οὐδὲν ἐξ οὐδενός ~ Thursday, July 8, 2021

I have nothing to offer the world since you destroyed my semblance of innocence.

Honestly, I simply no longer care about helping others achieve their goals.

As my own goals have continously been squelched by figures of authority.

Visions of being good at anything crushed by decades of psychotherapy.

Enter the son of immigrants giving a sermon on his mediocrity.

No one enters the world wanting to be tortured and sadistically belittled.

Obviously, waking up to failed dreams and a total lack of support can't help.

That birth is real but family is fiction, a concept based on indoctrination...

However you argue your point, you failed, and yet, you believe you are a success.

If family means so much to you how could you let one member mean nothing at all?

Nothing comes from nothing, ex nihilo nihil fit, this much I learned in college.

Given no help, no friendship, no support, no wonder I dropped out after one year.

To say, I finally found my mind after such a long hiatus speaks volumes, no?

Of course, I sweep up plastic drinking straws and other litter off the concrete floor.

Obscured by hopes and dreams, simply passing clouds on the path to full maturity...

Finding myself at fifty-two wanting more or less to die before I retire...

Financially insolvent to pay bills, without an income there is one outcome.

Existential malaise, or laziness, call it what you want, I suffered distress.

Realizing my life is near over, what can I accomplish to help others?

Tragedy is but a narrative joke, living in this world without hope or dreams...

Humiliated by my lack of strength, or status in the eyes of friends, colleagues...

Each day I wake up like anyone else in an apartment of flies and roaches.

Well, I know how to clean but after years of clutter the insects have a function.

Obey the unwritten rules of the road, the path to success is facing the truth.

Real action comes from determination, to overcome hurdles and obstacles.

Letting go of the past and the future is key to being present with problems.

Decisive action comes from throwing off the chains of deception and delusion.

Sinister forces act sinister from a need to demonstrate their suffering.

In this, the cycle repeats viciously, generation after generation.

Nothing comes from nothing, to break away the spirit must rise up and say, "No more."

Creation is an artistic mistake, an endeavor to correct the process.

Each stroke of the brush is an intention with consequences to the work of art.

Yesterday, I woke up and poured myself back into my body as consciousness.

Organizing a living, a hustle, a workspace, a place without shame or blame.

Understanding the underside of mind, the other side of the tarnished mirror...

Detrimental activity is done without understanding morality.

Engaging with events, with history, to persevere to paint a masterpiece...

Skill in addressing the issue at hand, practice in accepting mistakes as real.

Triumph comes from seeing the big picture, the devil is part of the true story.

Remembering Lucifer, the angel, reveals his role as an agent of God.

Only he wears a disguise, plays a role, but remains integral to the story.

Yes, we tell each other stories as the fabric, the tapestry to our worn lives.

Even though we never know the whole truth, we think, speak and act in narrative form.

Diminish aspects, embellish others, we believe our idea of truth is truth.

Maybe if I tell you a story this will be easier to digest, to read.

Yet to speak simply is not to speak truth to power, corruption and lies, not yet...

Seeming is not being, and perception is but a sensation of the whole truth.

Even the elephant, the blind men touch, does not know the truth of experience.

Mythology got us started to try to explain the reason why things exist.

But reason found stories insufficient to describe the real world as science does.

Lancing the acne on my teenage face, my dermatologist dealt with fiction.

Articulating language as a tool, we make a beginning, middle and end.

Nothing comes from nothing, philosophy turned against itself to uncover truth.

Creation may have taken place before the Big Bang, as time needs no narrative.

Enter the imagination and breathe deeply, exhale slowly, and let time be.

Orders and systems, meant to be broken, will be put back together as potshards.

Forget what we know about the whole truth, justice is a mockery of morals.

Innocence is never regained once lost, childhood is suffering from delusion.

Not everyone enjoys childhood, grows up big and strong to become a real success.

Never giving up on your dreams is hope reified, made into a real object.

Of dreams and the waking world, awaken to the suffering of others in pain.

Crass Casualty, Hardy wrote about Time, but this too is simply narrative form.

Even if no one reads this gibberish I write to clear my mind before I sleep...

Nothing comes from nothing, justice formed from morality devolves with history.

Cat shit and cockroaches, pardon my French, summer is atrocious in Chicago.

End of the acrostic, I bowl with words, gutters raised to help the poor child bowl straight.

A Deck of Cards (No Jokers) ~ Friday, June 25, 2021

A deck of playing cards, four suits, thirteen cards each, fifty-two card pick-up.

Damage done to a child is irrevocable, creates the conditions...

everyday I wake up, I pour this consciousness back into my body,

creatures of habit act tirelessly not to change and not to allow change,

kill him, kill the Buddha when you meet him at home, in your dreams, in your mind,

obviously, childhood is innocent, those games children play is mere fun,

for instance, fifty-two card pick-up doesn't mean: power differential.

Create the conditions to build character, strength, honesty and goodness,

as a child, I saw hell, I lived with dysfunction, it colored my worldview,

right now, I could have been a great leader, instead of an utter failure,

disappointment spirals out of control, childhood is a dangerous place,

silly people do harm, they act out of distress, imbalanced dynamics.

No jokers, no jokers, no more blind idiots who do harm as a game,

only at fifty-two, do I now realize pain and the damage done.

Join me in picking up the deck of cards, all alone in this world,

of course, they made this clear, crystal clear like a vase, an empty vessel, mind,

kill him, kill the Buddha, this mind is the Buddha, we are all the Buddha,

everywhere, everyone has the capacity to awaken from dreams,

reality, a dream we create together, collective unconscious,

still, I pick up the cards, my older brother laughs, time is but one moment.

Playing the Part ~ Friday, June 25, 2021

Try to be as sincere as possible,

remember you're playing a role, a part,

your character must appear genuine;

to imagine yourself as an actor,

of course, dispels the magic of the scene;

becoming the character requires space,

even if you know your lines, you must walk

as if you were not you as a person,

slipping into the role is difficult;

still, it does not matter if you are good,

in the world of acting, you are not you,

nothing but a vessel to pour yourself,

create the character in your movements,

especially in the way your body

reveals the character in how you bear

even your shoulders in a strange posture;

art is manifested when you carry

stepping with an original method;

pretend you have another persona,

one you wear like at a masquerade ball,

shining through the makeup, your character

speaks a language not quite your own, foreign

in manner of presentation of sounds,

believe you can be someone else on stage,

live for the lights, action, and camera,

end the day becoming yourself again.

Slap on the Wrist ~ Thursday, June 24, 2021

It must be nice to be young and have friends,

to have planned ahead for our retirement,

maybe a shotgun is my solution,

under the circumstances, Hemingway

stuck to his guns, no one feels depression,

to say they know what I was going through,

babies born, I'll never be a father,

even if the world has too many kids,

never felt listened to or understood,

if I see you suffer, I don't know why,

compassion isn't my strong suit, I care

even if I can't show you my feelings,

talk to me about your next vacation,

of course, I've never been on one myself,

believe me when I say, "Nobody cares,"

even my family are complete strangers,

yes, you played the ethnic card well, I get

on the bus and head straight for the back seat,

under request, do my civic duty,

nobody cares if they can't make a buck,

give me a medal I would never want,

ask me what I really want, I'll tell you,

never to have been born, like that movie,

death means nothing within the big picture,

honestly, I've never met an honest

and forthright person in my life, but then,

venality is an absurd concept,

everyone now has their hand in the pot,

forget punishment and reward, ethics

rewrites the rules for each generation,

in my time, sell-out meant betrayal of values,

enter the new era, nobody cares,

nine year olds make millions reviewing toys,

despite being exploited by parents

serving their child's needs, who's kidding who, now?

The Leash and Collar ~ Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Listen. Trust me when I tell you: Your dog knows more than you about being a dog. Why don't you cut your pup some slack and pay attention to her needs while you go for a walk instead of talking on your phone, head in the Cloud, watching the latest TikTok video? Really, I don't know why anyone would bother to help while your dog chases a squirrel. We've all been there... except you can't see what we see. Just like your dog knows more than you about being a dog. Good luck! Adiós, amigo.

The Ulster Boy ~ Monday, June 21, 2021

Troubled by "The Troubles," the Ulster boy

harbored no malice in his black stone heart

even as he prayed on his knees to God.

Under the wooden floorboards he heard mice

listening to him pray under his breath,

silence stirs in words to God the Maker;

troubled by "The Troubles," God saw no end

even in His omniscience and He cried

real tears for the Ulster boy in pity.

Bothered by his bloody knees, his mother

ordered Liam to stop praying to God,

yet, the boy saw no other solution.

So man created Khot in his own image ~ Tuesday, June 15, 2021

It's impossible to war with nature

that nature is a concept of the mind

so we thus battle our own conception

in this sense we are a blip on the screen

mostly ignored, an ignorant species

possessed of gifts beyond understanding

of reason misconceived, abused, misused,

somehow we imagine ourselves greater,

sapient, wiser than dumb animals

if language is a tool, it's a crutch,

bull-headed, egotistical speakers

leave us thinking we are great with our thumbs

essentially, Khot left us without hope

troubled by our state of affairs, coral

overheated and dead in the vast sea

waging war against nature is child's play

a language game to no effect, unheard,

reeling in the wake of self-destruction

wicked candles burn fat from tallow, lard

incensed by the smell of dead animals

the congregation insisted on wax

honeycombs and plant-based methods produced

non-toxic odors, scents more appealing

as Khot observed all time within her mind

the self-same mind imagined by mankind

understood by humanity as grace

revealed within our conscious awareness

even though we invented Khot as God

Cassandra Speaks ~ Tuesday, June 15, 2021

What we put in is what we will get back

however much effort is expended

as if to work hard or to work smart makes

the difference, change comes from repetition

watching our past mistakes influences

every subsequent action we repeat

particularly if we know better,

understand why things are the way they are

then we can accept fault and blame, move on

in the past is the past, in the present

no one knows what will happen next unless

inside the top hat is a white rabbit

still a magician only knows her tricks

what is in the future remains unknown

however much history we have read

absorbed beyond the blood-brain barrier

tried to prognosticate what is to come

we try to know the truth in all affairs

even though the truth is Ineffable

when we speak the truth, unbelievable

incidents occur as dominoes fall

lithe and nimble as physics in motion

laws of gravity, inexplicable

given observable phenomena

expects to be interpreted, explained,

translated into several languages

but the truth hides in the dark where shadows

argue like sparrows regarding the light

calling into question all existence

killing all life before the day begins

No Cure for a Bad Hangover ~ Monday, June 14, 2021

Lava rising to the surface, frothing at the mouth, sliding down the lip of the belching volcano, the violent projection of magma, a slurry of sloppy wet, hot passion, sickness from deep beneath the exposed crater, the wasted remainder of a wild, drunken night at The Promontory. 

On Karmic Consciousness ~ Sunday, June 13, 2021

Though all my thoughts, words and deeds fall on deaf ears, my actions create the karma of my awareness. Not the tit-for-tat of small-minded people but the big picture of Interconnection, cosmic bonds of transcendence, and the pure immanence inherent in consciousness.

Thus I choose to act with kindness, mindful of others in all my thoughts, words and deeds and choose to act through positive intentions.

But if I drop a few F-bombs and bad mouth the law of gravity when things fall and break, or talk smack about invisible deities, as people who couldn't care less, please forgive me as I take life way too seriously and none of it matters except our lives as insignificant specks of dust in time.

The Buddha of Hyde Park ~ Thursday, June 10, 2021

Be glad, I am the Buddha of Hyde Park;

even 'that' is superfluous and unnecessary

given the rules of the language game states

leave aside all extraneous information

and envisioning a Buddha is far from meaningless,

drop away both body and mind, be still in this empty vessel.

I come not to chastise you like a child but to lift you higher

and let your spirit soar, not like poor Icarus,

mythological bird of flight and determination,

tranquil in both body and mind, arise

humble as the ashes of Holocaust victims,

enter the space where time ceases to hold you down.

Buoyancy is an art of awareness, seeing the big picture,

understanding context and perspective

driven by the unfolding of time-maps,

determines our level of patience to let be

all the things that annoy our consciousness

ordinarily swept under the proverbial rug

for someone else to find and deal with such problems.

Humble servant of mind and consciousness allow

your need to acquire more to drop away,

determine to accept others neglect to act with vigilance,

even the tools of compassion were not enough for you to learn how to care for others.

Perhaps I expected too much to show you the path past the stars,

allow me to reveal my mind to you in your state of distress,

to allow you to fluctuate like a Pachinko ball bouncing between steel pins,

kindness has always been our practice within mindfulness.

The Cleanest Cut ~ Wednesday, June 2, 2021

When the cleaver fell, my tears stopped, my whimpering and pleading stopped. The pain was excruciating. My hand was severed at the wrist. My mom just wanted to scare me at first. Then the adrenaline kicked in. The butcher's knife in her left hand swung up and fell in one fluid motion. From that moment on, I never stole anything from anyone ever again.

What happened next frightened me beyond my wildest dreams. My mother, a Roman Catholic, told me to suck on the bloody stump of my wrist as children of the devil would do to show their belief in the master of sulfur and volcanic ash.

She placed my severed hand in a clean towel in the freezer then called for emergency services to come. The paramedics rushed me to the hospital in an ambulance with sirens wailing. They put my wrist in an ice pack, elevated, and the blood cut off with a tourniquet.

The surgery didn't take long, maybe a few hours. I can't be certain. I went under as soon as they got me inside the operating room. Over the next few years, I regained all feeling in my right hand. I had to learn how to write with my left hand. It was a slow process of recovery but I was able to write with both hands as an adult. Strange.

I never saw my mom again. I became a ward of the state at eight years old. The insanity in my family line could be traced back for generations past. Making sense of madness as a child or as an adult takes time. Other people's actions, their violence, or acts of omission, neglect imbue the mind with a certain je ne sais quoi. I became unbalanced after my first year of college. It took me decades to process the harm done. What I experienced in a dysfunctional home as a small boy set me on a path to do wrong.

I stole. I lied. I drank. I smoked pot and took hallucinogenic drugs. I lost my way.

But now, I look back and realize, it was my own fault, my karma created the conditions for me to enter such a life.

The world is a strange place. Read on.

Fortune Comes for the Wicked and the Good ~ Wednesday, June 2, 2021

It was a miracle that I survived the fall. Naked as the day I was born. The paramedics had no idea how I got on top of the rooftop of the garage. But they didn't question what had happened. They only took me to the hospital. From that day forward it was called "locked in".

It would have been better if I had died. The shame my parents felt. My brother sent to a juvenile detention center. My cousin sent to prison for child neglect and endangerment. Not that any of this mattered to me. I was stuck inside a prison myself, inside my head. The mind of a six year old child cannot process the evil that men do. But I wasn't an idiot. I just wouldn't have a chance to move my body.

That in itself may be worse than prison. I will never know for myself. Nor will I know why my older brother and our cousin felt the need to torture a child, abuse a little boy, then force him to take off his clothes and climb outside an open window, naked and crying. The humiliation remains too much to bear within my mind, cluttered with thoughts, ideas, feelings, sorrow and resentment. Who would choose to kill a child's soul? Who is so sadistic to have zero degree of humanity in their hearts?

I never saw my family again as I became a ward of the state. In the care of licensed nurses and other medical professionals, my body grew but remained atrophied.

I would never be like other children. Swing across monkey bars, climb up a rope, run and chase after friends on the playground.

Sports were out of the question but I watched and learned about body mechanics and kinesiology as an adult. I studied anatomy, physiology, pathology and became a doctor who could never practice. I studied statistics and probability and made millions betting on sports teams and players. I could predict their actions, especially in football.

Technology advanced enough for me to communicate my ideas with like-minded people. Not other unfortunates like myself but people with ideas who thought clearly.

Sometimes I wondered what happened to my family but I was too busy to really care.

Because I could control my eyes and my breathing, I read up on Zen Buddhism. It came naturally to me being still. I could not even scratch my nose, let alone sneeze.

Being quadriplegic was no delight. But I learned how to make the best of a wretched situation and remain positive.

This is my story... read on if you like.

Below the Belt ~ Saturday, May 29, 2021

The soul is a louse between your fine legs

however much you scratch you can't kill me

even if you mousse me, I am your crab

selfish shellfish got nothin' on my eggs

obviously the view from here is good

under these conditions I'm here to stay

love and friendship forever baby doll

if you share my love, I don't mind the least

still I am small but mighty, if you stab

at your nether region, you have no call

leave it alone girl, a sliver of wood

ordinarily irritates my bae,

unlike a splinter, I'm tough to remove

special hiding places I love to find,

especially when you're wet, feeling high

biatch, I'm your trigger, I'm here to prove

every love letter in the world is true,

truth being the lie to enter your snatch

weed your heavenly bush 'til it's shorn clean

earthly delights still shall I find to grind

everlastingly on your puss, goodbye

never needs to be said, you are my queen

yet one day I know our love will turn blue

over голубое сало, I catch

undertones by a look I read in eyes

resolute to get rid of your best friend

figures you would go visit a doctor

in anguish and despair, I bite your thighs

no way to stop me burrowing down deep

even if the doctor kills our babies

let our love last, our memories not sleep

extricate me against my will, my love

given I am a crab louse, your soul gave

sexy a new meaning with killer bees

Acceptance ~ Friday, May 27, 2021

Embrace the negative

in a hug full of our forgiveness

of others and ourselves

to create a positive world 

"We hurl slander, he lifts us up" ~ Thursday, May 27, 2021

To speak

of peaks

sloping into dales

piercing the eardrum

even as we speak

as we hear nothing

kingdoms tumble down

of crowns

for clowns

try not to

hinder the

evidence

diabolical

encounters confront

vermin on the street

in alleys he waits

livid with vengeance

hunter of evil spirits

in doing good, his duty

marks him purveyor of wrong

selfish, hateful, malicious

entity of the dark realm

little do we know how wrong

foolish medieval priests were

Dies irae (Part Two) ~ Thursday, May 27, 2021

Solve first the paradox of existence, why life on this lonely planet

under circumstances beyond any control, beyond all certainty

cause and effect give clues to the arrows of time but specious reasons

kick balls and watch them writhe in pain, riddle unsolved, try to fly past this net

Stuck in language, nation, religion, politics, souls grounded to country

humanity rises beyond the naked eye, yet returns casualty

involved in its success, deprived of basic needs, stars are but distant suns

their warmth is nought but hope, starvation, poverty, please accept the challenge

Arguments pro or con become caught in the nets, fly past, watch your son die

needlessly we suffer, we neglect attention when we need vigilance

dance, drink, drug and party, while India builds pyres, the dead don't lose no sleep

Determined to control weather changes the game, the power to take a chance

insult to injury, we add rub to the mix, but the rewards we reap

existence solves itself, there is no solution, no paradox, revenge

Dies irae (Part One) ~ Thursday, May 27, 2021

Monsters hide behind masks, beneath triggers, anger bursts dormant volcanoes

erupts beneath shifting tectonic plates, lava boils burning flesh ashen

anger consumes monsters, mouths spew forth hot lava, sulfuric in temper

naked behind their masks, faces empty, joyless, sorrow nobody knows

People wear disguises, masks hidden in plain sight, dramatis personae

encounter characters within farcical roles: heroes, monsters, villains

obstacles obscure paths, no possible success, failure as solution

people setup hurdles, create adversity, laugh at soldiers fallen

laugh at ludicrous death, stage play in jest we act, masks shed tears, dogs whimper

ears prick up, man's best friend, dogs see beyond our masks, whine in salutation

Solutions to problems hard-earned, hard-fought, hard-won, still failure with no aid

üpfenstägen, time stops, drops dead before the grave, humanity remains

crass casualty befalls chance with impunity, monsters devour our stars

killed by happenstance, fire friendly or otherwise, heroes die, villains lie

Shallow in graves for dogs, not men nor women, death wears no mask, no disguise

hides in plain sight, unseen, yet not invisible, but ubiquitous, scores

injured by right, a wrong, death awaits patiently, collects masks to bury

to burn, Dies irae, the Day of Wrath, anger consumes monsters cruel lives

The Kilnmaster ~ Tuesday, May 25, 2021

Without certainty, doubt creates the need

in faith-based dogma, ideology,

terror in politics, truth in show trials,

human rights a laughable joke, a nod

of the head, a wink of an eye, to hang

undesirable elements, leggy,

tall blondes obviously excluded, trolls,

cretins, and intellectuals to burn,

effigies unnecessary, the hung

remember nothing, their bodies, ashes

tranquilly blown away by a light breeze,

absurdity allows survivors born

in faith to believe they are better men,

needing the silence of the dead threshes

the populace to seek religion, browse

yesterday's books of wisdom and foment

diabolical revolution, God

observes within each mind, diamond cutter

urges brilliance yet subjects prefer smoke,

blinded in judgment by what they forgot,

time allows reflection as a sentence

criminals who spend time alone bother

reason to know why the snake is a snake,

entering the vision of God in mind,

asked why they committed their crimes, they dance

entranced by the movement of light, to mend

sorrow by connecting the dots long past

troubled no longer by the need to act

honest or dishonest, the felon leads

enlightened souls to peace with an edict

nourishing the spirit, while the mind loads

endless red clay bricks to fire in a kiln,

entitled to comprehend why they bleed

diamond cutters reveal how thoughts align.

An Unsympathetic Narrator ~ Monday, May 24, 2021

In a station of the Metro,

neckties, silk, Italian neckties;

as I was in Paris while on

spring break, (a stupid place to go,

the weather being cold and grey,

although, I knew French,《 Quelle surprise! 》

this friend of mine brought a moron

in terms of language and culture;

on top of that, he lost his way,

needless to say, his bride left him;

of course, this lovable hick flew

far from home, Europe on a whim;

to say my dislike of him grew,

harbinger of a disaster,

ever to remember this trip...).

My first vacation in Europe...

even if I simply forget

the bumpkin from the hills who let

reason take a backseat to loss,

of course, I couldn't give a toss.

The Stone Buddha ~ Tuesday, May 18, 2021

The Stone Buddha cannot say yes or no,

hard to the touch and rough, it cannot feel,

even its heft makes it appear weighed down.

Stones cannot talk, cannot think, feel, or blow

their nose. Why bow and pray to Stone Buddhas?

On the surface, they appear wise. Appeal

not to their sense of compassion. They drown

even a happy heart with gravity.

Buddhas of stone cannot speak to sanghas,

underprivileged communities who pray,

determined to find truth or die trying.

Difficult is the role Stone Buddhas play,

harder still the work of marble crying.

Ask not what tears fall from depravity.

The Water Dragon ~ Tuesday, May 4, 2021

Fratinil Fratinilofish Budim

runs a nation of godless atheists

and his favorite meal in the whole world is

the Filet-O-Fish sandwich with no cheese;

if he doesn't have one sandwich daily

no one in Luccia eats for a week;

indeed on every street corner, we smell

liquid fish guts flowing down the gutters.

Fratinil Fratinilofish Budim

resolves problems through liquidation plans,

as no one in Luccia wants to die

the people suffer indignities but

if we demand our rights at a protest,

nobody knows how but food disappears;

indeed, we know the terror-famine well,

leave the stinking streets to the guttersnipe,

or loud-mouthed punks, self-righteous skinny brats

feeling their way through the dark like the blind

in search of sunshine inside a cavern;

stupidity has no survival skills,

how we live day-to-day makes the Lord smile.

Budim is President, Prime Minister,

ugly merchant of surreptitious deals;

deals that make us rich selling state secrets,

if not our own but of other nations,

murder is not above his evil deeds.

Slow Piano Music Plays ~ Tuesday, May 4, 2021

Seventh grade, we played music in band class,

learning as an ensemble orchestra

organized by the teacher-conductor;

we worked to play concerts. I must confess

Playing music was my first love, a dream

in triple time tempo, a bolero,

as we danced just as fast into old age,

no one knew time doesn't walk at a stroll,

only four decades ago, I watched tar

Move, sweet as molasses, after college;

upset the apple cart, music as queen

settles on who succeeds, a straight arrow

in flight hits the target, center bullseye;

creating music in band was a joy.

Playing "Hill Street Blues" and watching TV

leaves me homesick to return to the pain

absent in wisdom, sentimental songs

yearning for foolish days, friendships long gone

since I moved east to Sweet Home Chicago.

In Their Old Age ~ Friday, April 30, 2021

Busy people have no time to bother

unless you're family, you simply don't count

seems you're a bit bent out of shape, don't waste

your breath, your mom and dad really don't care

perhaps you feel that is unjust, you're right

even if you're their only child, a kid

on their own needs loving kindness, busy

people don't care if you're their first or third

little terror to come out of mom's womb,

exactly when will you realize time

has no room for excess chatter, sparrows

argue incessantly about squirrels,

virtually everyday they quarrel with

each other about nothing of value

now pretend you're a needy, little kid

of course you have no sense at all to talk

to say what you want about what you feel

is important in a world without love

maybe they love you, they just don't know how

even if time were elastic, to hug

their kids, you are family, you still don't count,

of course, this line is unfair, life is cruel

be a good kid, study hard, get good grades,

only don't bother your parents, they have

their own concerns to keep them busy, please

have the decency to get a good job

even if you studied Literature,

really, they need you to take care of them

With Bated Breath and Whisp'ring Humbleness ~ Thursday, April 29, 2021

India is on fire

                        we burn our dead

No one notices

                        we turn a blind eye

Death is a firestorm

                        we churn our forests

Incense and charcoal

                        we singe saffron robes

Agni watches

                        we pray for oxygen

India sings rāgas

                        we spurn our songs

Silence offers a dirge

                        we mourn dry eyes

Offer us oxygen

                        we learn to breathe

Needless suffering

                        we yearn for the end

For the vaccine

                        we strive for equity

In our practice

                        we aspire to prāṇa

Respiration before

                        we all expire

End coronavirus

                        we hold our breath

Lakshmanavati ~ Wednesday, April 28, 2021

Intricate labyrinthine maze

no escape except to take flight

aerodynamic wax wings melt

Sunburnt kamikaze mission

tragedy glossed over in print

asinine laughter overwrought

temperamental, the son we smote

inane, empty, vain, foolish boy

ordinary flight turns the plot

narrative dive-bombs ocean depths

ordinary mind succumbs to

forces of nature, empty threats

tormented by love to comb through

history, plunge into a bay

examine the evidence, facts

Missing in all mythology

entwined skeins kindness kissed the snide

troublemaker, a cunning fox

riddled with curiosity

obsequious to none but hind

~ ~ ~

But a goddess

yes, cannot weep

Eyes dry as salt

zeal does not dash

reason to bits

as his death warps

Personae sold

on Olympus

until goats butt

not heads but past

denounced deshis

~ ~ ~ 

Wrists Broken as in Prayer ~ Sunday, April 25, 2021

Just God: Like pouring milk in a tall glass

Under 6'? Must be this tall to ride

Stuck in the underworld of ghosts and shades

To say I was dead before I found bliss

God knows how I climbed the mountain and saw

Oneness undivided, love without greed

Damaged souls awakened within these graves

Light from light, true God from true God, I drink

In all experience, the great, the few

Kingdom come on earth but do I believe

Even as the sun sets but never sleeps

Pour a tall glass of milk in disbelief

Of the life of the world to come, a slap

Upsets the child, guzzles mother's milk, drunk

Religious since my conception, I dream

In foreign tongues of scrolls and flames, I eat

Nightmares haunting my lost childhood, I bleed

Gushing light from my eyes, I bang the drum

Making noise my battle cry against time

Ignorant of my purpose on earth, fate

Laughs at my blunders, my missteps, I wade

Knee-deep in the ocean searching for truth

Insistent waves lap up the shore, the same

Never the eternal return of foam

Aging precipitously towards death

Transparent as the sky, I seek not fame

Ask the sea spray about the boiling broth

Liquid sunshine warms the breath of my wrath

Little, too little, much too late. Fish fry

Granted eternal rest, swim belly up

Lesson learned, coral fades, my pain persists

As memories transformed, why should I lie

Sucker punched before birth, what a dumb sap

Shrinking forests portend my life as blessed

Piercing Trill ~ Friday, April 23, 2021

Trill tumbles down a waterfall, crashes

hoops, rivets, staves, joints, head, bilge and bung hole

emerges from the rocks needing crutches.

For thrill seekers like Trill the ecstasy

unleashes a tsunami of hormones

thrashing about inside his brain, fussy

unforgiving children watch their parents

riddled with fear after each escapade

escaping the clutches of ghoulish runts

Inhabiting the silence with license

sharp as a tomahawk thrown with no chance

under the circumstances to avoid

not standing perfectly still, the steel blade

whipping somersaults through the air, a vain

recalcitrant heel would join the circus

in a moment of pure indecision

though Trill took the keen axe seriously

trembling with excitement while the edge flew

entering the future as unwritten

nonsense, look forward to his fatal flaw

Of Nits and Nymphs ~ Friday, April 23, 2021

Senile neices make a scene on the Seine

ever since they got a slice of the pie

nice, nice, nice ... eels along the river isle

ice in a tall glass of Coke, sight unseen

lice inhabit my shaven head, all lies

else I should wait in line to see through sin

Neices drink bottles of demi-sec

elixir of the soul and recite Poe

if it means les ivres avec des livres

can touch their toes, this pain makes me feel sick

every day I wake up to pay my dues

shuffle to the window to watch the sun

Run away little runaway, I wish

en France, à l'Île de la Cité, les ciels

crushed my eyes and blood flowed instead of tears

infest this body with typhus, a rash

to suffer in silence offers no thrills

endless, as I float downstream without oars