AND ALL WE SEE...

Good morning

Mister I'm Gonna Blow Up The World

And how are you today

praying to your God Of Territorial Disputes

getting ready to go out with a bang

probably never considering that

once you've enjoyed each of those 72 virgins

happily waiting for you

it may not seem like heaven any more

knowing the way your mind runs

but we never seem to think of the obvious

yes

it's important to fight for what you believe in

but I draw the line at my humanity

and no

God DOESN'T want you to do that

any more than he wants you to pop a fart and whistle Dixie at the library

and I don't know why you look at Him

and see petty

and vengeful

and finite

when I see infinite

like the classroom teacher who knows

you don't take sides in playground disputes

the main thing is for the little buggers to learn something

so you can pass them on to a higher grade

but we ain't there yet

so it's always us and them

and all we see is

an infidel

a nonbeliever

a heathen

an apostate

an unholy

unrighteous

wicked

blasphemer

Jesus

give me a break

what are the chances there's only one path to follow

and each of them shouting OVER HERE

even I can see

that's a mathematical impossibility

if we are all God's children

wouldn't it make more sense to think that

every

belief

system

may have at least a piece of the truth

and if we'd just put our heads together

and compare notes

the bigger picture might come

into sharper focus

but no

you're going to kill

in the name of your God Of The Partial View

in a crowded market

with a bomb strapped to your waist

you are no better

or worse

than the guy

who sends the misguided missile screaming through the sky

the aftermath is going to be just as messy

and oh

a bunch of women and children bit the big one that time

unintentionally of course

collateral damage

back to the drawing board

with a shrug

we're still the good guys

and none of our strutting Suits

have any regrets

I heard them say it

must be nice to sleep at night with NONE

of that on your conscience

you

poor

sad

crazy

numb

deluded

power junkies

too blind to sense

that you're going to be

on the wrong side of history

to a man

it's all a game to you

where the end always justifies the means

well hell

I know it's a game

but still I'd like to play

with as much integrity as I can muster

and be able to shake hands with my opponent afterwards

don't know if you can do that

when he's carrying his dead child in his arms

but you never have to view that close up

never once considering that it's all tainted

from beginning to end

and that nothing good can come from that

which proceeds from a starting point of evil

and that it will hound you

through this lifetime

and how many more

I can't say

your only salvation

your only hope

of escaping karma's

massive kick in the ass

is that maybe...

just maybe...

It's all a dream

PARADE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

gave my buddy a lift
to the V.A.

waited for him
in the lobby
to a slow and steady
military parade of

walkers
wheelchairs
and canes

walkers...

wheelchairs...

and canes

in and out
in and out
in and out

the door

as the music speakers played
"What A Wonderful World"

LAZY AFTERNOON

The century plants in the yard look like they're dead. They've surprised me before, though, kicking back to life after a couple of good rains. This whole desert city is going to look pretty dead before long too, as we hunker down into air conditioned isolation for the long summer siege. (We spend too much of our lives encased in concrete, and it makes us hard.)

The breeze is blowing in through the window, billowing the curtain into a kind of open parachute. The wind chimes ring off a couple of notes and fall silent again. It's a lazy afternoon.

It's nice to sit here and not think about things like Afghanistan, or the fist-pumping crowd outside the gates of the White House, celebrating someone's brutal death. I don't care which side you're on, repeating the bloody cycle of an-eye-for-an-eye down through the ages doesn't appear to be a strategy that is going to win your enemies over to your side--take the Israelis and the Palestinians for an ongoing example.

I've often wondered what if would be like to NEVER read the newspaper or hear the radio and TV news. You know, life goes on--the day to day part of it that we see first hand--pretty much the same as always. We talk to our friends, wash the car, sit on the toilet (or sit on our friends and talk to the toilet). The rest of it is just mind games. The news is designed to provide us with a daily dose of anxiety--a modern day Scheherazade that keeps us on the edges of our seats, waiting for the next episode.

Now there's this 2012 thing--what delightful suspense! December 21st, 2012 is the date the Mayan calendar apparently predicts that the world will go POOF. Many will hold their breath at the stroke of midnight--just like we did with Y2K. Some will undoubtedly sell all their possessions (what will they need the money for?) and head for the mountain tops, awaiting the rapture. The day will go by, just like every other day, and those folks will head back down--red faced--with just bare floors to sleep on. Meanwhile, those "primitive" tribes in New Guinea ain't gonna miss a beat, cuz they're oblivious to it all anyway.

So by now you may be wondering what's the point of these ramblings--where's he taking me and am I going to like it? Well, what's the real point to life? Where's it taking us and are we gonna like it?

We want desperately to like it--those of us who've decided to "keep the faith" and hang in there for the duration of this go-round. We give it the benefit of the doubt--maybe more than it deserves--because we're caught up in it. Fascinated. Spellbound. Addicted. We want to stay for the play. The journey out--into manifestation--and the journey back to Source. So we keep coming back. I think our spirits know that it's not all going to be a bed of roses when we sign on, before the amnesia sets in, (and in that sense we may all be astonishingly brave) but it's those selected moments of what Maslow called peak experience, I think, that give us the notion that it all might be worth it.

And maybe that's the best we can expect. Isolated moments of frisson when we feel like we could grab Arnold Schwarzenegger by his fat neck and swing him around like he's Mister Rogers; moments when we've got a room at the top of the world and we ain't comin' down; moments that by all rights should last forever--though we know they won't.

But they last just long enough to keep us coming back.

And maybe even moments like this will do. Moments when the wind is just husky enough to tickle the chimes...and I ain't too concerned about nuthin'.

T

THAT SAME GUY

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Back in my little town

I never knew

a truly crazy person

back in my little town

there was the town bully

the town slut

the town eccentric

all harmless cartoon figures now

in a land obsessed

with violence

and war

just turn on the TV

and there he is

it's the same guy

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?

it's the SAME guy

day and night

night and day

spraying bullets

dealing indiscriminate death

tune in at eight tonight

to see him again

we've created him

and glorified him

with our dollars

plunked down at the movie theater

we've created him

with a power structure

that assures young people

it's okay

to kill for your country

but only at OUR direction

don't come back here

and try that shit

on your own

is it any wonder that

some get confused

and get it turned around

you know

you are already too far gone

when you pull that trigger

when you are just following orders

all insanity

of the highest order

the inmates

running the asylum

inciting us daily

from podiums

and radios blaring

the politics of division

and hatred

a nation coming apart

from within

fueled by excess

and greed

glowingly referred to as

The American Dream

yeah

just another mentally unbalanced dude

spraying lead at a shopping center

they said he was cold

emotionless

desensitized

as he went about his business

as everyone asks

WHO created him

and somewhere in the background

Michael Jackson sings

time to look at

the man in the mirror