13 Friday Jul 2018
Posted in Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry
Ser honesto, la clave, el
primer paso al cielo
empieza con el viento
de no andar con vergüenza.
Trato esto, trato eso,
trato algo bueno pero
yo sé que en un año,
se puede ser algo malo.
Yo soy poeta sin casa
hasta me abraza aquel viento,
una lancha abandonada
en el mar de extremo.
Aquí estoy!
Mi corazón tuyo un día más.
Mis letras de Dios cuando
me levanta para vivir,
trabajar y disfrutar este día
en paz.
18 Monday Jun 2018
Posted in Gratitude, Life, Overcoming, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry
Tags
John Travolta, Joy, Kelly Preston, Love, Peace, Poem, Poetry
Life is sweet, no matter
what a pessimist may say,
over the rocks, poor me over
a drink of scotch on the back
of a bad bender on a perceived
bad day.
God will overcome, if we cannot,
and if “God” is a four letter
word to you—
re-count, there’s three, and
look the word up in your
nearest dictionary.
God bless us to smile and take
it in; when we get hurt to turn
the other cheek, but hope
we don’t get hit again—
this thing is lighting me up!
Life can be everything we ever
dreamed of, perfect!
Wet in sun makes the flower
grow, apples know, avocado
in Spring needing sunshine to
dream,
this cycle repeated, the over and
over game of batting eyelashes,
sporting moves, jumping fences
to land in park benches, drawing
hearts in the sky, so we can be
the coolest guy!
“Tell me more, tell me more,
did you get very far?”
Not until I stopped dying, stopped
drinking flammable liquid long
enough to—yeah—look it up
on Google—
It’s flammable!
So why…
put it inside? Me?
Huh?
It’s fair, this life, between the
pipes, one two three, Jam-
Master Jay Run DMC.
Hope to live, flip death with
a smile that lasts forever in the
eyes of the young ones who
long past you survive.
They take a peace of us,
a song we sung, so sing it loud
for the band’s begun, God is
what God does, and so far so
good we reap what we sow,
the atheists know, it’s a wordfest
doing our best, Kelly Preston
helped me write this—
Johnny Travolta disco danced
a smile on my chest, a cross
that’s blessed, a total to the
equation that means two plus
two does not always equal four;
it depends what you’re adding,
Love the final ingredient to any
good cooking.
Don’t forget to thank the wind
for blowing your leaves around, Dad—
reminds us we’re moving and that
Seasons happen, the pain changes
to rain changes to the colored
‘bow, snow to skis to Riddick Bowe.
Life is a fair fiddle, it plays
the notes you command it to play,
unless the storm comes in,
pretends to ruin your day.
The Zen master says “We’ll see,”
so listen, wait, allow the Earth
to move past your current pain,
without it no joy at overcoming,
no rainbows, no flowers, no trees,
no peace without war, nothing.
Which is… everything.
Borges turns again, we’re free.
16 Saturday Jun 2018
Tags
Christian Science, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, God, Health, Love, Mary Baker Eddy, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Positivism, Universe
The sky with earth, clouds keeping
it tight, swirling day and night.
I did none of this, but responded
when made with breath and…
Thanks.
***
The mass of things that made us;
the sign of times that create us—
Songs sung in gratitude for the chance
to dance, wide open or by the fire
of a closing stance,
no breaks for the wild world, only
thanks for the mighty swirl,
those things—all of them—I did not
do to deserve life.
It was given, a simple gift; we walk
by the river or lake, must seek a good
life to make it great,
True brilliance not from me but
grabbed after pausing, lending
children a hand, starting a new band,
whatever I with God on a daily
schedule think to make.
It doesn’t always go my way, but
smiles happen when I anyways
Thank.
Gratitude is the key to health, and
when we speak health we receive
it, ask Mary Baker Eddy or better
yet the positive prolific poet
named Ella Wheeler Wilcox!
Hers are gems for the man or
woman trying to find their child
inside.
The way to heaven not for men
and women but girls and boys.
You’re eighty years old? Where are
your toys?
Smile and play, now! Thank what you
thank, and pray thanks for now!
We did not do this!
We did not put this mass of things
together, but the wise among us
know how to thank for it;
So thank Something for it, make
a great day happen—forget the rest!
Sing a song that’s within from heaven
to your chest!
Give your life to a higher Power,
I call it God, you call it what you will;
to disagree with trifles is a bore,
and to smile and have fun is best.
14 Thursday Jun 2018
Posted in Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry
You look up from a rut, or a
pattern, and you notice the
beauty of a tree.
It feels good, the neck stretched
like branches, the blue of sky
broken by leaves, you douse
it all with your hose,
the sparkle of the tree!
We aren’t the only ones here.
Humans are one of many
living things that give the LORD
cheer. The atheist closes the book,
let’s try to gather—don’t go!
Call great feelings and inspiration
any other name you choose.
What makes you smile?
Ahh, that’s it! That’s what I
get when I pray to a higher power,
when I let go perceived control,
and know I am not in charge
nor able to secure results.
I can try and try; then I can
live or die—all a choice in the
garden that is life!
I “choose life,” to recall a Scottish
film with a guy named Ren,
who was hooked on death to
avoid the day to day of what
others did.
I choose poems!
I choose art, then go out and
admire God’s. Yes, God’s—
the name I call the “Whatever
it is, I didn’t make it but it’s kinda’
good!”
Call it Jehovah! Call it Nothing!
Call your best feelings your best
feelings, let go of the hate that
broods for long enough to consider
the tree that leans into the
sun, never judges, accepts and
hopes for the best.
13 Wednesday Jun 2018
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
13 Wednesday Jun 2018
Posted in Earth, Higher Power, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sex
Tags
Earth, Egg, Galaxy, God, Life, Love, Planets, Poems, Poetry, Power, Relationships, Science, Sex, Sexuality, Space, Sperm, Swirl, Truth, Universe
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.
11 Monday Jun 2018
Posted in Los Angeles, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry
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.
11 Monday Jun 2018
Tags
Christianity, Education, God, Joy, Love, Never Again, NeverAgain, Peace, Poems, Poetry, Politics, Religion, Shootings, Truth
Teachers and students are targets
because we have fallen for a great
lie:
That schools are good.
That schools will help a person
become “successful,” the modern
word for Heaven—
spirituality kicked out of modern
life, more and more.
God is being kicked out of politics,
schools, and even churches that
tout public prayer as good—despite
the teachings of Christ, who touted
private prayer.
Shopping centers and malls,
concrete and asphalt mixed with
high buildings to trap us and block
us from the glory of unfettered
Nature.
We construct cages of learning,
worship and living, separate
ourselves from Creation, celebrate
our human abilities and “Oh,
aren’t we neat,” then—in a panic
of lost peace of mind…
A disgruntled student shoots
through all barriers, acts out to
feel something, and tears down
our walls of Babel in multiple
gruesome murders of innocent,
unarmed people.
Walls within walls, the shots tear
town walls.
Inside the walls, if not dead himself,
the shooter feels now.
Feels regret.
And a poet wonders why he still
lives in a modern city.
09 Saturday Jun 2018
Posted in Immigration, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Political Satire, Race, Racism, Satire, Xenophobia
Tags
America, Border, Fear, Foreigners, Immigration, Joke, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Political, Racism, Satire, Sessions, The Wall, Trump, USA, Xenophobia
Let’s stick together, fend off
the other.
We used to be an “other” long ago,
but not me that was my
progenitor, not me—let’s go!
I’d rather be dead than caught
in the web; liberal diversity’s not
for me, I’m a Christian, just
the type who’s white, ticked
and armed, so back off.
Someone once challenged my
right to kill. They were invading
my house, so I had to defend, but
in the army learned that shooting
for the torso of a human was
defending so killed him.
One must defend one’s family—
which is everything. Blood relations,
keeping America white.
They say this was native American
before it was white European but I
kinda’ think that’s Fake News.
I ignore God when I want to
and cheer at Liberals’ defeat,
this is a war and I wanna win so
let’s kill as much as we need to
let’s win.
Stop ‘em at the border, kill
‘em if we must, build a wall,
Jews will not replace us. Divide
and conquer’s not the devil’s
line—Believe Me!!
Let’s go to the rally! Are you going?
So much winning; I love it
how we won all those wars.
Vietnam was fake news, we won
that too!
Kennedy had it coming, I love
CIA movies and their covert ops,
I wish I could take one now,
see all those babies separated from
their mothers at the border,
I’m Christian but the kind that
likes White Jesus, and sick
of the politically correct brown
one they cook up downtown
in what will become a sanctuary
city if we don’t spread Trump
fever fast and build that damn
wall!
30 Wednesday May 2018
Posted in Crime, Criminal Law, Law, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Tao
Tags
Crime, Joy, Lao Tzu, Law, Love, Peace, Poems, Poetry, Robert Frost, Sense, Tao, Tao Te Ching, Terrorism, Truth
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.
Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet 