like luggage, which I’m sure they appreciate and enjoy.  They seem to like multiple Christmases and zig-zagging all over the country to be with their moms and their families.  I never sit down and ask them how they feel, but I have a sixth sense about such things and know they love the adventure of it all!

I fall in love a lot, and am not too into vows and commitment.

Would you consider hanging out with me and being my fourth experiment?

Love2

Letter to an Atheist

26 Saturday May 2018

Posted by in Blog, Comical, Humor, Humorous, Political, Political Satire, Religious

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—by Donald Trump

***

What in the hell is wrong with you?

You haven’t accepted your Lord Jesus Christ?

People are stealing into this country every day, because it’s the best country in the world.  They are bringing their crime with them, their pestilence, their disease.  But no more!

Just now my ICE officers are pulling away mothers from their children along the border in a surefire deterrence scheme that will bring order at last to this chaotic, dangerous region!

I am proud to honor all the officers and their families for the sacrifices they make every day to make us Real Americans safe.  By “real,” I refer to the white Americans, whose European ancestry makes us the right people to rule this land.

Our concrete, our asphalt, our trains, planes and automobiles—the helicopters that patrol your neighborhoods and keep birds, coyote and deer away—

This is our legacy, not our shame as Pocahontas in Congress wants you to think.  I am proud of our achievements over the hollering of conservationists and nerdy green peace-freaks.  I like our noise, our industry, our coal, steel and everything that makes America great!

And there you are with your liberal atheism, your disdain for religion.  You stand proud today, then kneel during our country’s national anthem at football games.  You are a disgrace.

I hope this letter has helped you to consider converting to the one true God.  I have read a version of the Bible Kelly Anne Conway gave to me, called The Alternative Fact Bible, and in it are the tenants of democracy, law, order and peace.

We will have peace in this world, if you trust me to make some deals.

Trump3

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.