depravity
and when they burned down the farmhouse
they also burned his diary and his notes.
Losing
Do we lose things along the way?
We say:
I lost my hat; I lost my cat;
I lost my way!
All is energy:
it is quite impossible to lose
whatever...
Other things or other lives
simply grow tired of us
and slip out of our control
for a time or for ever.
To be able to lose,
we must be able to own,
but where or when did we
get the idea of ownership?
No one can ever own anything
and life is full of surprises:
who knows:
I may “lose” myself before morning!
The things I own
likely understand the truth of it:
they break free of owners
and suddenly disappear.
Impossible?
Not for those who have learned
to think outside the box.
Besides, it's a lot more fun
than just tick-tocking along
stuck in the same old beliefs.
Go ahead, lose your mind!
Melody
I heard you playing last night;
the notes cascading softly
through the wall
and settling gently in my heart.
They came as waves
drifting upon a shallow sandy shore
on a quiet moonlit evening,
I could feel your caress
on the polished wood
and every brush of fingertip
on vibrating strings
pulled strange feelings
from deep within my soul,
stirring up some un-named passion.
Your guitar gently sang,
expressing a new meaning for life,
an essence of happiness.
I felt as if I had found the freedom
to cast my unbound love
throughout a world
burdened with sadness;
as if I had the power
to change that old melody.
I hope you'll play again this evening -
I'll be listening.
Tears In The Rain
It is a hard thing, is it not
to know anyone's tears in the rain?
Yet many tears fall thus
and only the tear-maker knows
how they were created
why they came to be
and where they went.
Tears flow with the rain
when the fabric tears;
when what should be
does not come to be
and what should not be
breaks down the door
to take away the child.
I have seen tears in the rain
for I have seen the sky
cry over the earth and the sea
many a time, too many a time;
when the sun could not shine
upon earth nor sea
for sorrow would not let it.
And the child that was lost
I saw again past her wandering.
I saw her somewhere
as another face in the rain;
another tear-streaked face
staring at a dark-grey sky
and barely did I recognize it.
I knew she'd looked her last
upon the things once called good.
Through tear-filled eyes
she'd reached for the hand of faith
and grasped at the arm of hope --
but hand and arm dissolved --
how bitter are tears in the rain.
The Tree
The tree,
symbol of vitality,
symbol of life;
anchored in pasts
and possible futures
where I walked and walk,
not always alone--I hear
its voice echo softly
through the mind--I feel
its life energy healing
my soul deadened
by the city's chaos:
Barefoot,
I stand recharging
under its green protection
and I say, not proudly
"thank you, tree
and I hope you'll still be
here, giving life
when I, or another child
needs you again."
Toaster
Praise Capitalism!
A toaster is built!
Ah! Made in Mexico, profit!
It lightly browns gummy white bread.
It kills what nutritious value
the bread may have accidentally contained
but who cares? We can hear that delightful
crunching sound in our mouth, feel
that commercial goodness fill our guts
when suddenly, expectedly, one of its coils dies.
The whole damn thing must now be thrown away
in some overflowing heap called a land fill
oozing with toasters, dirty diapers and
other such non-recyclable human waste.
Thus we are forced to buy a new one
and the game goes on
until we too,
are toast!
To Vote Or Not To Vote
Comes election time and people say:
You've got to vote!
It's your duty to vote.
If you don't vote, don't complain
if they don't do what you would like.
This gave me food for thought.
First, 'tis obvious people vote
to have something to complain about.
Secondly, if I were to vote
it's just as obvious to me
there's only one person on this world
who'll always do what I want
and that would be 'me'
so put my name on the ballot
and I'll vote
for my majority of One.
Troubles Of Mind
I took a walk I'd hoped would be pleasant
on a cold, wet and windy day
and how I wished the sun had shone;
how I wished for a soft, warm breeze
to warm my face and hands today.
My troubles hound me like a cold wind;
like a driving November rain.
They penetrate my clothes;
keep my heart in their icy grip;
keep me from the love I seek to share;
they numb my hands: and I cannot touch.
There is a way out of this;
a place beyond these troubles of mind;
where bitterness is washed away
as rain washes down a street.
There is a way to see;
a way to skirt potholes and cracks
on the uneven road of life;
a way to not stumble, nor to fall;
a way, a sure way, a final way
to replace fear with love.
How? Consciously choosing
to transform the fear-filled mind.
A Living Entity
Is everything a living entity?
a tree, a leaf, a drop of rain,
a piece of paper, a stone,
a hammer, a flower,
a cloud, a universe:
do they have feelings?
What does life have to say to that?
Yes, they all have identity,
existence, energy, feelings;
a sense of self-awareness
all being a part of the All-ness:
life expressing itself.
Thus do I understand; do I know:
everything deserves respect;
for I am of everything
and if I would be understood
I must expr
ess same in turn.
A simple enough lesson to learn.
But man has no compassion;
he is but a mindless consumer
that cannot feel the pain his needs
engender in a world that can never be
his to use or abuse at will.
And so he brings forth his own end.
The Prophet's Story – As Told By Earth And Sky
The prophet heard the coming of the times:
of course he did, that's what prophets do.
The prophet saw the rising of the tides:
of course she did, that's what prophets do.
The prophet tasted fully the changing of the times:
of course he did, that's what is said people will do
to those who insist on being prophets --
to those who always must give the right message
always in the worst possible time: when society hears
but finds it terribly inconvenient to listen.
The prophet for her trouble was nailed upon the tree
and her children sold into slavery.
"Should I have remained silent for the children's sake?"
She screamed in agony dying abandoned and alone
but for waiting vultures perched on two lesser trees.
The question has been answered already by society:
by a railing, mocking, gawking, thieving multitude
that stole her last possession and jeered:
"If thou be the Prophet and True, save thyself and us!"
The prophet has returned to her own world to grieve
and "The Prophet's Story" is now known far and wide
across immensities of space where other worlds spin;
where humans evolved beyond the plagues of darkness;
where they listened to their gifted ones and realized in time
no one has ever choked from swallowing one's pride.
A new body has been given her but she insists
that on her back, her hands and feet, as in her heart
it must continue to broadcast the scars of her passage
to remember, to feel, the hate-filled sea she faced in trial
and every night no sleep she allows to ease her sorrow:
cry she does, tears uncounted she sheds, for her children lost
who unknowing and un-remembering must now die
beyond reach of any compassionate heart or mind.
Winds Of Eternity
She was sprite, elf, wild, untamed:
she loved to dance to danger's beat,
always one foot on the very edge of life.
Thus I encountered my mystic love,
in a place of her own devising.
I knew any love she expressed,
even from the depth of her heart,
would be as fleeting as a desert storm;
that she would fade away as a season;
as a summer wind.
I needed the experience offered
of a sacred moment of passion:
I boldly stepped within the circle
she drew for the daring in the sand of her life.
Though the wind blows cold now,
and the love I knew, beyond the farthest star;
though I walk in emptiness and pain
of a fire no longer kindled, yet still burning,
I remain without regret
in the memory we created and lived.
Now I too can dance with danger;
can live on the razor's edge:
from her I learned to disregard caution.
The past is the springboard,
the future, free to look to its own ends:
I can but live for the moment.
I knew