Tag Archives: Poetry

4 easy ways to solve all your problems NOW

10 Feb

Take any one truth and

follow it completely

to the bittersweet end

instead of the hithering and thithering

of our now.

For example,

“go with the flow”

or “there is no problem”

or “be here now”

or “whatever is is”.

I made that last one up, maybe,

but who cares?

Take one idea to the extreme of understanding

in every moment of what time you have left.

That’s it.

I lied to you;

it is not 4 steps, but 1 long step from now

to the end.

We have been living like grease slicks on shallow puddles

in pot holes in grocery store parking lots

up to now…maybe all times are this way:

shiny

polluted

temporary

mesmerizing.

Clicking to the next channel

with ease, once remotes became a thing,

led to cable tv

which led to computers

which led to tabs open for days

enticing but never understood,

videos never watched–

4 easy ways to solve all your problems NOW

with our 7 second attention spans.

How about diving into that greasy puddle,

through the asphalt,

to the layers of dirt and moles and worms

to the water table and rock beds.

keeping on going, in the one spot,

straight down, to the mantle,

to the core, perhaps-

who knows what is there?

Is there a turning center nugget of gold or a turtle or a mantis or a laughing god on a pogo stick?

We don’t know.

There are emphatic measurers who provide diagrams of what lies beneath,

but phooey, we are infants, larva, asserting theories about our blind spots…

we’ve been shooting up holes on the filmy top layer

of a hard boiled egg long enough.

The advice today is

follow one single concept as far as it can go,

until you are the world renowned expert on this one singular drilling down

but by then you will have long disappeared

into molten goo

going with the flow,

in the arteries of truth

beneath the crust of known.

You with the singular focus

of a paralyzed and unaccommodated,

forever open eye ball.

 

 

 

fundamental rage

27 Jan

the rage is true and justifiable

(felt at our core like Neo,

perhaps since birth).

though skillfully polarized

and misdirected,

scream and fling into the wind

and waterfalls

and then

get back to dancing.

 

 

Plug in

26 Jan

There are limitless ways,

thank god,

to choose.

We took on the options

(all of them)

when we agreed to breathe.

What if we are not alone in this endeavor,

or powerless at all, but

able to access unlimited power

in our earthly play?

Wall sockets seem the closest humans can

mimic, right now,  of power in the material,

yet unseen through ball and socket eyes

could be a source available in the space

which includes us,

which enlivens us,

(high or low or a million ways of in between),

only ever limited within our single units,

when we forget what’s here,

not outside of us.

How else could we be here,

put together with a trillion

systems coordinated beyond our control,

our brains and fingernails composed of quarks,

or some quivering basis for matter,

chemistry, physics, and biology, and more

and much much more,

cocktailed into us, mysterious us?

Do we have any choice even if

our very being is beyond our understanding?

Today, I say, breathe deep into possible power

because why not?

This morning, it seems, the choice:

to plug in or not.

What if we distract ourselves not

with the power blackouts

of shallow living?

Every choice, in every moment,

powering us up or draining us down, then perhaps–

We can experiment with

the toggle nature of this freedom–

and find that

this equation is true:

∞   x   ∞

If I can plug into

that which powers all

by my simplest of choices

in each moment,

well, then,

choiceless choosing has

pronging me

plugging in to wallless outlets,

finding that we are the ones

letting there be light

down here.

 

 

 

 

holy

23 Jan

There is nothing but

holy.

I wore it today as a mantra

in traffic jams

and temperature swings

and in the checkout line

where I was handy

and open

next to  magazine and candy gossip.

Enough flowed through

to bless the swollen wrist

of the Target cashier

from RA she says and sighs,

so painful,

sweet one, yes.

When we are there with her,

our mind’s hand covers her pain

with tactile love

while we drop to the spot

left and right lungs

touch the fire pit of our

singular abyss.

Holy rains on

holy messes

and blesses us all,

despite.

 

 

 

before or after we gone

26 Dec

What is life from no vantage point?

Center dancing and catalysting with every other center –

a friction of creation.

We, bombs bathing in lighter fluid,

montages of memory –

the white noise of yesterday

mixing with the headlines of today

blind to the rumbling volcano now

where we are

made, destroyed, and made again…

The first collisions of matter still echo,

songs on the victrola traveling out,

borning to dying, a 30 second film –

a scribbled line from here to there –

disbanded drying and dying,

then gone,

a whimper AND a bang,

i say,

and again.

the plot

25 Dec

When I have simplified my life

to a single dripping faucet,

each falling drop

the entire spectrum of sound, sight, taste, feel and smell,

each plop an endless reverberation on every level, and

I can perceive

and I am free in each moment

to full spectrum – which is a happening –

then I am not fleshed anymore,

but a sensory device,

forgetting to be allergic to the cat.

the buddha breaks a sweat

9 Dec

Buddha in Black Sweats,

I bow to you in retrospect,

you who awakened my Nosy Rosey

eyes that noticed

you

rushing to beat out others

to be first

while dripping sweat

AND

not cleaning up after yourself.

It was that final straw that arched my back

ready for a war—

Harumpf!

You got me, I wanted to reprimand you, I did.

I’m in 2nd grade tattling to the teacher,

Billy didn’t put away his cartoons to do the lesson.

I  watch  some ME giving you the stink eye,

ha, all the while,

you in your infinite wisdom

hold a mirror to my angst.

Now, I can see—

so easy for me to wash the machine before and after

as a great service for me and to me

all the same.

I couldn’t even see you, if you were not me, as well.

I am you, sweaty man, and

I am Goodie Two Shoes who follows the rules, and

I am the machine,

passively waiting for each one who will sit on me

and sweat holy water for us all.

 

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