Oh the Karma

Sitting under the rosy dusk
I smile the smile of the corn
and husk... ashes to ashes
and dust to dust...

I think not. Yet I must.

Helix of heathens
is in my soul
writhing and wheeling
with the art of the droll,

my ancestors were characters
in my own special book,
the begats and begotten
by hook or by crook.
I feel their dear presence
as I sit by a brook, or read a
strange book.

I feel, I know, but for now
I must go...
forgetting the seeds
that they had to sow.

An organic garden is hard to grow.

Peeling the layers of beliefs and doubt,
worming my way to the Sun like a sprout,
I carry their burdens, yet shed all their skins
of the perilous dreams of ridiculous sins.

The only sin, is not living life to its fullest bloom.
eviL is the reverse of Live, in this ghost filled room.

I love them and smile, I am here, they are there...
in the color of my eyes, skin, character, and hair.

Yes, I am ancestrally aware.

But here is the the joke and a ruse and a jest,
I am here as a genetically honored guest,
no matter what I do they are cheering
somewhere
saying we are planning a party just for you

Be cause... WE CARE!

On the lesser lawn

I saw her on the lesser lawn,
a large goddess in a green flowing
dress and two lovely dogs
each knowing their place
in the hierarchy of order
chasing a ball... and having a ball.

The helicopters flew overhead
heralding the opening
of a grand ball at the estate.

Orange clad valet
taking marching orders,
and parking expensive SUVs
on newly laid turf.
So uncool.

A ball thrown in the face of a ball.

The joy of the dog and a friend
in the regal dress of an unnamed woman,
the hierarchy of the pet. Both dogs
were having fun on the lesser lawn.

I saw, I knew, I understood
as the Blue Nile asked,
"Where is the Love?"

Joy on the lesser lawn,
is all I could whisper.



 

Art is the protest...

Words falter but can't be unspoken,
hands weave, and wax on the known
medium, as if it didn't really exist.

The message, or passage, or moment
will not, can not, be denied,

you came to undo

cleverly

you heroic souls of blue!

Art is alive and aware
and underground
tiptoeing as always
in front of the all...

Marvelous... but what
does it mean. (or how much
is it worth?)

Expressionists will vomit
their talent as if it does not matter
and devil take the hindmost
or profits or whatever you want.
They laugh as you pretend to fall.

The beauty is captured and
shared to the pure, and true...

the disenfranchised would
never ask
how much is it worth?

Art is Love in motion
and Love is knowing
that fleeting and secret emotion.

Angels in the forefront
with mirth, mirth, mirth.

Wink. Create. Birth.

Till the Soil

Fuck
an ancient word
to till the soil,
earthworms
do it all the time.

Crawl and grovel
in the dirt,
move mountains
in moments.

Fuck is mad,
and glad, and sad,
and not so bad.

Fuck is fun
a quick and easy pun,
not for everyone...

Till the soil,
find your soul,
a word is a worm
but it's beauty foretold...

in the ground, the dirt, and the
heart of the Mother Earth.

Still the sound of a word
is heartfelt sword,
Fuck is still,
a wonderful word.

I saw the birds

Sitting on the cusp of Eve
I saw the birds,
the blackened
heave...
the flight in freedom.

In a time of need.
I held up hands
in a plight
deceived.

Or sow I thought
in a heart bereaved.

Heaven is now.

I pray and bow.

Minions of crows,
I've come to know
in plentitude,
fly over in rows,
a beautiful wonderment
I've come to know.

There is nothing so fine
outside of the grind
to trust in a wonderment
bursting with rhythm.

The flyover was beautiful
up in the clouds
no words, just a feeling
and a beating out loud.d

The bus on the ground was
calling for people
to give faith to a failure
like a Hollywood steeple...
1-800-PAIN.

Nope, I see that sad refrain,
I carry some hope
and I transmute that pain
in spite of my dope,
the birds do remind me
time and time again.

All is well and is all flying
in the face of a fear...
that Love is the answer
to souls far and near

I fly with that thought
my peace, I hold dear.
We are One
It's my mentor calling.

Dr. Seuss here!

The kissed mouth

A girl of pink is a woman of tomorrow
curiously daring in a a churlish abode,
it bears the baring of an updo most daring
a baring of fixation on a singular mode...

the story be tarnished a bit... but be bold.

A wantonly woman has sought out her seeds
a daring gardener of dandelion weeds
the gardener of truths is what her soul needs

while the world truths are hunting
for the soul haunting bleeds.

It might take a crone who hasn't a care
of a bleeding bedbug who isn't quite there
like a pear in a partridge or porridge stirring
on a stone bridge somewhere.

It's pink and orange in a daily swell,
add in the purple and the wounds
could tell... transmutation, it happens
and it's just as well.

I see what I get and I get what I see,
I know nothing at all
unless it's all about me.

All that I know can be undone with a kiss...
from where it will go, I don't know
but I think it is everyones's wish.

A kissed mouth that feels love
will never hiss!

333-133 Bus Line Blues

So here I sit on a throne most high,
a "Yertle the Turtle" set up in the skies,
when I'd more comfortably be down
in the mud, with lotus and ibis, and humanity's
crud... the people are humble in an every man's
should.

You are what you think in the thick of the wood.

Oh, hello helicopter I see your flight
and I salute you in your newsworthy plight.
You give good nightmare in the dark of the night.

" Luke, I am your father"... still gives me a fright.

You are not my mother, you are not... you aren't light.

Deep breath, it's alright.

The buses and masses are busy below,
living life's agenda... as if they didn't know.
All waiting and breathing for a star spangled show.

My heart will survive me, it's this life that is hard
as I wander and wonder what to be of this bard...
it's not paradise lost, it's a reality reward.

The bodhisattva comes to feel
all the human suffering she cannot heal.

We are all One in our humble heart,
a free bus line for all, in my town
is a very good start!

Baby Step for Compassion

When you realize
that everyone, everywhere
is doing the very best they can
under the circumstances...

wiggle your toes
in wonder.

Look in the mirror
of everyone and everything
and see your self;
I's of the You nee' verse.

Consider...

I can, will, walk

one day

a baby step.

To the delight of those

wiggling toes.

The seeds of compassion
grow slowly
and steadily
at their own pace
in their own time.

What is Good Friday?

A child confused,
a man taught of love
and wandered
in conviction
and fed the crowds
in miracles and brotherhood,
that was his mission.

Crucified on a cross
thorns as a halo
the wood of his trade
a burden to bear.
His bride at his side
was an apostle in hiding...
that was his cross road
to... there.

A horrible day as a child,
an enlightening day as adult.

The myth is the story
the message is stale
of a failed decision
to exclude the women
who cared in their veil.

The patriarchal classes
have had their agnus dei,
the lamb was slaughtered
in the usual way.

The daughters of Mary
have had quite enough
of the pomp and circumstance
of this religious rebuff.

No son of a mother
should ever so perish
as a sacrificed lamb
for the lies of the garish
in any homeland.

There is nothing righteous
about a reviling murder
to keep people afraid
of their own perilous slumber.

Wake in resurrection
as an insurrection
to know you are god
the light of the source
of whose Love
there are no words
so of course, live humbly.
Your wonderful souls are meek.

Those who perpetrate lies
against the those who live and seek?

Their days are... well numbered.
A secret vow that I can't keep.

Certainty?...Certainly not!

i came to play
in a ground of seek,
peek-a-boo
and I see you too.

Here are ground rules,
(from a dusty discord)
a hazy admonishment
from the scared to death world.

Ok, i will play and learn what you teach
a rotten egg song on a dark spongey peach...

Please go on, where I spent my time
in a an endless fury of rhythm and rhyme.

i've got nothing but time.

Here in the Now and here in the know
I've got a bag full of uncertainty

and places to go.

Where it will take me?

i'll never really know.

I'm just enjoying the show!

Golden Grid of Gaia

A sleep interrupted
a sheep intercepted
a deep speculation
a shorn sword revealed.

One is a given
the word is a ribbon
the world is a gibbon
born of bone and steel.

You are a starlight
the dust of the harlot
the hare of the moon
the sun and the stars.

Make your way merry
there isn't no hurry
eternal is shining
a work of divining...

I AM... breathe.
No tricks up your sleeve?

Within is a haven
without a black raven
and heaven is heavy
for the waiting of peeve.

I came and I thought with believe,
my heart is the joyful reprieve,
I surrender to the light I receive,

and live to my artful naive...

(communication gridlock)

A golden grid on a canvas of pink
is a lovely state of being I think.








Life is a matter
of whether or chatter
a channel of illusion
but from the confusion

comes Love.

Dark Before the Dawn

Blind in know
blithe in snow,
how the white flakes
swirl in tow.

A dizzy dance
to those in the know.

Lift arms to the light;
it's gonna be All- right.

Eyes of the You-niverse,
Imagine your course
and hold hands...
I wanna hold your hand
in  band of gold...
Like a free-bird
down on me...
It ain't easy
when I kiss the sky
and turn, turn, turn
as a runaway.

All the music I came to know
let's me know
where I will go!

I'm beginning to see
the light,
U-2 can break
these chains of love
you karma chameleon.

Smoky angel eyes,
Zefir in the sky
with diamonds...

I feel the sunshine
of your love.

I was born this way.

Whee!

When dark market forces
appear upon the land
of an uplifting choir of voices
from within the shifting sand
and the lights appear
in pink and blue
as a baby's blanket of lamb,
to a ewe-ing and a bleating
of a heart of loyal grand...

the sheep were shorn
the horns have blown
and now they understand.

Within a cosmic cluster
of a vortex without end,
a soundless voice has whispered
to a light that shines within.

A child's rhyme repeated
over and over again.

This little piggy
cried tears of joy
we, We, Whee!
all the way Home.

We are One
we're not alone,
said the conductor
to the band.