Tag Archives: Life

Thanks, Grandpa

13 Friday Dec 2019

Posted by in Cycle of Life, Eternity, Life, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Soul

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Life Cycle1

What are the last words you
want to hear?

Thanks, Grandpa.

What is better than a doctor’s
room, full of drugs?

Thanks, Grandpa.

Letting go does not have to be
a horror or bad—

Thanks, Grandpa!

Or if you are just a dad, that’s
okay, too!

We live our lives honestly, and
our rewards, too, will be true.

Jump on board the cycle, the
pure life is ours one day at a
time; flush out fear with a higher
power, pray often, turn it over,

Love completely and without
guards, deny the fear that locks
us into someone else’s version
of life and be you.

The true life still goes to heaven,
work and wait for it, love it,
and never fear the body’s
expiration date not troubling in
any single way to the soaring soul.

Living free of fear is the goal

Life

17 Friday Aug 2018

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

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It hits you all at once, don’t be late.
Study, give what you can, never forget
to smell the flower, love the first
girl God gives you to love.  Tell her
how you feel today, if rejected or
hurt—take it to the grave, or, better
yet:

Pray.

Powerless.  Wordless.  Heaven an open
gate to the ones who try hard, Peace
of mind for the astute.

We are nothing until the moment calls
our name; step up.

Love her forever: the first girl, remember
her?  Don’t look on, look for more, she’s
enough and enough is as Mary Poppins
proposed, “as good as a feast.”

Higher Powers are good; supplicate to one
now, call it, him, her what you will, just
know humbly that you are not It.

Love the first girl, did I say?

Am I talking to the boy or his beloved,
is this reaching you today?

Love the first one, and never mind the
doubters and Puritanical wind that lies,
says you gotta have X, Y, Z before love.

You gotta be such and such Age before
you love?  Before you vote?  Before you
matter?

How Puritan American of you to fall
for the lie that children are second to
adults.  True the Native American life
touted the elder, but Jesus rightly came
along, pointed to the younger.

Solomon and Malachi talking of “Wives
of your youth,” while the priest
masturbates alone or with the altar boy,
bringing us full circle to our needs and
wants.

Follow your heart.

Love the first girl; the first one.  For me
her name was Anne, and I did not properly
respond.

My favorite time and person, to see her
meaning so much, but was I bedeviled
having already had alcohol on Dad’s lap?

Bedeviled!

Liquid courage?

C2H5OH, ethyl not Lucy I’m home the
day I decide Not to drink a flammable
liquid, never mind what Jesus said.

The Commandments talk of One God, not
many:

like College, what a joke!

American Politics, take another toke!  Or
think on Samuel’s curse, the thought when
Jews rolled with God as their direct king!

Aborigine the same thing!  Natives with their
life’s circle, the elders, wise as children
defending their culture under, over and around
the pollution of Columbus’ own masturbation,
the lies mounting with God climbing, calling
himself “Naked Horse” because he or she
will not be shackled.

African people hurting themselves, feeding the
insanity by handing over their brother to
the white master.

Forty acres and a mule similar to “Blacks
for Trump,” there are plenty of things
to say to fulfill the curse.  Samuel looking
down with me, rooting for you all to do
what this poet did:

Declare God king again, ignore politics at
a point, beat my chest and consider the
brave warrior inside me because I, too,
am native American.

God help us to remember our walk
barefooted on the ground, stars above,
the European obsession with buildings,
noise, weapons and mankind.

We share this land with little things, big,
and in between, totally lonely unless
we see we were all painted with the same
brush, don’t make a fuss, Heart yours, LORD,

the Hebrew walk in and out of the Egyptian
jungle of chains and pain, God the good
orderly direction like the rainbow after
rain, the song of the hour sung and won
because someone stepped up to the computer
at the right time, allowed God to speak through
a poem and set Life down for the next
generation, this one lost to the police
helicopter and shooting for the torso, calling
it defense.

The second amendment a perversion while
the sixth commandment still says “Yes.”

No.  Don’t kill.  Not anyone.  Not ever.

***
Life the dream we can be as the road
less travelled perhaps in yellow gold covered
with devil’s asphalt send the chosen (you
can also choose) slowly but surely to
heaven.

Those killing, hurting or acting out that which
is acted out without parents or guides:

Forgive them, hold them, and get them on
the path before you forget your role to
love the first woman God gives you forever.

I Like Life

13 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by in Life, Nature, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Recovery

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Just as it is.

It needs not our sour rot,
the grape is better than the
wine—a reason they call war
trophies spoils,

the disease of more plundering
the till that is perfect as is,
Lao Tzu’s quiet, uncarved block.

I like Life!

Sunshines and rays against the
mist making ready rainbows of
our worst rains and pains…

I like life!

Just as it was; God, Higher Power
the mantra hated by an atheist,
his or her right but look not to
altered states—

Put up a fight!!

Do not say good bye until true
fatigue sets in, the eyes close
in a smile—

Good night!

I like life, citizens of Rome, nothing’s
wrong until we think too much,
adult games forgetting that philosophy
that to get to heaven (peace of mind)
one must be like a child.

I like life—

Calm in the middle of strife.

The worse thing that can happen
often out of our control, ask
the powers above for Wisdom,
be like King Solomon and grow
very old!

Not 100 years like today, but
hearken back to the Old Jews’
day.

“He was 946 years old, and was
gathered to his people.”

I like life!

Sunny, rainy, put up a fight!  Sing
song, God, good, no?

Rain.  Sunshine.

Bow.  Rainbow?  Fine—the end?

no.  Beginning?

Always

The Power of Lo—Sex

13 Wednesday Jun 2018

Posted by in Earth, Higher Power, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sex

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Jesus.

That’s the word certain nerds
use to calm down, back up, and
think, they do it with tone, sometimes

represented in writing with italics.

Thank God for spit, it keeps coming,
the male sex instinct is X, the women’s
is Y, why we’re off sometimes because
X is cross and Y is open and vice versa,

then one day the bomb explodes!

You cannot control Sex.

I imagine the eunuch tries, but
sperms game to swim swim a wild
ride!

God, or Life, or Nature—or whatever
power you observe as King—made the
thing go and go and go without relenting!

Sex is like the universe itself, kind of
unknown, stark one moment, pounding
the next, black holes explored the
crevasse of stink, the stank thing you
thought by holding back, comes back like
an avalanche a day later, or in the

middle of the night, holding tight, you

cannot stop the flood, the bursting
of the dyke.

***

Few!  Few are those who can manage
the power, the pulse, the growth,
the manufacturing of eggs and life
forever spinning like the planets
around far off suns, mirroring ours
in a game of loss and won.

Truth is as truth does, and so at
break of day—play!

Then we head with conviction, we
hope to a setting arc, words and
images, sounds and sweat abound

until it stops.

If we were true to our five senses
we get a sixth, peace of mind
finding us at the end of long, well-
lived, singing rhyme.

Doesn’t mean we can make our
bodies stop, they keep going and
going, the energizer god of sex
not a bunny per se, but then again

they boink a lot, or so they always
say.

Concrete River

11 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by in Los Angeles, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

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We fail to see what the Indian saw;
goalposts moved, the feeling is raw.

God gave all peoples land, but fate
brought white Euros away from theirs,

Hope was in the “New World,” except
that for its old inhabitants, a grave

challenge emerged from the golden
ships on the Eastern horizon, the

Atlantic bringing bibles, armor, guns,
horses and a love for gold not seen

by the decorated native soldier, the
adorned native explorer—who roamed

a wild land with ease, the world a
welcome mat to sleep upon, gather

and hunt.  A river was sacred, a waterfall
the same; trees, even rocks worshipped

as gifts from the Great Spirit.  Instead
of human art, a reveling of God’s art

was the native way; instead of a written
history or spirituality, there was one

passed down with poignant, well-placed
words and teachings, songs and music,

Ones about the “L.A. River” before it
was called that I’m sure existed.

It would be full and running wild at
times, dry and trickling at others,

through trees, brush and local wildlife—
including bands of Indian tribes,
grateful for the flow.

Civilization is a double-edged mess.
I think I like it.  I hate it.  I’m sad
about it, but sure like the plumbing!

***

What of the river?

Concreted over now, we took away
its beauty.

A crime by any view, there is no
possible way to support killing
it and doing God’s will, we stopped

the wild flow, the thrill.

We placed our destructive flag on
its top, moved wildlife off their spot,

Came with horses, buggies, then
cars and our own urinated rain,

the plumbing’s good, but we are
not—

God’s Earth is full of things still
pristine, and those like the L.A.
River—

That dies every day civilization soars,
roars and choppers rot.

I dream of a day when time
forgot.

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.

Slippery When Wet

25 Friday May 2018

Posted by in Poem, Poems, Poetry

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The left hand is holding something
very valuable.

You need what is in the left hand…

Keep looking at it, the left hand
sure to contain that which will—

Thanks, I’ll see you later, and the
interaction ends.

Weeks later, you check your piggy
bank and notice all the money is gone.

I stole your money with my right
hand, as you looked at my left hand.

But the left hand was important—we
needed it to survive!

“We killed them in the interest of
National Security.”

“We stole the documents in the interest
of National Security.”

“For the furtherance of Democracy and
Freedom, we invaded the country
and deposed their horrible leader.”

The pious fraud, better than God—it
makes okay every single sin so
sin away!

Because in the end, friend—the end
justifies every mean thing we do
or say!

We are the CIA!!  The FBI, we’ve got
your back!  We keep you safe, so
you can just live out your day, it’s
on us!!

“We go where others cannot go,
accomplish what others cannot
accomplish,” says CIA on Twitter
to us schmucks—us, the lowly
American with normal people rights.

Those agents with super-people rights!

Wow, can I be one of them?

Sure, here are the steps:

1. Have a shitty childhood where truth
is on edge or upside down, Dad drinks
and love is scarce.
2. Go to an Ivy League school, get good
at computers—join a Fraternity, get good
at telling and keeping secrets.
3. Secret Society membership is a plus.
4. We like Patriots, who can put “country
before anything else.”  Even God.
5. Don’t believe in God—he or she cannot
keep America safe.  Only we can.

***

Stop to take a breath.

6. Get used to lying.
7. Lie to yourself, God and others
every day.

***

We lie in the interest of National Security.

(National Security is often code for
“not embarrassing the Agency.”)

You might fall into a crack, if it’s
wet enough.

Pregnancy is another thing, altogether.

The Wife of Your Youth is most likely
behind you, but we make due with the
me and you we have in front of us.

You, too?

“Ready, shoot, aim” is the plan of
the orange, golf-playing orangutan “president” —
unless a Russian is calling the shots from
across the sea, look at me,

The MS-13 gang members are “animals?”

Yes, so are we.

You mean it as a curse?

So was it a curse for CIA to support the
killers of El Salvador’s archbishop, Oscar
Romero in 1980.

MS-13 came from his ashes.  And there,
an American “president” bags on the guys
our own murder created.

Bags on immigrants in an immigrant
country like the dis-United States.

Great Spirit, native spirit, the mother
Earth reaching out to touch us, but
your motorcycle gets in the way,
helicopter blades and sirens ruining
the day.

Shhhhhhh!

God wants to talk with us, we could
make him or her king!

Ignore Samuel and his walk to
the top of the mountain to
represent us.

“Jews will not replace us” the rally
call of hate, which comes from fear,
which produces anger—

all leading to suffering over time,
Yoda from Star Wars stopping on a dime.

Eternal life!

To secure and clean L.A. outside our
means because the rich council can’t
see it yet.  The mayor choked by his
tie, all a cliché of what Mom wants,
when she doesn’t really know what
she wants, going from high to high,

and when not high…

duck.

Ready, shoot, aim… Trump is drunk
with the buck so duck, it’s MS-13
that are the “animals!!”

So lock your door, another prejudice
is coming.

Ends and means line up, the pious fraud
catching up; we’re trying to evolve,
God help us to with your will align.

Today.

The only day, sublime, it’s wet when
slippery—slippery when wet.

The curse we all feel when we let…

her get away.  The wife of our youths,
we let her go.

Our forefathers stealing native land, we
let our own mother go!

“We’ll see what happens,” there’s
always another side to a story!

The real Gold was Native American wisdom,
not the yellow rock in Georgia, made them
march away and cry,

a trail of tears brought on by Trump’s
idol, Mr. Jackson, stick a needle in
their eye.

My mother said to pick the very best
one and Trump is not it.

Easy targets.

Ready, shoot, aim!

We’ll see what happens.  Kill Kennedy,
Martin, the other Kennedy, Romero
and Lennon,

and we’ll do it again…

***

unless.

Unless, says the Dr. Seuss Lorax when
hoping against hope.

Lao Tzu smiling the smile of
the longevity god, oval-headed and
jovial in the night before an unknown
dawn, the magic of change
in the birth of babies and a new day!

It’s slippery when wet!!

It had better be, if you want to
see us multiply and a future supply,

mountains moving from there to here
because fasting and praying was not
just for the religious but for the wise.

The atheist must sigh.

“The power greater than me has a name,
just stop calling it God.”

Without saying a word, the baby
just is.  The uncarved block, the truth—

sex for the celibate.

College Scam

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by in Education, Poem, Poems, Poetry

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John Stuart Mill was the first to go through
what we went through, the modern
liberal arts education.

He had a nervous breakdown, before any
of that education was of any use.

In all the classroom work, and work, and
work some more he had never

learned how to Live.

***

The basics in life; feelings expressed, a friend
with whom to talk about real things, no guide
asking him what his dreams were.

Parents’ dreams are another thing, and while
I believe in honoring them, that does not
mean doing their will over God’s for you.

Who is asking you what your dreams are?

If you are a child, and no one is supporting your
dreams, break out now before it’s too late.

A nervous breakdown awaits, if you think
“college” will sort all out for you some day.

Sort it out now.  Live Today!!!!

“And ascending and secure,
Shall tomorrow find its place.”

“And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”

Alcohol for burning things, youth for free expression
toward our dreams.

Obstacles, teaching Gradgrinds driving facts
as fictions, such as “college” prep over Life
Prep we must overcome

“Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.”

Break out or breakdown, live your true
purpose or be sheep to shear and slaughter
on the way to shattered hope.

Choose a higher power, step away for
truth to shine, get strong and build your
spiritual home invincible against

the wide pound of rain that has been
other peoples’ ideas for you.

Smile Forever

06 Friday Nov 2015

Posted by in Kids

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Smile1

Things will happen,
good and bad times, but
the day is long enough for both.

I love the wind, change—
the softness of days free of
doubt or worry.

God is spoken of in church
and I see nature’s beautiful
sky and horizon,

I think we’re all here for
a pretty good reason.
Things come together,

Seem made for each other,
dreams and waking time
combine,

I’m so glad to have another
day to think and write
and draw and pray.

Somewhere others are sighing,
writing and reading,
reciting or singing

And I think I hear them,
because I’m smiling now
despite hard times;

My day is long I let in the
tough, it passes and like
waves return to the sea.

Sometimes I could swear
God has made this world
just for me…

So I could smile forever.