I knew that it was Good

There came a day in my life when I realized that not all that I had seen was as it appeared. My vision of life was like broad strokes of paint on canvas – colors mixing together and creating shapes that held no purpose at all. Yet, they yielded beauty. It was a splendid mix of radiance and within those hues were entire spans of life, all being lived out harmoniously and with an order that I had not previously been cognizant of. Until suddenly, I was – I could see it All – every connection. It was like I was everything. I was every leaf and every tear and every cloud all at once. I could feel the heartbeat of every creature and every vertebra that moved and every wind that blew through leaves like the strumming of strings on some secret mystical instrument. And all I wanted, was to thank God. I wanted to yell it from the highest peak that I could climb, and then I realized – I Am the highest peak – I Am that I Am. And I heard God laugh in that moment. It was as if every laugh that I had ever heard and every voice I had ever listened to laughed in that laugh because All was God. And yet I was still Me – one small piece of God, finally realizing that I Am. And then We both laughed – the entire world laughed. And I picked up everything because it was mine – you see, being and having are the same thing, and so I walked through the doorway to All, and I became what I came here to become – this time around. And I wrote with a new passion and I filled pages and pages and volumes and volumes and my fingers were like lightning on the keys and it mattered not that no one ever read them. Because I was everyone, and I read every word that blazed upon the page. And it was enough that I alone knew that it was good.

Ode to the American Flag

flag

Ode to the bipartisan waves
Of that old red white and blue
Is it her shining glory that paves
Or her stars and stripes in us imbue
Has freedom been the grace that saves
Have our compassionate hearts rung true
Or shall we go forever divided to our graves
With no regard for how or why she flew

The Rising

Each mote must float within its space
And every like to each its own must face
And You so being created as such
If longing and desiring is much
Must know and understand in detail
To stay the same yet want will surely fail
There must always be a growing and a reaching
For the risings only garnered by the breaching
Yet the soul that tethers itself to any idol
Will find itself a prisoner of that wile
For the expanding path will always lead away
From those whose choice in stagnate waters stay
But You who’ve learned to think in all directions
Will find the power that masters ALL reflections

Birth

All truth lays hidden in your mind
Be it bad or be it good – it is there
Conceiving itself as a seedling, forming
Until birth into the very existence of your life
And you perceiving it – judge it –
The very thing that you made
Without realizing that it was you
Who formed and created it
And I have noticed that most
Take credit for all they deem as good
But instead place blame for all they deem as bad
And in doing so – give all their power away

Open Graves

I saw them there among the caskets,
Buried deeply ‘neath the hard packed earth
And the sleepers in their tombs bedded down
Their slumbers, forgotten as they turn to bone
And yet the many open holes were dug and left
A site no one other than me seemed to see
The people gathering, one by one – dropping deep
Into the slow death of life – and no one heard them
As they screamed from their open graves.

She spoke no English – I, no Russian.
But we sat in silent smiles,
drinking tea – the years making us friends.
One day, dropping the kids at school,
“it’s froggy out,” she said. I pause, then nod,
“Yes my friend, it is froggy out.”

“Gift certifercate,” she said.
What? I asked. “I need a gift
certifercate.” Standing beside me
in his unknowingness, he corrected her.
Me quickly jabbing him in the side, interjecting,
“Right my friend, gift certifercate.”

Memories of friends long moved on –
The blending of lives and loves, of cultures –
Words melding with new meaning –
Little gems that glow and glint my mind –
Endearing the past to my present with joy –
By way of froggy days and gift certifercates.

So come! Come with me my love, and sit
awhile more – let us remember those
small treasures, those flawless imperfections
that entangle us so completely in our humanism.
Let us muse a little longer of days past
As we linger here in your favorite anacondriack chair!

It was the moment of my morning constitutional,

When there she appeared like she does tail wagging
A ball in her mouth and her ass carpet dragging
Well I balked at the site and I shooed her away
With my butt stone still on the crapper that day
I plopped down a turd and then farted twice
And here is where I will give some advice
Never play ball when your butts busy pooping
Your dog doesn’t get why you’re sitting there stooping
She’ll keep bringing toys and then running away
She’d be happy to do it all fucking damn day
So once you’re done shitting and whipping your arse
Remember with a smile my dog fetching farce
And don’t toss the ball or it never will cease
And they’ll be no more people pooping in peace

~ In honor of April Fools’ Day!