Poetry

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The gift we receive    •    Honey don't you know    •    Oh me oh my    •    Wait for me    •    Circle of time    •    For once in my life    •    The cure

The gift we receive

In the spinning arms of a galaxy within an expanding universe
We are born to the biosphere on Mother Earth

The gift we receive is 3 billion heartbeats and 30,000 days

Let’s step with care, caution, and content

Walk with certainty, direction, and purpose

Run with high cadence, bent knees, and enjoy the breeze

Let’s speak clearly and concisely
Sing melodies soft and sweet
Respect the rhythm of silence and then repeat

And for each step we take; for note we reverberate
Let’s share the landscape; Let’s share the soundscape

Let’s share cultivar with those that cultivate like us
Malignant seeds have no place in our garden

We don’t grow envy in the shadow of the rain
We don’t grow violence in the dark of night

We grow strength, discipline, and virtue bound by strings of steel
We grow compassion, respect, and understanding united by love
We don’t long for greener grasses - we grow them

And so, I say, with the precision of an infinite decimal

At the volume of an intimate decibel

The same closing remarks as Max Ehrmann in Desiderata,
“Be cheerful
. Strive to be happy”

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Honey don't you know

Honey don’t you know, it’s a wild world out there
I’ll issue out a message, on a wing and a prayer
Be careful of the steeple and the castle in the air
Grow yourself a garden and grow out your hair

Honey don’t you know, you’re like a blackberry vine
Thorny on the outside, but fruit so fine
With a shape so sacred, geometric crystalline
Dissolve my little fears because you’re turpentine

Honey don’t you know, these things take time
But if we keep it honest, it’ll be sublime
Honey don’t you know, I’m gonna trade in a dime
To better understand you, Earth and maritime

But if you ain’t got your ear to the horn
And if you ain’t gonna hear my warn
Fix it in your mind, you’re the one that I adore

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Oh me oh my

It was early in the morning and my brain was yawning
I was wondering how I got to you my dear
Maybe it was the blissness of how you do dismiss this
I think it's time we shed away our fear

Oh me oh my
It's what we do
It's how we grow
It's what we knew

So meet me by the willow, I didn't know that you were indigo
You are what I was hoping would appear
But now I am tongue tied, side effects not as advertised
Since when was this world so austere

Oh me oh my
It's what we do
It's how we grow
It's what we knew

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Wait for me

A city of love, a city of throes
A city of forks and knives and clothes
This must be it so I'll follow my nose
To where you are, that's where I'll go

Thirty thousand days, so it goes
Endless forms and fallen mangos
The elements of your cargo
The unbearable being that you forgo

A trigger pops and it's end game
Share our words, that was never a shame
But your life is yours to claim
Your glowing eyes never looked the same

To be with you is a miracle
You are the light, you are the pinnacle
and so, I'll wait for you
but will you wait for me

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Circle of time

The blackbird may chase the hawk far from its breed
But its still got to leave the nest in order to succeed
Now I may be wondering about too many things
But its got my mind stuck like unknown contingency
We may be connected by at most six degrees
But with all perfect honesty, it don't mean much to me

It may be five minutes or it may be five hours
This will be the time I'll have to learn to devour
The stars may align in the sky ever so bright
But with so many hues it's no longer black and white
And like a dog goes wandering in the grass hill and all
I may go wandering in a glass bottle tall

I don't know how many times you've grown
But it's far more than I have ever shown
Everyday is just another milestone of undone déjà vu

We may be headed in the right circle of time
But these rings, they may alter
We may be headed in the right circle of time
We just got to make sure

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For once in my life

Just for once in my life I want to see the villian fail
So I took off his mask to display him unavailed
I looked into his hollow eyes you can guess what I had seen
I am he and he is I if ya know what I mean

Now I read about the marriage so hungry and dirty
The malignant little lies that butcher everything
I got a hoard of dishes in the sink left to clean
But I turn to the bourbon from my unkempt canteen

Where do you go when your home is falling apart?
Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start?

I don't know how much longer I can stand this nihilist feat
It's a job oh, it's a chore, it attacks me in my dreams
Six pairs of black socks and underwear I need
Percholating ideas about floating downstream

I walked right through the labyrinth, right through the house of leaves
I was bleedin', screamin' disbelievin' what I had percieved
It killed me soft, it killed me hard, left me bare to the bones
But still I wanted to go back to the unknown

Where do you go when your home is falling apart?
Where do you go when it's charred by the fire you start?

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The cure

The drooping eyes of His serenity dissipate
into an empty abyss carrying nothing
but a beaten carton of cigarettes.
The broken bi-focal glasses, unopened books,
bikes unpedaled, and primetime
splattered with idiotic formulaic episodes,
draining the function and fulfilling purpose
of our presence, of us.

Us, the ones, driven to madness,
unknown to previous decades culminating,
in the fate of young brilliancy’s potential to explode
in a violent banging and popping,
the unbranded cataclysmic kaboom.
Consequently the unfamiliar melting, gooping, and dripping
of our own brains out of our own ears and
into the wastebasket of conformity’s mastermind
leaves our bodies to be the drones and do-nothings
of puppet-masters dressed in coats and ties.
It is Facebook, ‘what not to wear,’ Reebok pumps,
Doritos and MTV attacking the glory of boredom
leaving three-fourths of us in the dirty dumpsters
and the remaining gasping for air,
some contemplating suicide amongst price-tag materials
consuming themselves for consumerism, is the only thing they know.

The dissonance is no longer there.
The abused machine has regressed thought
renaming the ‘rose-garden’ as just ‘thorns.’
We are suffocated by carbohydrate snacks,
twice-over processed meats, and question marks
created behind the curtains with no avail.
We have been trained to be anti-interrogative
as indistinguishable copies are produced
after years of riding the puppet-masters’ assembly line.
The curse, it is cast, Ginsberg and Burroughs
have been ordained into the hush of death
leaving the one’s unaffected by His hex
deprived of the all mighty pastel palette of whispers.

The free minority have had to reconcile with their
desolated counterparts to make ends meet.
For the lonely hipster drowning in self-pity,
the quiet artist seeking intimacy and soul,
the lunch-time reader turning page after page,
for the unnamed, self conscious individual
trying to look forward as a cavalcade of empty nothings
fall onto his or her plate questioning the machine
and searching for a remedy to keep that
stomach full for just one night.
A remedy you wonder? A solution? An answer?

All of this in time future and time past we will be.
We will be the next poets stirring the sleeping world
with overflowing words like T.S. Elliot,
we will be the next Albert Einstein
discovering the corners and awakening
the crevices of our own flowing minds,
we will be the next Pope John Paul II,
Andy Warhol, Barack Obama,
we will be the next face of hope.
Release the chains that bind,
the mind forged manacles, the obligation
we surrender to social networks.
The cure for boredom is not picking
split ends, or aimless channel up and
channel down on remotes detaching us
further from society. The cure is jazz,
Hitchcock and cranial freedom. The cure is us,
if we choose to be. We can be the cure.

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