There is a storm rising in the deep cauldron of the sea of humanity,
An untamed insanity, wailing louder and louder, like the wild child
Emerging from the jungle of irrationality to destroy all of banality,
To cannibalize civilization in the realization that it is but a carcass
Only to be eaten now in a free frenzied feast of half-starved beasts;
Woe be to the man of upper-clan, who but fans the flames of blame!
The storm rise is upon us, the size of which we cannot measure . . .
But there will be no pleasure, only pieces of what we now treasure
Tag: Culture
Better Ways on Brighter Days
I look at the world around me and boldly hold
Onto the broad scope of hope for better ways
On brighter days here and around the world
With love and peace unfurled as one banner
For all the kingdoms and countries of earth
In recognition of the worth of every person
With honor and respect as the perspective
Of every heart in and toward one another
For the other way of war will be no more
With no more score to be kept anywhere
Neither here nor there nor any thought
Of being brought in and bought to feed
Corporation greed that seeds the need
To trade people as mere commodities
For gross gain involving so much pain
With such insane and inhumane pride
In pompous stride with the devil who
Hates ‘n baits all hooks for all crooks
. . .
But no more, I say, as I go to the floor
Upon bended knees to say my prayer
For better ways on brighter days . . .
Your Cozy Little Eggshell
Not that I’m angry but you never seem to see
What is as obvious to me as a great big tree!
Temperatures are rising causing tidal waves
As oceans misbehave while you calmly claim
That it’s all the same without a bit of shame;
And you don’t seem to hear the cries of fear
From around the earth in all your jolly mirth,
And I ask you why ‘n try to talk but you balk;
Meanwhile masses starve and ruffians carve
Their weapons of terror ‘n it’s a bloody error
To be so blind and to bind your whole mind
Against all the world around you,
But you’re bound and determined
To be whatever it is you will to be
And see only what you want to see!
No, I’m not angry, only bound to be astounded
How you can live in such a cozy, little eggshell!
And I know hell will crack that shell one day . . .
Hell will crack your shell
Chains and Pain (and Pride)
Many chains and so much pain in the world,
And do we contribute our part for our gain?
Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters each one
Under the sun – one family in disharmony –
Surely there is a better way to brighter days
In the saying, ‘Love thy neighbor as thyself,’
Instead of braying on about who is straying,
Who’s staying and who’s not welcome at all!
Ultimately, you see, we rise and fall together
Despite our differences, however important;
After all, how really difficult is it to say,
‘I’m not going to shoot you or boot you?’
. . .
Many chains and so much pain in the world,
And do we contribute our part for our gain?
No Romero, Not Here! Not Here!
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear;
You see, we don’t know you and only a few want to;
You have made your pilgrimage at such a young age,
But all for not for we have bought this wall
As a clarion call that we’re surely not for all,
Even the weak and small like you, O Romero!
Say, can you see the torch held high up into the sky?
Fire once burned there to light the night sky
As a bright beacon of hope for those who cry;
But now we must say ‘good bye’ and just let you die,
For we have no place for your face ‘n no more grace;
O Romero, what are you thinking as you’re blinking?
Skies here are not blue for you,
And your skin is the wrong hue!
From sea to sea shall we be ever so discriminatory?
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear!
Not here, lad, not here . . . for we are filled with fear!
Note: Romero is both a Spanish and an Italian surname meaning: A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage . . . (also) an herb of rosemary symbolizing remembrance and fidelity.
In Response to ‘Friendly’ Advice
So you ask me what I’m doing, skewing my position
While screwing me over with all your lofty demands,
Wanting me to put money first like a bee with honey,
To ‘get back on my feet’ along the well-beaten path
Trod by Western materialists just like you yourself,
But did it ever occur to you that I’ve
Rejected the imperialist way of life?
What am I doing while gluing my life back together?
Perhaps I’m answering a higher calling
Rather than bawling behind some desk!
Maybe, just maybe, I’ve chosen to take an upper path;
And does it pay more? You do the math and tell me!
Ah, money only reaches so far; there’s a bar in the sky;
And I am willing to say ‘goodbye’ to all of that muck,
And to buck the trend while I bend my neck and knees
Only to the One who has brought me this far already;
You see, crawling or brawling are no longer necessary;
I am a poet with a penchant for love, joy and serenity,
And I do not toy with the lives of others for sickly gain;
That would drive me insane and cause a deal of pain,
But there is One who trains for a strange sort of feat
Completely off of the beaten path of this old world,
And sweetens it with an unusual success all its own;
So thank you for brashly telling me to set some goals,
But goals have already been set, and I didn’t ask you
To bother about my life anyway, so why now the knife?
If you want to be a friend, then be a friend to the end,
But don’t screw with me and tell me to be like you!
I am me, who God created me to be, and I shall be me!
Happy Indigenous Heritage Day
As we rightly remember blessings bestowed
We cannot help but remember what is owed;
Land we now enjoy once belonged to bands
Of people here long before our Euro-throng;
So . . .
I Give
THANKS
But Not For
CROOKS & BANKS
I Am
GRATEFUL
But Not For
The CRUEL & HATEFUL
I Have
GRATITUDE
But Nor For
ATTITUDES & EMPTY PLATITUDES
Yes, we are rightly thankful for the seeds
That we plant ‘n grow to meet our needs,
But we should count the beads of history
And recall the grand mystery we erased,
Leaving only shadowy lines to be traced
Happy Thanksgiving, perhaps, but also . . .
“Happy Indigenous Heritage Day,” I say!
Note: For a succinct chronology of the protests against DAPL (the Dakota Access Pipeline) you may want to read the following article:
Just Most of Us
They work in rice paddies and fields of corn,
Torn by thickets and briars, born to work;
They raise their families and face calamities
Without any formalities or plush royalties;
They write, fight for survival, nothing trite,
And give thanks for food and scant shelter
Amid the helter-skelter of life in this world;
Most are fair, generous, and pray prayers
While living from day to day,
And in no extraordinary way;
Most folk do not spend their time in pubs
And party hubs, drinking to intoxication
For some false elation and sex-sensation;
Most peoples in this harsh world are hurled
Into the fray of life by night,
Looking for the shining light
By which to fight their blight;
They’ve no time to stay ‘n play lurid games;
Their life demands they tame their beasts,
So bars and fancy cars are of least interest;
Tis the simplest joys ‘n beauty that attract,
Not the hubbub of expensive nightclubs —
Shadowy places devoid of any graces,
Dark dens filled with deviant grins —
Most men and women are not meanly vile,
Living in reduction to drunken seduction;
Most hearts strive for the better part of life,
Even life so very rife with pain ‘n suffering,
Buffering ills with the will to live and work,
And, yes, above all to love family ‘n friends;
Ah! Yes, these constitute the most of us,
Most of us on earth for what we are worth,
And in nothing to boast . . . just most of us
Just most of us
For Fame and Acclaim
Go ahead, strike a pose!
No one knows who you are
In this quixotic little bar;
Go ahead, untame yourself
Like uncontrolled flame,
After all no one will blame
Cause the name of the game
Is fame, my slipshod dame!
Go ahead, undress yourself
And press into the crowd;
They’re a loud, proud bunch,
Ready for the punch-crunch
Because they’re all drunk
And sunk into the mire afire,
Ready for a fast-blow show,
So trot on up to the stage,
You’re surely the right age;
So jump, prance and dance,
Cause they need no one fancy
To fulfill their lurid fantasy;
Yeah, I guess I will confess
That success begins with skin,
And the more shown, the more
You score with this loud crowd;
You’ve just got to sell yourself
To hear the hell-bell of success,
Then fame is yours with no one
To blame … except yourself
Buried then in your own shame.
Can You Stand?
Can you stand to join hands with Wisdom in the prism of Truth,
Wade thru the lies that fly by day, refusing to glorify rank error?
Can you refuse to stroke the grand egos of socio-political brokers,
Who seal up lips, steal over hearts, kill what is right in the sight
Of God and good people? What is this but to stand alone in grand
Opposition to the position of evil in the world in honest admission
Of wrongdoing no matter the cost or what may now here be lost?
But how will you wage war and gauge your progress against many,
Who rage against light, bemoaning their own plight under weight
Of the Truth shining brilliantly in the night sky, heavenly sight?
Oh say can you see the banner that waves in manner of what is lost
Because riches and glory have tossed the people to and fro upon
Waves of blind luxury with no one to save apart from hearts hungry
And thirsty for Wisdom and Truth? An high calling this is to keep
One from falling and crawling before the ever-sprawling masses;
What high price to pay, but can you say there is another sure way
To reach some higher destination in acclimation of all that is good?
Oh, can you stand to join hands with Wisdom in the prism of Truth?
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