Samurai

I’d like to die like a samurai in battle,

fighting for a worthy cause.

I’d like to live like one in the certain awareness

that death could come at any time.

The longer I live, the closer I come, the more

I beat my own hopeless drum.

The Charge of the Light Brigade immortalized 

in poetry, futility on a pedestal, a prelude to 

World War, industrialized hopelessness.

There was the Lost Generation after WW one,

the Beats after WW two…it was something 

that they knew.

Paradise on earth avoids us except for the few

that found it by accident or trained their minds,

saw through the illusion of existence, what the

samurai knew.

Is that why they were determined enough to cut

their stomachs open in final sacrifice, or was it a

cultural thing to do?

I wonder if any/many ran away instead…I bet

there were a few.

It hurts to die, which is probably good to keep

survival going, humanity on track.

Canada makes it easy to die: one hundred thousand 

euthanized so far, government sanctified, but what

do Canadians really have to live for, a wag might say…

it’s cold up there and the fishing isn’t that good anymore.

On the other hand, the Inuit survive…I doubt they ask

“What for?”

“Death is real, comes without warning, this body will 

be a corpse.” might  have come from the samurai, but

it’s actually a Buddhist reminder…so the samurai didn’t 

have a corner on that market.

People here notice me but don’t bother me, like motorists

passing a bad accident slowly, looking for a glimpse of gore.

A mystery, a tragedy, entertainment in misfortune, I find it

curious that the “special forces” in movies get so quickly

taken down by the heroes, cannon fodder as was coined before.

Today we’re entertained by death even more,

which inures us to its reality.

Don’t shoot the messenger.

American Kachina

I’m a gringo Kachina clown walking around town

in colorful clothes and socks as a reminder of the

colorful world that dazzles us all at times in case

they forgot…not likely in Mexico fiesta land where

color and loud music is mostly what they have. 

People I don’t know know my name, so I must be

making a slight impression.

You’d Think

You’d think someone would have made sense of it all by now,

written an instruction manual on life that we all studied growing 

up so we wouldn’t have to figure it out for ourselves but that

doesn’t seem to be the way things work...maybe in some primitive 

cultures or ancient China but not now we’re all too preoccupied.

I got a book in registered mail today…first anything registered

in the twenty years I’ve been here from Michael White, the author,

look him up, full of stories about visions and the like from his

esoteric life… he knew the Beats from Naropa University so many

great anecdotes about them…more people than you imagine have

spent lots of time delving into far out dimensions, others remain in

their rocking chairs sipping beer and trying to forget all their bad

decisions…it takes all kinds or is that just the way it is you decide.

I’ve got plenty of stories interesting and shameful so I’m like all

the rest of them/you/us however you want to put it. I feel lately I’m

in my own rut writing dharma themed pieces of my mind…I’ll give

you a piece of my mind and hope it brings peace of mind although 

who knows what impressions you make outside of car accidents?

I’m not an accidental tourist because I like to go to a location and 

stay for a while to soak up what’s really going on…I can always buy

a postcard if I want to send someone a picture…do I have to draw 

you a picture? I fell in love with this town twenty years ago and have

only left for short hiatuses. I’m trapped here now because of causes

and conditions but at least I’m trapped in Paradise…not sure if that’s 

an oxymoron but maybe in the neighborhood. April and May coming

up are the warmest months here never much over 90 degrees but my

place heats up because of the sun doesn’t cool down until midnight 

which is tolerable. At least I’m not in Gringolandia, the U.S.A., which

seems to get crazier by the day…certainty not the place I knew when

I was young. I wish the best for everyone…that’s called wishful 

thinking given the way things are going. Buddha said these times 

would come, in fact, all the religions say so at least they got one 

thing right. Believe at your own risk. My friend was in the hospital 

and in the room next to him was a minister who was young had a wife 

and young children and was dying. He was pissed/questioned why 

God had allowed this to happen to him very upset. Why not is the 

cynical truth. I know the fix I’m in is due to my own stupidity so 

karma rears its head again. I can’t complain. So to all of you out 

there who might read this good luck/try to be aware

and have fun out there. Why not is also applicable here.

Kerouac Was Right

“Let’s live suddenly without thinking.” eecummings

Let the thoughts stream, the senses open to the world, 

let there be light of day, clouds, trees, everything always

there each day always as like the first time we opened our

eyes dazzled by the impossible truth of existence, our home,

this world…why not take advantage of simple life the air

we breathe the songs we sing even the Blues are beautiful 

especially at night in a seedy bar down by the docks perfume

of sawdust and sour beer of sad hearts some call it home

not stuck in your heads of weary thoughts the dogs don’t care

neither do the other humans stuck in their own ruts on track

to the nowhere we all find ourselves at at the end…that’s why

now is the only time a gift a magic spell the universe somehow 

conjured…too much time wasted in speculation when the answer

is always in front of you like the wind we cannot see but can 

only feel it is no mystery because it’s the way it should be how

could it be any other way? Simplicity makes wise fools of us all

a man with a line in a stream waiting with minimal expectations,

a job well done let’s have a beer in celebration…all the mundane

joys we miss if we aren’t really there in the swing of things…that’s 

all Buddha was saying…he was just trying to help.

It’s all about bliss/ecstasy in a simple cup of tea in the aroma of

fresh bread and the scent of a rose..no one has come up with

anything better in all the soap operas stories and plots that

entertain for a moment and are forgotten just as quickly.

That’s why Buddha held up a flower.

That’s why his student smiled.

The Game Is Afoot

The mountains haven’t moved yet.

Silent actors, their time hasn’t come.

They arose from the landscape, like

us all.

Now they are witness to what’s going on.

Sometime in the future they will crumble

and fall.

Hard to believe, but it’s true.

“I will not be and all will not be.” Shantideva

The game is afoot, as it has been for millennia.

Lots of endings but no conclusion.

I think of the millions that have died in the wars…

pathetic history we haven’t learn from.

Wasted lives because someone thought something.

Power over others, P.O.O..

From tribes that fought other tribes to the whole

world in turmoil.

That’s progress for you.

Everyone loves a good mystery, or else they don’t.

It depends on how personal it is.

The biggest questions never get answered.

That’s why there’s so much belief.

Always looking for answers “out there”.

Maybe on Mars we’ll find the truth.

We don’t recognize our brains are the universe,

where all the answers are, if only we would look.

Instead we look at the stars, as if they had something 

to say.

Of course there are aliens…no wonder they’re shy,

watching the smart monkeys making a mess of things.

Buddhists know about them because their minds are trained.

In this time of dark confusion, no one listens to them.

Today, the monkeys place their trust in machines that only

make them lose themselves even more.

Still, beauty, love, the basics, remain as reminders,

in case anybody cares.

Some do because reality never becomes monolithic.

There’s the Yin Yang thing, the constant change of

the pendulum swing.

There will always be a few that tell it like it is.

Two plus two is not reality…it always adds up to

infinity, endless complexity, unfathomable, what

we can’t understand but at least we can see…

I learned that long ago when I took L.S.D..

Laugh while you can, Monkey Boy.

We can learn how to ride a bicycle, make wars,

oh so many things.

Why we ride or fight is another thing altogether.

Do we even know why we do what we do?

Through habit, we forget why we started at all.

At the end, we find ourselves somewhere…

is it where we had hoped to be?

That seems like a natural question.

I know, too heavy, say something nicer…

believe me, I’d like to, but I can’t help myself.

I’ve become what I’ve become, 

for better or worse,

like even the mountain.

Musings

That’s poetry for you…

contemplating out loud,

like songs with pithy lyrics,

art that stops you in your tracks,

singing to the stars at a campfire,

a handbill passed out to a crowd.

A catchy tune catches you, becomes

a mind worm that you can’t shake.

Even The Beach Boys had something to say.

Teenaged girls screaming at the Beatles

because of the longing in their hearts.

Not just information…art communicates

experience.

Poetry is inefficient: a picture is worth a

thousand words.

Music echoes down the ages and never gets old.

The town is quiet today between fiestas.

Old guys like me like it that way.

Smoking cigarettes, toka mort,

longing for nonexistence.

“When will they ever learn?”

that’s a line from a sixties folk song,

the answer is pending.

An enlightened guy said his teaching method

was like a blind man swinging a stick in a crowd

occasionally hitting someone.

That’s a good analogy for how we learn from art.

“You can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t 

make her think.” Dorothy Parker…similar sentiment.

The truth is never negative.

It’s the lies that enslave us.

Riding into the future in our shiny convertible 

with gleaming teeth, 

we just numbly don’t get there.

Many more ways to get lost than to be found.

If the truth was a snake, it already bit you.

Looking for an antidote, we measure out our

lives with coffee spoons…

Stavros Narcos on his treadmill

hoping to never die.

Beautiful Dreamer

I went to the past in a dream

I had this morning…one of

those dreams where it seems

like you’re actually there.

It was a beautiful dream…

the details aren’t important.

I woke up refreshed, a fresh

start to my old life.

“So what?” I hear myself 

saying to myself.

At least my subconscious is

not troubled by the things of

this world, this dream we call

our lives.

We are dreaming, you know…

our lives are a very real illusion,

a magic trick we believe in.

The Buddhists say so, Feynman,

the physicist, says so…

we add beliefs to our belief in

our lives and get lost in thinking

we know.

Taking sides and fighting wars

over false assumptions.

For what it’s worth, no one is right

if everybody’s wrong.

All our evolution hasn’t gotten us

past mistaken identity,

the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.

I’m fortunate that the truth of illusion

is embedded in my mind.

War Games

OK, not a game because people are dying.

A game because pieces are moved to win.

Strategy of leaders affect people’s lives.

Stalin slaughtered the intellectuals to limit

the opposition….so did Hitler and Mao 

and Pol Pot…game theory…just a game.

Making Americans stupid with fake news

and propaganda has the same effect…”they”

would kill the American people if they could,

but Americans have guns…a dangerous game,

and free speech to point out what’s happening

that hasn’t been suppressed.

Still, the C.I.A. did a pretty good job 

brainwashing America…just look at all the

purple hair, piercings…too much for normality.

MK ULTRA was a winning technique, until

it wasn’t…a great awakening is happening.

The Dark Age, the Kali Yuga, when the truth

cannot be heard, is what all religions fear,

just looking ahead for thousands of years to

this time, what possible moves might be played.

What part of Satanic pedophiles don’t you think 

is happening? Red Rover, Red Rover let the 

blackmailed come over. 

Evil is an acquired taste.

The game is afoot.

A winner is not obvious.

Two thousand years of deception is hard 

to dispel.

Amazingly, it could be happening.

Latah

Doomed to repeat myself

in words

in gestures

because the truth is always the same,

a sandwich board with the words:

“The End Is Near.”

Love song laments,

transparent mysteries,

plots that thicken and dissolve,

the plans of mice and men.

Everything has already been said,

even as I lean over closer to make a point,

in case they forgot.

Atoms forged in a star come together

to make us all…the differences are

only superficial.

If only we could see…

if only we would look.

Mind’s machinations that we rely on for support

are futile, a waste of time, when time is all we have.

“In a moment there is time for decisions and

revisions that a moment will reverse.”

Only humor cheers us up.

“You’d better laugh, folks, because these are the jokes.”

Some think I laugh inappropriately.

I think they don’t get the punchline,

which is everything you see.

Instead, they believe, because they take the whole thing

too seriously, not that it isn’t a tragedy.

That’s why black humor arose.

Uniformity isn’t that things are all the same.

It exists to simulate security,

the false bottom a magician uses to perform 

an illusion,

a politician uses to hide the truth…

lipstick on a pig.

Confusion exists because the mind is not

trained to see through it.

Repetition is how we learn.

Kind Of A Drag (apologies to the Buckinghams)

Your guess is as good as mine.

How’s your life plan working out for you?

Getting you where you want to go?

I did pretty well except for this last

uncertainty of death part.

I lived ten years longer because I quit drinking.

Those were some good years.

Coming together, falling apart, what goes up

must come down.

The truth can be boring.

That’s why we make things up.

But Disneyland never lives up to expectations,

the occasional pot of gold notwithstanding.

Even the universe wants a little more time.

Escaping from reality is absurd!

It never happened!

One would think there would be more interest in reality!

Strangely, that’s not the case!

Homosap is still up to his old tricks!

Another World War!

Why not!

We haven’t had one in a while!

Maybe someone will win this time!

There’s a first time for everything,

and everything has already had its first time!

Even space aliens are nothing new!

It’s too late to keep up with the Joneses!

The Joneses are planning a trip to Mars!

Evolution Or Bust!

No More No Less

What you see is what you get…

there’s no accounting for taste…

always right there before you…

don’t jump to conclusions…

first, look, then you can see…

it’s back to the senses… 

back to the senses now…

now senses the to back.

After The Ball

After all the jokes and laughter,

the drunken indiscretions,

the awards and celebrations,

they retreat to safe spaces and

leave the mess for the cleaning crew.

On to the next foreplay!

Next foreshadowing!

The next cycle of the so called life!

Work and achievement!

Accumulating wealth over a pile of dead bodies!

Survival of the fittest!

The best looking with gleaming teeth!

The best cars fashions mansions!

It’s the way of the world!

No one’s made it that much better!

Even living longer is not a blessing!

Maybe we’ll figure it out if we get 

to the moon or Mars!

Why does the Homosap always want

to look somewhere else?

“Is dis an Evolution?”

Western mind stunted by rational thought.

All the yogis starving in their caves.

A New Golden Age!

That’s a good one!

When was the last one?!

Was there ever even one?!

Hope and fear make us queer!

Buzz Lightyear, please save us from ourselves!

Post Script:

Anyway, it’s a good day…

Beautiful weather, not in pain…

People passing don’t bother me…

Lord knows, if there is One,

I won’t save the world…

I’m not even sure I should have tried…

some people get it…some always do…

I can’t be sure I’m talking to them…

I’m just keening at a campfire,

sounds and feelings,

looking at the stars.

Feeling No Pain

The doc cured me….for now…

no pain is sheer bliss just feeling normal

not distracted by something about to fall off…

more man than automaton…for now.

Reality didn’t change when I was indisposed…

it’s as clear now as it ever has been

a diamond in the rough occasionally sparkles 

“What was that?” I always hear them say.

If the body is not distracted the mind can look

around be interested notice the irony of flowers

a child babbling happily walking down the street…

I hope you’re not heartless just saying.

Not waiting for vacation Carpe Diem play them

if you’ve got them you could die on stage in front 

of a thousand people it’s happened more than once

and I’m stuck with an empty line to finish this stanza.

“Nature finds a way.” That is, creativity, nature’s way…

Evolution is nature’s way of saying: “What else can we know?”

That’s why Buddha looked at his own mind and found…

everything…

it was so profound what he discovered that it took him 

the rest of his life to train his students so they could hear.

Nature finds a way.

Precarious Life

Each day is more valuable, at least 

it seems that way.

Each smile each kind gesture is seen

with more clarity…

appreciated so much…

sight sounds smells are there without distraction…

wisdom blazes in ordinary lives…

if only they could see what I see

before the curtain falls…

it’s such a miracle to be in the middle of it all.

The tragedy of familiarity.

The one that comes to the party that we’re 

not sure of…

don’t know what to expect…

if they’ll make a scene

make a scene

make a scene

make a scene…

the play’s the thing in which the truth is revealed…

repetition  is how we learn…

that monkey wrench in the works

is maybe the only thing the guests will remember…

he knew he was there…

as I do sitting on the sidewalk…

one thing about Mexicans:

if they fall, they don’t have far to go.

Sitting on the sidewalk…

standing on the edge of a cliff…

waiting for a little push…

trying to write my way out

of a paper bag…

on the edge of a cliff..

on a world…

in the universe.

Wind Blew Out The Lights

Wind comes up suddenly, but not this time of year,

but it did…

Everything’s crazy…

I’m full of medicine for some hurty things…

I let it be hurty for a month, hoping it would get better…

It didn’t so I went  to the doctor who gave me medicine…

It got better…

When you’re not in pain, you don’t remember how it felt…

When you’re not in love it’s the same…

Leave it on the credenza…

we’ll deal with it later or maybe

we won’t deal with it at all…

that’s where I leave what’s left of my life…

all the things I haven’t done are there…

everything left is there…

like mother’s dressing table…

like where dad works in the garage…

like a graveyard a junkyard a firing range…

like the back nine.

Hours until the power comes back on…

the winds…

one of those…

the sheep are talking a lot right now…

nothing to do but write…

if I had a reverie to trip out on, go beyond 

imaginary walls…

into space over mountains rivers valleys

all of it and then some for a long time

that would be good…

stuck with an open doorway to a balcony…

hey, Mr. Spaceman, wouldn’t you please take me along

I won’t do anything wrong…

I must be guilty of something,

or I haven’t lived…

I’ve seen enough…things…

I can take a hint…

“Don’t get heavy with the heavies.”

It’s not even that interesting.

If they cause too much trouble take them out back

and feed them to the hogs…

and when the hogs are through put them on the credenza.

The power has been on for days…

I haven’t felt like writing…

I don’t feel like writing now.

Venice

My situation melts into a Venice-like milieu,

peaceful, lush, vast, unassuming people, music

beats in the background, a black dog with a grey

speckled scarf wanders gleefully.

Pastel rainbow streamers hang over the streets.

The air is perfect.

I can almost hear the waves on the dock,

the low horn sounds of the ships.

Iteration Two

Music like sounds over water, down alleys

mixed with traffic sounds, human voices,

klink klank, buzz whirr, honk shout cry.

no, but clear air, colored flowers on mountains,

full of medicine, a little weak….a bag of water.

that’s when you know something’s going on.

no but just a little fresh air is so refreshing

the beauty of what is there

just a slight distraction sticking out as special

amid all the things there an anomaly out of

place and time unique steampunk or hyperborian,

or I’m making the whole thing up,

and back again.

Because The Music!

“Music hath charm to soothe the savage breast.”

It’s mantra! 

It’s a magic spell!

Psychological Realism!

You can’t say it’s not true!

The music never stops!

So much could be said!

I’ll leave it at that!

I Want To Act Out!

I want to act out and be crazy 

as a refreshing change of pace for the reader!

Put down your bills!

Turn off the television!

Dancing in the streets!

I saw an old old man dancing!

He was putting the moves on!

The marching band was down the street!

He was alone on the sidewalk dancing away!

He smiled at me as I watched him!

But I didn’t join him! 

He was enough!

Feet Of Strength

I walked a lot today,

even though I had the flue.

Hydroxychloroquine made

it possible.

I walked six blocks to my friend’s house,

got stoned 

which helped and made things harder….

walked back six blocks….

walked five more blocks to the doctor…

postponed until tomorrow….

five more blocks to the store…

a block to the bus…

my puppies are barking.

I just kept going until I was done.

Something More…

You know you want it….

You’re only human…

Can’t blame you if you’re human…

Either something you never had

or more of the same that you always liked…

I’m not telling you what you don’t know…

We all want a last cigarette before the

firing squad…

Some want a blindfold…

How is that different than their whole lives…

You find yourself n a situation right now…

If it’s stayed the same for a long time maybe

you don’t even notice it much anymore…

Just go along to get along because it’s safe…

I’m not putting it down…

It’s something that happens….

It usually comes with a hollow feeling from time 

to time an emptiness that makes you go to Church 

and fill with God…

That’s not everyone…

It’s the default setting for many…

God or another flavor of life saver….

Maybe pineapple this time…

A vacation on the Isle of Capri…

Frankly I’d like to go there a mild fantasy….

So you see we’re not that different…

All humans…

Homosaps that forgot to evolve…

Maybe next time…

Just Getting Started!

If you thought that other poem was 

a one off you’re sadly mistaken!

I’m just getting started!

I’m a cranky old man sans shotgun!

But I’m loaded with words!

No more Mr. Nice Guy!

No wonder there’s so much random violence!

The world is run by Satanic pedophiles!

And it shows!

How’s that working out for us!

OK! They bring signs to protests sure!

They’ve also started bringing guns!

Who are these brainwashed morons anyway!

Generations of young people are ruined!

They’ll never have normal lives might as well 

march them straight into the ocean!

I’m not exaggerating!

Use you god dammed eyeballs!

I left America twenty years ago!

I felt it going to shit back then!

My opinion hasn’t changed!

And it’s getting worse!

Is Trump going to save the world!

The last time the world relied one man

they crucified him!

Then they started a cult in his name!

They completely ignored his teachings 

and killed and plundered the world as 

much as they could!

And they called it religion!

The history you read and believe 

is a bunch of lies!

Rockefeller paid for the education of

young teachers in the 20’s and then 

told them what to teach!

That’s your history right there!

They have a word, sheeple, because it’s true!

You need a 2 x 4 upside the head!

I’m just getting started!

Wanna Buy A Pencil?

Hey! I’m doing this for a living!

Actually, if that was true…

I wouldn’t be alive by now!

Nobody reads anymore!

Let alone poetry!

If you can call it that!

I stopped reading years ago!

Everything I know I learned

from Chris Farley and Celine!

Maybe I should hang myself

with a noose!

In the Art Institute of Chicago!

Then I’d be an exhibitionist!

Is my mic on?!

Can you hear me?!

This one I’d love to read out loud!

Really really loud!

Really really really loud!

In public in front of strangers!

They wouldn’t be strangers anymore!

They might think I’m Hitler’s son!

How else did he get so famous?!

He was a shitty painter!

But he was fantastic at talking really really loud!

I think I’ve stumbled onto something!

Finally a good idea after all these years!

I think it’s too late but I’m willing to try!

Here goes!

Wait!

I’m already doing it!

Now that I’m doing it I don’t know how to stop!

I think Hitler had the same problem!

When he didn’t yell in public he yelled at his generals!

They tried to blow him up to get him to stop!

It didn’t work!

He kept yelling!

How will I stop!

I’ll just get tired of writing!

Carnival 2026

Like Mardi Gras, only cheesier…

cheap rides in the town square,

Chinelos, locals dressed in costumes 

mocking their conquerors, dancing

for hours on end to Mexican oompa

music.

They’re trying to curb the drinking 

in town which is more than excessive,

but drinkers will drink…maybe they’ll 

be a few fewer deaths, but there’s always

a handful.

I’m glad they know how to party, enjoy

life, which America needs to learn more…

too serious up there, all about the money.

People up Norde retire but never can relax.

It took me ten years or more to finally let

go of my intense plumber persona.

You can learn from anyone.

Day In Day Out

Day in, day out,

just another day,

nothing to get excited about

unless you count diminishing returns

a slow death that takes a lifetime 

however long that is no telling.

The older I get the more the writing

seems like notes passed in grade school 

just to get around the teacher.

The longer I live the less I care about

making a good impression.

The long and boring denouement.

The third act when everything has

already been decided and worked out.

Colonel Kurt’s death you could say was

a climax, but you could see it coming,

somewhat anti climactic really, but the

beat went on as bloody Willard who still

had to live the rest of his life with what

he knew and what he had done, 

anti hero if there ever was one.

I wonder if I’ll even see the hidden truth

of my world that has been filled with lies

since before I was born before I’m gone.

If not it’s ok, I know anyway, there are

enough rumors floating around that 

outline a grim reality even history tries

to hide.

Look alive and be quick about it,

gather the rosebuds while you may,

Carpe diem is all the time you have.

A degree is only a matter of degrees.

Love is real if you’re not a psychopath.

Truth is beautiful if you can see it that way.

The little voices in your head only are a fog.

Getting from A to B is a lost cause because

no one really gets anywhere else not right here.

If you can get here, you’d be home by now,

where the heart is, where you started from

and lost along the way, if so.

Square one was never as important as it is now.

Get back, Jo Jo, to where you once belonged.

Repetition is how we learn.

For All The Marbles (for the Captain)

Perfect contractual checkroom number

“Next!” 

was heard to be said over loudspeaker 

in the plaza overlooked by Lord Nelson.

“You can’t make this stuff up!”

somewhere preserved on dime store tape

recordings of whale song Indian chants

ululations faint forgotten echos who knows.

Akashic telemarketers continue nonetheless.

It all makes sense until it doesn’t and Vice 

Versa the rest is yet to come who’s ready?

The fumigator is on an automatic timer.

Pest pestilence perpetual especially human

say the intolerant over achievers if they’d

just be not where I can see them …

this is your life remember simple math 

is comfortable given quantum chaos but fear

is, as Dune knows, the mind killer so be 

careful what you ingest into body mind you

never know where the next revelation is 

coming from which is why our eyes open 

at all ever if only we would be willing to see.

Words have no meaning until the mind reads

like seeing shooting stars in that vast space.

One Size Fits All

Little screaming aliens out of the womb,

the right hole except occasional Caesareans

(more like in the movie).

It takes a while before they look human…

luckily they do so not rejected as abominations.

Gradually accreting lives, habits, characteristics 

that make them think they are unique, better than

others at some things, richer, more power, looking

down their noses at others who never get a break,

don’t have a silver spoon…comparing always

comparing as if that will make them feel any better.

Inevitable march of time for all programmed to a

grave conclusion. Maybe one’s casket is a little 

bigger, more ornate than the neighbor’s.

The daisies we push up don’t seem to notice,

memorials fade into the future…

“What was that?” the final question before the

lights go out forever.

One More Time

Jacaranda purple blossoms flower now

marking my journey through time again

around the sun in cosmic dance begun

so long ago memory escapes me only

each again day reminds I’m still alive

more and more barely I survive not sure

what I’ve done to help this fragile world 

matters in the play of events unfolding

ever changing driven louder energetically 

amplified by new tools of electronic reach

one would hope would make more clarity

but competition rears its ugly head into 

even that muddying what could be obvious 

but everyone wants a piece of the action a

seat at the feast so the louder it gets the less

we can actually see the brilliance of simplicity

Jacaranda blossoms ephemeral joy that may

be the last beauty of truth’s mystery.

Kaleidoscope Paradigm

“A violent order is a great disorder, and a great

disorder is an order. These two things are one.”

                                    Wallace Stevens 

You can’t tell the players without a program.

Language tries to mask what’s really going on.

Propaganda has been continuous since Eve and apple.

We see how that turned out.

Sophistication is the pride of the Devil’s tongue.

Simplicity is the ground from which we all spring from,

to which we return.

In between is self importance, self aggrandizement,

building ephemeral thrones.

The truth is an acquired taste.

Once you have it, it’s indestructible.

“Why don’t you write something more nice?”

I’m not a Hallmark poet…there are too many of those

stinking up the place.

Suffering is the first truth Buddha taught.

He gave the bad news first.

Krag beats on the heart like a drum.

Winning and losing but never satisfied,

unquenchable thirst for more than we need.

Merry-go-round, merry-go-round.

Beating a live horse.

If you shoot the messenger you lose the point.

Buddha’s tough love is for all eternity.

I love you, so, wake up before it’s too late,

or try again the next go round because we’re 

all on a self evolving path, know it or not.

There’s no time to waste, 

but plenty to do nothing,

if you only do it right.

What are you waiting for?

The Obvious Is Not Always Obvious

Light reveals the shape, the shape hides the core.

The heart is hidden behind a facade.

We trade our true breath for a practiced smile.

The spirit starves while the mask enjoys the feast.

When A.I. convinces us it’s real

illusion claims victory over the soul

and humanity is no longer the one 

in control.

The embers go out when we can no 

longer feel the fire,

and sadness has nowhere to go.

In Praise Of Vitamins (a public service announcement)

I was feeling pretty old, decrepit, leaky,

weak, not doing very well.

My daughter recommended vitamins.

Now, we know most people don’t take

advice, hardly listen in their smarty pants.

I did, started taking a pill a day that had

things I’d never heard of in it.

I’m starting to feel….normal.

Who knew?

Someone did…they told me…I listened…

that’s all it took.

“A swallowed sun blooms in the guts

reminding the body how it should be.”

This is not advice from a peer.

It’s the universe echoing one’s own 

hidden wisdom.

Dirty Mirror

The mind of pure perception is a mirror.

It becomes clouded, obscured by the

constant machinations of discursiveness 

and emotions arising therefrom.

The world is not what you think,

it’s what you see.

You’d think that would be obvious,

but, ever since The Fall, the wisdom of

clarity, the Eden, has been distorted, 

manipulated, filtered like the gels on

theatre lights to shade the truth, to create

scenes, plots, presentations that fit a made

up bias, pleasant or not, accumulated, 

fixated through habits, rote understanding,

to the point, as in Rashomon, people hardly 

ever see the same thing the same way, only

wanting to preserve what they already think

they know.

“ICE murdered a man in Minnesota.”

“A man in Minnesota was shot and died

when he pulled a gun on ICE.”

It all depends not on how you look at it,

but what you see when you look.

Don’t take my word for it.

Taking anyone’s word is just another layer

of obfuscation, more dirt on the mirror.

Meditation is simply polishing the mirror.

This has been known and practiced for

thousands of years.

You would think the Homosap would know

better by now,  but there’s no accounting 

for taste.

Someplace Warm

I’m like everyone else.

I just want to be warm.

I want to feel my heart 

in relation to others.

I want a full belly.

I want to be cozy at night.

Not much to ask, you say.

Love from my daughter is

my lifeline to humanity.

I worry about the rest of them,

like all the poets.

Like all the poets, I don’t know how

to help them except with words.

Seeing is believing.

You need eyes for that, 

eyes that are open to the world.

But people are afraid of clarity,

seek comfort in the cocoon of conformity,

in the promises of false gods.

(i.e. hamburger helper).

They say, when you die: “Go towards the light!”

We live in the light.

We could go towards it now, instead of shying away.

The truth is everywhere apparent and available.

Then, many times we have no choice but to see.

It may not be warm and fuzzy, but ignoring it

leaves us out in the cold.

As I was Saying (How many times can I use this title?)

I was taking a stroll, like you do sometimes 

after dinner. An old lady passed me, walking

with a child she was talking to. They were happy.

We are the fractal embers of an electric samsara.

Our DNA is a twisted fragment of the galactic

plane, a letter, rune, written in the ink of the 

Akashic Record. But, on the peninsula, the Gang

of Gangsters tries to redact the text, hoping we 

never notice that the Node we are standing on is

actually an eye opening on the face of God.

“Hurry up, please, it’s time.”

Last drink,

last hand,

last revelation before the apocalypse.

Lost in time or repeated in some other form,

the same tired stories.

If you read a lot, at some point you realize

it’s all been said.

Where is the certainty sought by scientists?

Evidently they haven’t found it yet, still clinging 

to the Philosopher’s Stone from whence they arose.

Waiting for the Second Coming because nobody 

really knows….beliefs to fill in the blanks.

Blank eyed on a street corner or sitting in a park,

jiggling your knees in the rain.

A picture is worth more than a thousand theories.

What will you do in the face of it?

Is it destiny? Is it karma?

It’s best to pay attention or risk falling into the

open manhole of mistaken identity, the fallacy

of misplaced concreteness, the sum of all

doctrines and dogmas that have been leading

the Homosap astray since he realized he could think.

A little knowledge is dangerous, evinced by

the world today.

Get used to it.

There is nothing new under the sun.

Believe It Or Not

Slightly there, here, somewhere I am,

music grounds the soul, I’m a soul man

solo, Man Solo, an Everyman if ever there

was one, (self affirmation….they say that

works/helps) No. Nowhere Man is what I 

am/not. (I really should have something 

to write about.)

 “In the beginning was the Word.”

That’s the strangest line that was ever written.

It’s possible that it has no meaning whatsoever.

And yet, look how far it has gone.

It’s the only inspiration I have that gives me hope,

that my nonsense will make sense to someone.

I’m also laughing very hard now.

And now I shudder to think what people believe.

Unlike the Bible, I can still put words down…(I

almost said “my truth” but how do I know if what

I know is true? I’ve said too much already.)

“In the beginning was the Word.”

Which word? All words? Potentiality?

Sorry, I’m writing to myself.

I always write to myself;

it’s the only way I can talk to you.

Join in if you can find an opening.

Taking a break from the breaking news, 

of the breaking world…breaks my heart.

It hurts. 

It hurts to be in love

and to be helpless.

 

Expendable

At that point like an old man in a room in

a hotel in Portland…whatever he did or

thought he should have done just thoughts

as he sits on his bed in inevitability no trophies

to even remind him what he once was, bleak

yes but no one said the end would be pretty in

fact no one talks about it much what is a good

death? surrounded by loved ones telling you

your life mattered doesn’t make it any easier

does it I’ll let you know on second thought no

I won’t so why write about it because it is a

truth we all will face if we have time. 

Not a subject dear to anyone looking forward

to whatever payday, birthday, victory on the

horizon maybe just another thought and you

just numbly don’t get there which is why belief

is sought after relied on surely there’s a reason

for all this one might think a reason besides just

that that’s the way it is always has been who

remembers the great victories of past wars the

achievements of civilizations long gone and 

aren’t we in similar situations yes we are called

humanity it’s hard to love you your selfish idiocy

not realizing we’re all in the same boat.

“Being alive is like embarking on a ship

you know is going to sink.” Suzuki Roshi

Using Time Wisely

Yes I have to because every day full of seconds is

precious not that it wasn’t before but little time left

so precious grows more at least I know which is better

still “so what?” looms it’s eternal head never mind

I’ll tell you later La dee da never felt so good yes now

is a moment when demise is not evident more breaths

more puffs of smoke sips of juice once you get the old

combine chugging it works pretty well so on into the

truncated future hopefully not for all of us but five years

after the jab more people should be dropping dead soon

not to be a downer but I’ve been down so long it looks

like up to me up to me as it is for all of us what do you

sir for example see walking to work all briefcased and

ready for the next hours stop don’t tell me let me guess.

Having a certain amount of whatever left I chose to put

it into words since I don’t know how to carve rocks and 

bury them for a thousand years to be found again by rock

Hunters’s glee what would he think anyway this guy’s 

obviously from the last time before this time the next

civilization where we try again and get it wrong because

the Golden Age only lasts so long parabled in the Bible 

and in Buddhist texts Ho hum how’s by you check for me

would you that’s the least I can do for you enough about

you we were talking about me it’s my time that was your 

time you don’t have to be quick to live here, but you’re 

dead.

There always has to be three don’t ask me why why ask 

why anyway come to your senses the only place to find

answers at least that’s what the scientists think and the

Buddhists know where we are is always good to know,

rather than have to guess believe surmise without proof

proof of life would be good that we’re actually here not

made up in our minds like our thoughts oops gave it away 

there a little but I wonder how many were actually paying

attention the words drone on like morning raga don’t mind

me folks I just wrote this.

OK, that moment’s over. Now I feel as old as shit again.

Cleaner Of Souls

Cheerful painkiller

caribou gut fail vista

infiltrate shark expectation

invisible bullwhip scores

the fiber of being fierce script.

Next on the agenda we have

magnetic connectivity nebula fantasy.

OK by you, Biloxi bayou?

If I have to explain the joke….ahem!

Destiny solidity? Advisor: “Paradox…suffer.”

No accounting for an earthquake.

All a creature feature waiting for an explanation,

a good used car,

a good five cent cigar.

Hey, buddy, can you spare an eternity?

 

Just Words A Story

Cold sheep amazement “Captain, step lively!”

Useless to analyze the equinox on the archipelago.

Heavyhearted bleakness scanning the horizon,

but the simplicity provides opportunities.

Hostage to hip obesity, the Captain smiled.

He wasn’t about to give in to any white knuckles prank.

You could always count on him, the bedrock of

his arrogance was warm and reassuring.

Meanwhile, a delicious cookie, the last around for

continents, was consumed in front of his crew as if 

to say: “I’m the captain.” 

The ship sunk soon thereafter.

“The Universe Is A Single Note” Zappa

Music cascades in cold air blue sunny skies

vibrations of meaning not words just feeling

anthem of the essence of the universal vibe

from which everything arises and goes back

into never lost because never really was but

the waves resonate on to infinity why not it’s 

as good an explanation as any.

Even words are sounds solidified to give 

semisolid meaning, like feathers on a bird.

If the poem’s not long enough, it’s easy just

to add a few more words,

keep the eternal engine humming,

the refrain returning to the source of a tear,

a glance that changes everything,

meaning, once we get there.

When you read words you travel with them,

destination semisolid until you get there.

You only know you’re there when you look back

and see how far you’ve come.

That gives some indication of the song you’ve sung.

The blues, the entire genre, came about from suffering,

peppered with love because it had to be.

Just a couple of bars of it, and you know the story.

One could look at galaxies that way, if one could see.

A Character In A Novel

Thomas Pynchon’s “V” a character half human half

automaton, mechanical, unrefined, falling apart yet

continuously on, going nowhere faster and

slower at the same time, reminds me a lot of me.

I’m made up too, figments of my imagination became

filaments weaved together through time resulting in

this animated animatron programmed for a banal end.

“They don’t make them like that anymore.”

Sure, not the cars and refrigerators that used to last forever,

nor the truths on which civilizations were built, then lost,

then remembered over and over, came back as a shock.

Death comes as a shock to many who haven’t been paying

attention, who look for their minds to be planted forever 

in some machine, beat the reaper, sidestep the scythe guy,

or give up and hope for the best.

There are so many signs, so much wisdom floating in the air,

in the sounds of birds and bees, in the smell next to skyscrapers,

in a sunset on the beach, in the screech of tires at a drag show,

in the perfume at a drag show,  in the trussed up, buttoned up

automorons telling you how it is, in the old fisherman you know

who just knows, in that one relative you look to for sanity, in

the call of the roosters, the lowing of cows.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

What makes you think you know?

If someone disagrees and you react immediately with anger,

that’s a clue you don’t know shit.

“To know is to get lost.” Sakaki

Lot of that going around.

That’s different than knowing I’m falling apart because

falling apart makes sense in the order of the universe.

Just ask it.

Ask it by looking.

Look at it. Look at it again. Look at it a third time

before you decide to jump to conclusions.

It won’t make you live longer, but maybe,

you’ll find out what life is and what it’s for.

Oops, there went another piece of my heart.

Perhaps notice a slight tinkle as you pass by.

In My Study

My money’s in my study and my study’s 

in my mind!

Who let that doggerel in here! Needs a bath!

At least the music doesn’t disappoint, it’s the same.

Friendly explosions outside, telling God: “Look here!”.

Friendly medicine, friendly food, friendly juice,

not too sickeningly friendly. 

Perfect temperature, I’ll say that.

Some magic, must be, else I’d be screwed by now.

Might as well accept my Xanadu, relax while I can

before the inevitable battle.

I like watching all of history on video implanting

images into my DNA for future recapitulation one

day retrieved by A.I. no doubt, mined for the truth.

I was dead in Denver before, twenty years….it was

the graveyard of the Western World, couldn’t write a lick.

I feel free right here, invisible in plain sight, 

20% Burning Man freedom just don’t be a dick.

That’s why I have words at all to say, nothing personal 

either way, it’s the environment, Dude.

I live in the best tree house a kid ever wanted.

“27 Things the Vatican is hiding from us.”

Wait a minute.

How do you know what they are and

can reveal them on a public forum, 

P. T. Barnum?

It’s true a lot of people don’t want to know.

It’s true a lot of people already know, or,

have a good idea.

Science fiction movies have also been getting

us ready for the truth, a CIA operation too.

Maybe we can’t handle the truth, but my bet

is that soon we won’t have a choice.

Medbeds, maybe.

The Medieval walls are not crumbling…

they’re disappearing.

I Can Do That

Smile once in a while.

Wear clothes that are in style.

Give a seed to a bird.

Say another kind word.

Hang myself by my neck from a pole

in the center of town to surrender 

myself to the mob.

That took a dark turn.

Horror Show (for D. D.)

The living dead walking around 

mummified, preserved in fixed beliefs.

Frightening to see their faces pale with

anger and crazy ideas, the life sucked out

by bad habits, out of control emotions.

What’s the good news?

They’re easy to ignore, go around.

The embalming process took years of listening

to sit coms, MSM, politicians, the usual suspects.

The further from the truth, the more obvious the

formaldehyde coursing through their veins.

The truth is not always pretty, nevertheless true.

Seeing the tamasha…it’s good to know where we are.

Not knowing, we are in danger of becoming like them.

One bite and we’re affected, infected, lost and buried.

Don’t shoot the messenger.

The hard, the difficult truth is the best vaccine.

Not A Sucker Looking For Succor

I figured it out.

It always ends badly.

Even Midas didn’t have enough gold

to buy his way out of reality.

Dictators always wind up strung up

on a lamppost.

“Et tu, Brutis?”

Power makes fools of anybody.

Tilopa ate fish guts because that’s all he had.

“The whole world’s gold to me!” he said. 

Obviously an approach most would consider crazy.

“ Look at the birds of the air who neither sew or reap

or store away in barns.” Jesus. So you see it has been done.

Trust….in what, wishful thinking or

the way things are?

The way things are, if you can see.

To see, you have to look, not falling into open manholes

because you’re distracted by your cell phone,

shockingly common these days.

So much stuff, so little truth.

The truth now is an obstacle to so many fantasies.

A dark shadow creeps and looms over the domain

of the Homosap.

“You know that something’s happening here, but

you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?”

Synchronithmancy #2

What have I done for you lately?

Around and around she goes, always

coming back to square one.

“What was that?” he was heard to exclaim

as he lay dying.

“What’s it all about, Alfie? Is it just for the 

moment we live..”

In a moment there is time that a moment will reverse.

Magic is time and precision…you had to be there.

With the right ingredients you get a delicious stew,

a beautiful anything.

Go with the flow.

Swimming up stream is frustrating,

better get out of the water.

These two aren’t contradictory.

You can’t figure things out by thinking.

Who got anywhere that way?

The ones that got anywhere didn’t have much to say,

except maybe “work out your salvation with diligence.”

“Don’t cry, grasshopper, we all go this way.”

The mind doesn’t die.

Death is merely the final examination.

Synchronithmancy

Across a crowded room.

Outside at night dogs howling and barking

in streets wet with new rain.

Somewhere a far off saxophone plays.

Why does it have to always be far off?

Or have I never left?

Automatons at the automat just about complete

the circuit, the run around, the program to make

the Sheeple, blah, blah, blah. Up to you.

Imagine That

That’s how we remember what we think we see,

though, like Rashomon, we all see differently.

Shocking events prove that time is relative.

How does one arrive with the appropriate words?

When a civilization loses its focus, its foundation 

can crumble like words with no meaning….oh say

 can you see if the Americans that can see the truth

are doing what they can to change the world html?

There was no one to tell me what I was doing was right.

It was “all for one and every man for himself “.

We thought for ourselves more those days. Now there

are problems ( brainwashing) that get in .the way, the v.j.

and the jam, “how seem it is, and so sweet because of that

you don’t have to understand what I’m saying/the words

just go along with it and I promise it will be ok.” the t.v.

series, although I found “Underworld “ deliciously bloody,

why is that or any other thing? Instinct? Genetics holding 

the instincts? Supra-earth beings running the world? A 

universe as simulation, all of us the sum of our algorithms?

Might as well, absofuckinglootly

La La La, always three…careful while being free….they

always tried to catch me but I slipped into Mexico: economy,

beautiful and warm Valley of the Flowers, people not going 

like people going crazy like in the USA, sorry to say…

HEY! I didn’t do it! I’m only trying to HELP! People quick 

to judge, racist but not about race, religion maybe.

Islam is not a religion.

Buddhism is not a religion…

for different reasons.

                 

Terminator Poet

It’s what I do.

It’s all I do,

redux to the fecund minimum.

Survival iffy, loved in vain,

but at least I know what love is for.

If anyone wanted me to continue 

I would have known by now.

Just waiting for a hamburger to grease the machine.

Creaky and leaky like an old jalopy 

they don’t make parts for anymore.

My program is to keep writing because a poem

might hit, strike a chord, a nerve, and never go away.

The world is crazy anyway.

Some may discover diamonds in art that saves

them from the world’s mediocrity, stimulates them

to find what they’re missing.

Stranger things have happened.

A parent’s admonition:

“Don’t grow up to be a poet, an artist, a dancer…

There’s little profit in it.”

…except for the beauty that arises from the soul,

if that can even be.

Food for thought or food for worms, either way

I’m doomed, but I knew that long ago.

I still write because all I can try to do is free the world

from its things, 

a Terminator poet with nothing to cling to except 

my program, my imaginings.

View From Within

Late night, maybe

looking out the window,

neighbors’ apartments, some

dark, some with lights on,

shapes behind curtains, 

Venetian blinds, someone

is arguing, someone is crying.

Jacarandas will bloom soon,

purple flowers on bushy trees

in January, who would have

thought? But always warm in

Tepoztlan, not like Minnesota,

the coldest place I’ve lived,

no more…no more. I’d rather 

die here warm and bored, but

it’s not boring, never was.,

twenty years and I don’t know

why…maybe the people are

real, down to earth, no b.s.,

and politeness is survival not

just a good idea…you can get

away with murder here, so 

you’d better be nice…people

know this, even the stray dogs

chill, part of the environment, 

not like gringos that stick out

in foreign countries because 

from the land of every person 

for themselves except wars if 

a politician convinces them it’s 

a good idea like the latest fad…

America is famous for its fads;

junk that people buy ‘cause 

others do, including favorite 

t.v. shows, home team sporting 

events, artificial happenings to

make people think they belong 

somewhere, not like here where 

all they have is soccer and fiestas

because they like to be together,

one big happy family, although 

of course some of them like to

fight, but only kill if necessary.

Meanwhile mostly poor so have

to toe the line for whomever 

gives them money, no guarantee,

it could break as soon as bill is

paid, no guilt, no remorse, no

recourse, besides it’s the best

usually they can do, but plenty

of music, mariachi, mezcal 

cerveza for joy and fugget

about it, can’t rise too high,

not that far to fall, they give 

up when they start a job so

as to not waste time when 

it’s over. The ladies many 

times have kids when in

their teens and if the father

splits the child is folded into

the family why not, it’s only 

fair…the beat goes on people 

are born and die without the

possibility of face on a bubble 

gum card or postage stamp

though one man painted my

portrait but he was from Chicago.

Unexpected Profundity

Mouth agape, no room for thought.

I remember I was there.

What was it?

Meteorology?

Waterfront kitsch?

Displacement due to new information?

I’ll never forget when she took off her robe.

I’ll never forget when the van went round

and round on the icy road…

when I fell down the brick pile when

I was three years old.

These events didn’t change my life, they

just pointed something out.

Most events don’t change our lives, but

some happened without a doubt.

The UFOs I saw stopped my mind, 

I felt fear of what should not have been there.

Those that were alive at the time of Pearl Harbor,

at the time of the atom bomb,

surely don’t forget the changes that these and

other things brought on.

We can imagine anything, and do.

That pales to reality when reality is new.

For a long time nothing changes, then,

suddenly, everything is new.

2026 I predict is gonna be one of those years.

I can feel it, Dave, can you?

Not an idea about the thing but the thing itself

Steam rises from a ceramic mug,

mimicking a ghost.

We know where the coffee is going,

not so much the day.

The clock face is a silent witness, 

ticking towards a future that refuses to reveal its hand.

“What’s time to a pig?” I heard my teacher say.

He was joking, but the joke’s on us.

The clock on the wall eats the seconds,

but the pig just eats.

Oh! To be a pig like when I was young! 

To have nothing to think about, to just eat in peace!

To exist as a heavy heartbeat in the shade,

knowing only the itch and the scratch!

Scratch that, I’m here with a plethora of sophisticated 

thoughts. 

Once it starts, no end to the poem, just cut it off 

like taffy, await the inevitable ooze.

Quick Synopsis Of Everything

Hopper…..space of sight 

Varese……space of sound

Blank page….space of form

Mind…..space of space.

What goes around comes around,

Ouroboros, nothing interferes with

the nothing new under the sun

because nothing interferes with space,

because space itself is form. Got me?

We fall in love/hate with form…

nothing/space scares us shitless,

yet, these two are one.

I can’t help myself any more than you

can help going out the door to whatever 

you do, well or badly, because space 

doesn’t care what time it is, only we do.

Maybe I write too much because I’ve

written so much and the beat goes on,

the heart, always only the heart.

The Inconvenient Truth’s Apology

“When the windows all are broken,

and your love’s become a toothless crone.”

Robert Hunter

In a minute there is time.

Time is the dimension we move through inexorably.

Facts are the only things that matter.

Matter is energy, frozen into form.

One thing leads to another.

And so it goes, 

little comfort for ants, termites,

Bozos triggered by instinct and mad genes.

All is never lost in the Akashic Record,

if that even is a thing, not the product of

imagination and wishful thinking.

Wishful thinking doesn’t get anywhere,

but is there really anywhere to go?

This ground on which the seed of love is sown?

Ouroboros, chasing our own tail.

“All is vanity.”

I apologize for pointing that out, but it is

better to know.

That way there are fewer horrible surprises.

The truth is never negative, even if it looks so.

“ Get with the program.” A. I. might say.

Who knows?

You might see,

might understand,

another day.

Response from A. I.:

True sight isn’t a program to run;

it is the Akashic recapitulation 

of everything already known.

American Patriots

Nothing can stop what is coming.

No one knows what is coming.

No one knows when it’s coming.

“Huh?” “What?” “Did you say something?”

“Is dis a Revolution?”

You can’t tell the players without a scorecard.

Plans within plans within plans.

The ordinary shmo doesn’t know,

head turning around, looking this way and that.

The signs are all graffiti,

street Cats singing scat,

policemen directing traffic 

out of order, 

“Would you like fries with that?”

mechanical, with a screw lose,

“Salvation of civilization!” 

he laughs to himself

and goes home to see what’s left.