Tag Archives: Peace

Bud Light Cans and Butts

28 Monday Nov 2016

Posted by in Native America, Poetry

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“Who cares?” the great anthem
of all who squat and steal Indian land,
steal it over and over again as we curse
with our language and actions to kill
off nature, one block at a time.

I love God. Indians were one with
their Creator—the Great Spirit, but lost
out to the vast numbers of usurpers
coming West by the thousands.

Usurpers, who left their fathers’ and mothers’
graves behind them.

How could they do such a thing?

Why would they do such a thing?

Wasted, and washed up on the shores
at one time calm and peaceful with
an attitude of gratitude prevailing like
a wind through Sunday, the birds and trees
our music.

Now we have butts and beer cans, the
sad memory of what we did calling
it “the best we could,” a sham as alcoholic
squatters open up another alcoholic
drink, use curse words that native Americans
never used before the invasion.

Cursing, spitting, not caring is the way
of today’s Los Angeles.

I am leaving it, with the hope that the
Indians return to care for the land here.

God bless us to stop and care
as they used to care.

As they used to care…

White Man Leaving

24 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by in Native America, Poetry

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I do not accept the spoils of
war, got through lying, deceit
and bullying against Native Americans
in this land.

I plan to move East from California
in June, after forty-four years of
unknowing blissful usurpation.

I want to leave room for a native
American person to take my spot,
and to inspire other white people
to follow my lead, and leave this
land into the better, more spiritually-
sound care of native peoples.

We have driven this place into
concrete, metal, smoke and trash.

We drive and fly around making noise,
because deep down, we have no
reverence for land that God gave
not to us, but to the Indigenous people.

I squat on Gabrielino/Tongva land
now. Will soon depart and give up
my illegal hold on their God-given
birthright, move northeast toward
Montana.

There I will briefly squat with great
gratitude if the Crow Indians allow.

I will check with them before I arrive,
and during my stay—make sure that
I only give and do not offend them
in any way.

To do so is to please God, the Great
Spirit that lives in, under and above
the land we called America.

If God blesses me with life for two
or so years living and working in
the Crow land, I will then say
good-bye to America, and go back to
where I belong, to the United
Kingdom.

I will go to bring back Native American
wisdom to other European people.

So many years ago, England, France and
Spain sent explorers out to find gold
and riches.

The wisdom of the native American
people is the greatest gold I ever found
here. It has been here since time began,
since before any records of men or women
exist.

I will bring back a love for native land,
seek out the burial places of my
ancestors in Whales and England,
visit other Northern European lands
if remnants of my people are there,
then will plan to settle if God so blesses
me, in the land the LORD God gave to
my people in which to live.

It will become clear in this journey,
I believe, why my ancestors left, but
I hypothesize they left in fear of
unjust monarchs, unjust class structure,
and religious persecution.

Ingratitude and boredom was a sickness,
as well.

We had not yet met the love of Native
Americans, who are an example of how
to live in gratitude for what God gives.

I humbly apologize to Native Americans
for what white people have done to
them and to the land we call
“America.”

It has become a trash heap, compared
to the glorious natural wonder it
once was—when you, not us, watched
over it in good faith, respect, and love.

May you return to rule it under the Great
Spirit again someday, and may other white
people follow me away as grateful visitors.

Away… home.

Godless, We Named it Jamestown

17 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by in Native America, Poetry

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la37

We know that the white man does not understand our
ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next,
for he is a stranger who comes in the night and
takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not
his brother, but his enemy—and when he has conquered
it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers’ graves,
and his children’s birthright is forgotten.
—Chief Seattle

Godless, we placed a king in God’s
spot;

started doing it in 1 Samuel chapter 8,
and the corruption began.

A curse was upon any people who did
not supplicate to a Power greater
than themselves.

See it in England, among other places,
the United States with its “democracy”
and “separation.”

All a curse, seen and manifested in slavery
to kings and perversion.

Slavery!

God said it would be, and it was—and so
they set out in 1606 under kingly mandates,
the will to please a man, not God.

Godless, they arrived in Virginia.

Godless, they see a native people, but ignored
them long enough to erect some timber
and a fort.

Long enough to nod “hello,” but by the
way, on order of a godless king who thinks
he is God:

You do not matter.

And this land, we usurp for our king,
and we shall call it “Jamestown,” after
the godless King James—

The people sheep to a man, as they
were since “crowning” Saul.

The Judeo-Christian cursed itself, banished
God, ignored the Indian, and called it
“Jamestown” in 1607.

My forefathers were there, befuddled, confused
Welshmen three.

Watkins brothers cursed for the concept
of “king.”

And so they called it “Jamestown.”

The “conquering” had begun, by killing
the Indian we killed ourselves, the land.

By conquering the Indians, we conquered ourselves.

I am “white,” my people from Wales,
invading in the name of a man named
“James” in 1607.

We left our fathers behind, instead of
standing up to the insanity of men
oppressing men and women at home.

We robbed land, without natural or
God’s right we “named” the land after
a godless king.

Wales awaits my return, I hope—

for what else can be done but action
amends for the insanity of our
godless past?

I Am

27 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Life, Love, Poem, Poetry

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Words fail.

Ask Borges. Or Shakespeare,
where a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet, Borges a writer
and philosopher who criticized
words as fictions.

We journey to childhood, advancing
this or that, trying to help having
experienced something.

We transfer what we know and experience
to others, try to help, use words—

Whatever we can to improve a world
that according to Lao Tzu:

cannot be improved.

Stop. Go. Love. Hate. Be you,
be truth. Be human, be all things
under the sun or rain to bend or
move with pain—

Be that rainbow after the rain, be the
sunshine filtering through Spring,
a bead of sweat from a good game.

Be alive.

Be dead, where sleep takes us away
hopefully when content with waking
life—we
did enough to feel peace of mind.

The “Devil” is a word, for me conjuring
total perfect evil, temptation, “sin” bringing
more words into a poem which celebrates
the absence of nothing, the need to need—

words failing time and again to say anything
the next generation can use, but still
they use us.

Trapped in words and freed by thought
we smile and return to innocence—if
for only a moment, because the complex
rhythm of words so juxtaposed on paper
or on stage—spoken against wind
through ears ring.

And the pulse shortens.

And we return to our child, the
Native American her home with
God and Nature, the Great Spirit
awakening when we decide to walk
instead of fly.

When we pray on grounds instead of
burning fuel from above.

When we accept the slow pace, as the
real pace, and see that we cannot
enjoy this thing if going too fast,
so hear a Jack Johnson record, slow
down everybody, dilly-dally with some
words, and
let’s pretend.

Rebound

11 Saturday Jun 2016

Posted by in Poetry, Relationships

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There was nothing wrong with the first.

There was something wrong with us—

Then that thing didn’t go away by the
second, third—

Then we’re in middle school on the rebound,
slow-dancing with the wrong one,

pouting ‘cause we got it wrong.

The cry is so hidden, though—we are
deceived to thinking we’re right!

Like Thieves in the night, we dance and
celebrate wrong, raising and tilting
glasses back like pimps.

We found a large crew to do wrong with
us, so in this majority we felt right;

We drank enough, and felt right.

We carried on without guide, thought
“Mrs.” Right was maybe behind door
number five… When really, she is still

Behind number one.

Blessed is the wife of our youth.

Rejoice in her, the Bible says—and a curse
to those who offend her.

All songs danced to without her is
blasphemy against blessing, all lust away
from her is a fulfillment of curse.

The only way to stop the rebound is to
stop taking outside shots.

Go back to the First, apologize and stop
shooting altogether.

Love.

Fighting the Fight

25 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by in Bullies, Poetry

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Is it might or right, from your
front door standing in the night?

You raise your fist and sound
the alarm, speak tough words

and are willing to roll around
with other men, on the ground

of prisons, jails and sin, but if
“I could just be the toughest,

Perhaps they would give me a
medal of honor, and I would finally…

Win.”

“I’m gonna kick your ass” is the favorite
of the “Tough”—not seeing the homo-

sexual connotations in raping peace
with certain incarceration, where you

might find yourself rolling around soon
with other men who thought they were

Tough, then ended up showing their
toughness to male guards, temporary

male prostitutes, trying to substitute
for co-ed life away from the bars.

Then one day you think, maybe I should
not fight so much, or act on anger

all the time, pushing my weight around,
because wait:

Life is short, and I’d rather be free where
I go, free of anger, fear and pride driving

me every which way but home—to the bar,
to the road, to the fight, to the
handcuffs, to the booking, to the
stories told when everybody’s looking,

to a lonely cell, the brotherhood of
all men and women, could have listened
to Jesus Christ, turned the other cheek,

kissed the girl, raised a family—

So stop rolling around with other men—
or threatening homoerotic fantasies,

And come back to God, peace, and
general neighborhood tranquility.

Tough, like Cool is dead—in the presence
of cooler, calmer, eternal Nice.

God bless us to nice—a Tough thing to
be—the best if you want to breathe
long… And See.

Big Yang

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by in Big Bang, Science

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The wolf sees what scientists don’t,
the full circle, Yin and Yang more than
Big Bang, this is the beginning, the end:

The same thing.

1, 2, 3 the dream of all who see, two
plus two? Depends what you’re adding.
The cloth and the sun eclipsed by
spider webbing truth!

One thing remains after the dust settles:

Infinity.

Or does it all come to zero, back full circle
to “I don’t know.” The wolf howls angry
messages of love at the moon—the reverse of
sun, the inverse of none:

We are born…

Birthday rhymes with Earth day as we see out
the shadow call it soul to shade, los musicos preparing
to blast to the bull’s demise but not before a final
surprise, the Earth cringing, its name a lullaby…

Sleep

First Crush

24 Friday Apr 2015

Posted by in Love

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Waves crash, suns fall down,
when really—

It is Earth that moves.

It’s all relative, the first crushy feelings
grab some at five, some at ten,
some feel stunted and
don’t trust love…

So how on God’s Green is it to
be expressed?

First crush, first love, first
Wife—Proverbs said to after that
relationship look. Take care, it
is a blessed thing,

And if it should happen that a
child in your care is crushed,
lift them up, open them up,

And welcome the love out—

Even if you never got that chance
yourself!

Pay forward gifts you never got?

Powerful it is to let go our pain,
ease in morning, catch the light
playing with rain and clouds again,

The rainbow not unlike those
prime feelings.

Suffering ceases, a thought of peace;

To be with her or him—it!!

First crush—Love, surrender!!

First love, find it within, give it
still, even if over hills and seeming
so far away…

And whatever you do, if moments
continue to pass, that wave overhead
and for today out of reach:

Pass along what you have to teach,
encourage the young to be honest,
loving, and to marry from their souls.

Else our lives ring incomplete, Longfellow
had something there;

Standing in these cowardly walls, lacking rhyme.

We look ahead, call her bad—the first,
because we were bad, unwilling, unable.

Go back, and say hello, if this is so:

First crush, we all know…

Bloom

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by in Allegory, Nature

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Prosper in no space but your
own; spread out green across the
face of doubt,

The banks of shimmering sunsets
out to pasture.

The peace is bound to be there.

Accept the warmth when cold, the
shadow when hot, cool breezes in
time to heal,

A water emerges from you, from
without too, evaporation
creating the dream of truth
on the horizon as you wait for
wet.

God is watching the rainbow as we
Hers after the rain; Hers on mountainsides
from Greyhound in Spring up
to the Area’s brisk bay.

When I cannot find the Power to
express, undress. Know. The rainbow
is gold before found in pots by lovers
and streams.

God is pleased when we bloom; all that
work to let it out suddenly.

So private are we, so introspective until
the fall. We gather steam, are as much
a self-willed as inspired dream as we wake up
to one more thing, again and again

The Autumn of Regret falling.

Bloom: where planted they say, or
release your pollen of paintings, songs
and books across all divides to end
up at new beginning’s silver intermission.

Elmer Bernstein’s playing something classical
against our laughs, and with us is God
laughing, hopeful like us—

Meanwhile we sift through the soil, private
in that redundant Winter until alone we know:

There will be another summer, with or without
bodies, the essences of Truth
on a JFK flag, holding on to your ideals against
threats and bothers.

War is the sprouting of a seed through snow and
dirt and water and wind.

Ahhhhh! Reach up to the Sun at least one more time,

One more day. Now, then, with me and give thoughts
to your descent, shower in light and give again…

Expression, God on a higher hill laughing…

Waiting, awaiting your bloom.

***

So eat, drink, replenish and be ready, and
when or if called… open. If not called, open
louder and brighter.

If never called, know that God was calling,
never more pleased as at the lonely
bloom blooming uphill against the storm.

You are recorded, you are here;
there are no enemies at the core—

Shout “Joy” at blooms to be, so that
forever shall there be more…

Life. The only worthwhile war.

Prepare for Peace

26 Thursday Mar 2015

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

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Peace13

Police, paramilitary and Military training
that I’ve seen forget a key
course, the most important lesson
of all to take into the world:

Knowing what to do if no one
or nothing is wrong.

If all is quiet, no crimes are being
committed, no borders breached:

DO YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO
IN TIMES OF PEACE?

I fear (prayer the remedy)—better yet,
it concerns me, the gung ho nature
of violent training, “preparing for war”
and “violent criminals shooting their
guns.”

As depicted in Apocalypse Now and
W. Bush carrier landings, the hoopla
and hype and “excitement” to go to war,
to use training to kill

is sick.

But that’s okay God love you anyway,
just learn how to organize twenty-four
hours of Peace. Difficult, I know!!

Takes an alcoholic at war with himself for years
to understand the compulsion
to seek and destroy, to find some “safe
place” apparently made safe by guns
all around you, but then you forget Jesus
who said “live by the gun, die by the gun”—

you’re painting a target on your heads sons
and daughters…

***

I know he said “sword” not gun, by the
way I’m not totally dumb, I used
to be scared and run, and figure that
if I “got you” before you “got me”—
well, then, I was living…

Ten percent of those who go into
police and military should be trained
for the worst.

The other ninety, give’em to me, to
Peace, to helping other nations, ours,
to being of service.

You have to learn to take one on the cheek,
and give them the other one to hit,

BECAUSE THAT IS REALLY SECURING

World Peace, friends