Cyclone Scene 4

A bat in purple-ish skies.

 

And down here on earth, the POETRY INVASION continues unabated.

 

WITHOUT TRUST

 

Without trust, might as well just

Forget it. Without trust, suspicion

And doubt will multiply to feed on

Your well-being until what could

Have been a good thing is over

Before it’s even begun. Without

Trust, it’s just mutual using, fine

Until you have to take responsibilty

For it. Without trust, togetherness

Is just an illustion, beautiful at first,

About as permanent as a raindrop.

We’re like freezers now, forever

Cold and closed. To understand

Why, look at our story from the

Very beginning, look at all that’s

Gone down, and ask yoursellf

How such a complete absence

Of trust could ever come to be.

 

SINK

 

Way too deep in the dirty, shitty,

Polluted waters of bad emotions,

And trying not to sink. Swim on,

Keep going – as sure as the waters

Are not supposed to be this way,

There must be something cleaner

Up ahead. Don’t drown because

Another was carelessness with

Their ocean. Swim on, these

Waters are just part of a much

Bigger sea that cleanses itself in

Time and will dissolve all this filth.

 

BIG EGGY

 

Eggs came flying from the hens

Like bullets. Hens on a steady

Amphetamine diet in the egg

Factory, meeting the demands

Of America’s breakfast each

And every morning. Till one

Day the hens used the eggs

As their weapons, rebelled,

Shot their way out of slavery.

Hens like Spartacus, a band

Of feathered refugees, on a

Quest to find freedom in the

Land of the free. I thought of

This after a really good omlett.

Maybe there realy are drugs in

The eggs. Or else this freedom

Thing is just contagious.

 

AN HONOR THING

 

I can get conflicted about returning

Somewhere I’ve previously been

Declared unwelcome. If you treat

Me like someone you’d rather not

Have around, until I hear differently

That’s how I’ll always see you. It’s

An honor thing. That might sound

Completely outdated in this day and

Age, but I’m talking about honor

Given, not just honor received. If

You’ve asked me for distance, then

The respectful response is to give

You that distance. If you’ve ever felt

Differently, you’ve never so much as

Lifted a finger to show it, so what is

The respectful, honorable thing for

Me to assume? Sorry if I’m sounding

Redundant, but sometimes you look

Upset at me for ignoring you.

 

NAKED

 

When a fully clothed man feels

Naked, that’s his problem. When

A naked man feels fully clothed,

That’s our problem. As much as

I try to undress a subject with

Words, without resorting to

Coarseness of speech, we keep

A veil over the unadorned truth

For the sake of public decency.

 

THE DOGS WHO ARE OUR FRIENDS

 

I don’t mean to feed the rats. I

Don’t want to feed the rats. But

Then there are the dogs who

Are our friends. The ones who

Belong to no one, no security,

No guarantee of the next meal.

Grateful for the scraps –different

Value system. You feed them and

They’ll guard you. Unlike people –

You feed them and they’ll rob you.

I am not my brother’s keeper and

I know even less about keeping a

Dog. They just stay close because

They want to, I guess.

 

SPINACH BELIEVER

 

Speechless – don’t even feel like

Talking. But it’s these moments

When speech eludes me that I’m

Probably closest to the truth, when

My particular state of affairs, state

Of being, state the union makes

Like Popeye, proclaiming, I am

What I am, and there you have it.

You can see clearly now, the rain

Is gone. Ok, Mr. Spinach Believer,

Kindly explain what’s up with this

Not being able to sleep? With this

Nagging feeling something isn’t

Exactly right? That I’m not quite

Where I’m supposed to be? Is

This a never-ending lesson in

Patience? The Buddha, I’m told,

Sat under a tree for years until

He’d transcended attachment

And found enlightenment. I don’t

Have the patience to follow his

Example. I think enlightenment

Hides behind these big questions

And little mysteries that never

Fail to leave me speechless.

 

SPIRITS IN MANU’A

 

People here so casually mention

Spirits in Manu’a, I have no doubt

They believe in them. I think it’s

Great there are spirits in Manu’a –

Spirits need a higher visual profile,

For sure, because people will only

Pay lip service to what they can’t

See. It’s high time the spirits kick

Some ass on the legion of stupid

Humans who would dare to mess

With them. I know most people

Here firmly believe Manu’a spirits

Exist. This fills me with fear, not

Because I think the spirits would

Harm me, but because so many

Here know that spirits are real

And still act the way they do.

 

PRECIOUS THING

 

Maybe someday when it doesn’t

Really matter, you’ll tell me what

Was going on in your head and I’ll

Tell you what was going on in mine

And we’ll both feel like idiots. We

Both felt the precious thing, and

Proceeded to create conditions

For it that the other couldn’t even

Cognate, never mind live up to.

Having no way to tell which way

Was up, it became more a matter

Of who was trashing it the worst.

I guess that’s the true nature of

The precious thing – it doesn’t

Really teach you that much about

Someone else, just about yourself.

 

YUM, COMFORTABLE SLUG

 

Fear reinforces conformity,

But, I’d wager to say, does

Not engender excellence.

For conformity stifles the

Aspirtion to rise above the

Anonymous mediocrity, to

Risk getting noticed out of

Line. Therefore, be a rebel

Or be a slug. Imagine if you

Breathe your last and the

Best thing you can say

About your life is, “It was

Comfortable”. Yep, very

Comfortable in a shell, in a

Mental cell, under the spell

Of mindless conformity.

Content to be just another

Comfortable slug, quietly

Waiting in line to provide

Some bird with breakfast.

 

SUMMER

 

We’re both living organisms

And nature made us a layaway

Plan. This is totally organic,

The most popular mechanics,

Encyclopedia Britannica

Defines it as life carrying on.

These cells weren’t meant for

Confinement, and the high

Court of nature recently ruled

In their favor. Time to think

Of future generations and

Whether they’ll remember us.

We leave behind poems and

A long story for others to tell

As summer approaches.

 

FULL MOON

 

I was born under the sign ruled by

The Moon. Its fullness has the

Strongest pull on the tides. We’re

Mostly liquid, but not enough for

The Moon to make us levitate.

How strange that would be – the

Bigger you are, the closer you’d

Get to the Moon. Even if we don’t

Float into the sky, the waters inside

Us feel the pull of the Moon. Our

Thoughts, feelings, emotions and

Perceptions all grow more intense.

It’s a time when joys can run high,

Sorrows deep. The stillness of the

Moon throws into contrast all the

Turbulence we carry. Things seem

Slightly distorted, but no, it’s just

The agonies and ecstasies of daily

Existence amplified by the Moon.

In a heightened state, transfixed

By the glow, I sometimes wonder

If floating into the sky might not be

Such a bad idea after all.

 

CRISES

 

Emotional crisis, health crisis, plumbing

Crisis – can you blame me if I think life

Has something personal against me?

Am I using too much air? Would the

Food I eat be better allocated to the

Starving in Africa? Do my words add

Irreparable damage to the general

Peace, harmony and understanding

Among mankind? Is even thinking I’m

That significant just another ego trip?

So many questions… Meanwhile, the

Crises need tending to. One by one

I’ll put a band aid on each and carry

On just like any other day.

 

ETIQUETTE

 

Look, sorry if you think this is

Strange, but on the planet I

Come from , this would be

Considered good manners.

This would be considered a

Gesture of affection and

Sincere respect. It would

Express appreciation for

All the things so special

About you, for the way you

Make things better just by

Being you. On the planet I

Come from expressions

Such as these are not

Considered in poor taste,

And are given and received

With grace. On the planet I

Come from it’s considered

Important to express such

Things if you feel them. But

On this planet everything

Is the opposite.

 

I.O.U.

 

There’s a difference of opinion

Over what my civic duty is. My

Controversial purse strings are

Being called to account. The

Public sticks its nose into my

Business records as if I owe

Them, as if the check is in the

Mail. They’re just jealous of

Success, real or perceived,

And think a high profile gives

Them an excuse for low blows.

 

NANNIES

 

Sometimes crimes don’t seem

Like crimes at all at the time,

More like a smart move – too

Bad the other dimwits missed

It – a chance to take advantage

While the tides have turned in

Your favor. So there you sit

Trying to explain what you did

To all the people you hurt, and

Your only defense is no one

Stopped you, as if all the laws

Of the courts and the heart are

Nothing more than nannies,

Derelict in their duty to keep

You from burining inquisitive

Fingers on the hot stove.

 

FILE

 

Judas on the computer, forwarding

The Pharisees useful tidbits they

Reward with pieces of silver and

Crumbs of approval. We keep a

File on you. Everything you’ve

Done, all you’ve ever shared with

Anyone, is documented, can be

Used as proof. When good times

Turn bad, good time friends turn

Witness. Think Heaven has issued

You a free pass? It doesn’t apply

Till you expire. Till then, you’re

Liable for an outstanding balance

Here on earth, and we’ll collect

By any means necessary. That’s

Why our meticulous file records

Everyone you ever sold out to get

Where you are. Just call it looking

After Number One, like Judas did.

 

FOREST

 

Subtleties of understanding are

One thing, but lacking an idea

In common, you can’t see the

Forest for the trees. The same

Thing looks different from a

Few feet away. The sublime

Just sounds crude unless you

Describe it with the right kind

Of English. It’s simple enough

We’re in a forest, but all the

Subtleties filter the light so

Differently, making the path

Appear a dead end. I left an

Offering of crumbs to mark

Some kind of trail, but now

My knapsack’s out and every

Direction looks no different

From the other. Have to find

My way through this forest

Of understanding on intuition

And faith, which is another

Way of saying I’m lost.

 

TOOLS IN HAND

 

Tools in hand, I threaten to carve

In stone a yes or no. Instead, it’s

Something ridiculous engraved

On this unsuspecting rock. I’d

Hate to immortalize anything

Really important on this eternal

Surface. Importance is so often

Nothing more than a response

To a moment. Subject the ages

To it? That would be like waking

Up one morning with a tattoo

You’re not so sure you even

Like anymore. So tools in hand,

Hoping to look important, what

Shall I carve in stone? Try sound

Profound – We need to laugh

At the ridiculous, or else it’s too

Easy to become frightened by it.

 

TIP THE SCALES

 

Weigh my flawed actions,

Speech and understanding

To see if they tip the scales

Of blind justice, knowing

Justice is never really blind,

Just suspending plain sight

To avoid judging solely by

How things appear. Blind

Judges use a third eye, feel

Vibes, an otherworldy sense

Of knowing , a logic of the

Subconscious. Still , among

Humans no objectivity is

Pure. At best, there is only

Balance or its absence, and

So the symbol of the scale

To weigh the right or wrong,

Inconsequence or severity

Of our every flawed action,

Speech and understanding.

 

PAIN

 

Pain wants to have a conversation,

Making its presence known. Pain

Has the uncanny knack of leading

You to believe it’s moved on, but

Just when you’re basking in the

Sun, a moving shadow distracts

You from your warm imaginings

And you just know. Pain wants to

Powwow, update its files, inquire

Discretely, do a routine service

Check while you’re still under

Warranty. Our relationship is

Purely professional, pain and me.

I don’t exactly relate, just grow

Accustomed to how it comes

And goes. I asked why, how long,

It looked at me thoughtfully and

Replied, sorry, that’s classified.

Not knowing just comes with the

Pain, and vice versa.

 

STAR AND DIRECTOR

 

Very few actors can handle being

Both star and director. This leads

To the shocking revelation that

The star isn’t really what’s best

About a movie, only what’s most

Visible. If it’s only the star that

Matters, then how come some

Of them turn out one lousy film

After another? Star, director,

And some mysterious X factor

All combine to make a movie

Memorable. We might both be

Stars in our own way, or even

Directors when someone needs

To take that role. Neither of us

Might require star billing, but I

know we’d both resist taking

Direction from each other. This

Has something to do with self-

Perception, artistic vision and

Who controls either or both.

How dare you presume you can

Direct me??? We two could only

Combine talents were we to cede

Direction to a source that’s bigger

Than the both of us.

 

LETTERS TO A LOVE

 

It meant something to try and

Make contact and keep in touch.

I wonder how many great love

Poems are really letters to a love

That never was. Whether you’re

A poet, a house painter, or a

Parking lot attendant, you’ve got

To have hope, do something

With what you know inside, try

To make contact and keep in

Touch, just so someone knows

They’re not the only one who

Feels the same things you do.

 

CONVENTION

 

Snub convention or take advantage

Of it, that is the question. I brought

With me the conventions of a

Different location, which renders

Me unconventional in this context

But a leopard can’t change stripes.

Boundaries, social responsibilities

And persona space all have their

Place, but I have two legs, I could

Walk through all that. You’ll notice

I won’t, because that would be

Ignoring the boundaries you set by

Implication. Your actions demarcate

Where the boundaries should be,

Until you indicate differently. That’s

The system, the convention, the

Way things are done among those

For whom doing things right means

More than simply victory or defeat.

True, I have two legs, I could walk

Through all that, but only if I knew

You wanted me to.

 

ONENESS AND LUST

 

Oneness, I wish I could bring you

A worthier gift than lust, than an

Admission of my weakness, than

A diagnosis of my disease. Little

Wonder you fail to find these

Attributes attractive. Or is it my

Own shame at the mortal truths

That reduce us to something so

Un-godlike we fear we displease

God who made us this way? You

Can read my intention at a glance,

And I don’t like feeling exposed

Any more than I like feeling alone.

 

IGLOO

 

In our polar bear skins, we blend in

With endless white, color of purity.

Since the cold comes so naturally

To you, I’m going to build an igloo

Where we can rendezvous. I don’t

Cherish the thought of killing seals

And walruses, but if we don’t eat

Them, something else will. Please

Let me draw the line at porpoises.

I’d even eat a porpoise for you, but

Only if we have to, and even then

With some regret. Alas, unfortunate

Porpoise, friend of man, it was you

Or me, buddy. That’s life in an igloo -

Not a McDonalds in sight but plenty

Of penguins.

 

ROPE

 

Judas, rope is not the answer.

Do you think running away

From what you’ve done will

Inspire compassion? Some

Would say it was all written

Before it happened, that you

Simply acted out your part as

Scripted. What is this, a last

Minute bid for sympathy?

To judge yourself unworthy

Of finding your soul again is

Not your judgment to make.

Who are you or I to shut the

Door to redemption for even

The worst, even ourselves?

It might seem futile atoning

For a crime impossible to

Forgive, but it would have

Mattered if you had at least

Tried. Judas, you’re not a

Bird, you don’t belong in the

Tree until you get your wings.

 

MENTALS

 

The mentals at the shopping center

Scare me by making me realize I’d

Like to slap them, report them to

Public Health, call the cops on them,

Complain to center management

(Or customer relations if they even

Bother).They make me realize I’m

Not such a nice guy after all, not so

Tolerant after all, not so forgiving

After all (but you already knew that).

You know you’re really nice, really

Tolerant and really forgiving when

In your heart you can pardon even

The mentals who ruin breakfast for

You with their thespian pleas for

Your extra change, not only those

More level-minded who really know

Better but steadfastly believe they

Can easily atone by simply making

The appropriately pious noises.

 

(inspired by the song “Royals”.)

 

TIDES

 

Our tides go in and out. So

Full at first, always ending

So empty. Nothing but a

Barren reef left sometimes,

But when the tide’s in, it has

A life of its own. Notoriously

Fickle, tides go where they

Will, but curiously, sooner

Or later they always seem to

Lead right back where they

Started. You can almost set

A clock by it. Ever feel like

The tides are trying to tell

Us something?

 

TWO HUNDRED GRAND

 

Hillary will give you a speech for

Two hundred grand. Once a price

Is known, it just makes you wonder

How far someone would go. Say the

Boy/Man Love Coalition had two

Hundred grand in the bank from

Bake sales - d’ya suppose she’d take

The gig? Or if a Saudi billionaire

Offered five if she’d read the local

Phone book for fifteen minutes,

Just as some kind of statement,

Would Hillary take it? For eight,

Would she pop out of a cake singing

“Emotions” to oilmen in Texas?

For nine, and an end to famine in

Africa, would Hillary strip down to

A flesh-colored one-piece live on

The web? And of course what they

All want to know – how many

Millions would it take for her to

Promise not to seek the Presidency?

Don’t take up a collection too soon,

Pal. What’s the matter? Afraid of a gal

Who knows her own worth and how

To budget her time?

 

CURVES

 

And so our story curves again.

I’m not afraid to comment, but

Taken out of context it might

Cause discomfort, which was

Never my intention in the first

Place. I was just hoping you’d

See the curve of my thoughts

And reconsider. Ideas come to

Me like freeway headlights, all

At once. I can only see them

Clearly for a second before they

Disappear. Sometimes one of

These passing thoughts makes

It all the way to the page. What’s

Inside me filters what’s around

Me and out comes these words.

Just so you’ll know if you have

Thoughts anything like mine.

 

HOOTENANNY MAN

 

Hootenanny man learned to use

Language to talk of things beyond

The barnyard. What makes the

World turn or the bar room fall

Silent. What makes schoolboys

Wish they could be president, or

Presidents wish they could spend

Summer at the fishing creek again.

Love growing from the ruins of war,

Our moment face to face with the

Eternal. Ever since we’ve had a

Language we’ve had poets using it

For more than the evening news,

Playing at being serious, seducing

With breathless invocations of the

Sanctified, reducing ageless wisdom

To blithe childishness, elevating a

Moment to eternal importance.

It’s not all contradictions, sings the

Hootenanny man, it’s as natural as

Having two eyes, two ears, two

Hands and two feet instead of one.

 

(Inspired by Bob Dylan)

 

LONG, LONG WAIT

 

Long, long wait for something

That never quite arrives. At the

End of the line, at least you can

Say you did your part. You try

And stay on a path with some

Kind of heart, hoping that if

You try to do right thing you’ll

Find the guidance you need

Whenever you come to a fork

In the road. When things go

Wrong, you try and take the

Knocks with grace, think about

What happened and why, and

How you can do better next

Time. Along the way, you’re

Going to lose a lot of Illusions,

But gain an insight or two that

Might help you make sense of

The long, long wait.

 

OVERBOARD

 

Overboard in matters of the heart,

Enthusiasms, passions, likes and

Dislikes, heartaches, suspicions,

Questions and more. Things seem

To resonate a bit deeper with me.

I have something to lose - you

Better take me seriously or take

A hike. But for the few I can trust,

I go overboard in my friendship

And wouldn’t think twice about

Giving whatever I can. I project

Balanced calm for appearances’

Sake, but shake the tree and I’m

Overboard before I can remember

My life vest.

 

PROFILE

 

How do you profile me in your

Mind? I’ve noticed how people

Do that – create you in their

Thoughts as whatever kind of

Character is convenient for the

Narrative they’re trying to sell.

Then one day you hear a person

Described who you don’t even

Recognize, and you realize its

Supposed to be you. Perhaps

You heard or saw something

That fit previously established

Prototypes, then constructed

A profile accordingly, but it’s

What you didn’t see or hear to

Factor in to your floor plan that

Brings me sadness.

 

HOPE AND DOUBT

 

Hope and doubt are battling it

Out. Emotionally speaking,

Self-protection can get violent.

Ideally, hope and doubt would

Just reach a balance, but mine

Want to get in each other’s

Faces and wreak havoc. Hope

Accuses doubt of having no

Faith in love. Doubt says hope

Is just an unrealistic fool. They

Both look bruised after clashing

Repeatedly. At the end of the

Day, for worse or better, I find

Myself favoring hope, only

Because doubt seems like a

Dead end. But I understand

Doubt’s resentment – just

Trying to look out for me and

Not being listened to.

 

DETECTIVE

 

Some people are scarier to think

About than to actually be around

Because they’re not like bank

Statements, easily reconciled

And confidently filed. Leave me

Alone with my thoughts for too

Long and my detective tendencies

Start me analyzing the profile,

Putting evidence together like a

Jigsaw puzzle. The emerging

Image isn’t always pretty which

Makes me question whether

Some pieces might be missing or

That’s it in all its contradictory

Glory. Bizarre as it may sound,

I really want you to be right, but

Can’t relax my guard untill my

Investigation of all the ways you

Could be wrong clears your name.

 

BUDDHISM 2014

 

The sins of this life, we pay for

In the next life, like karma is a

Credit card with a set limit to

How much forgiveness we can

Reasonably expect. Clear your

Balance of bad deeds in this

Lifetime and eventually you

Accumulate the bonus points

To transcend the karmic wheel

And buy into a timeshare in

Nirvana. But pass your limit

Too quickly and you’ll find

Your account overdrawn of

Grace, leaving you to a fate

Of paying back your debts to

Humanity while still human

(At least in appearance). All

This reveals why some can

Enjoy a spree of shockingly

Bad behavior and just smile

Like Mona Lisa, while others

Need only think a single bad

Thought and they’re promptly

Squashed like a bug under a

Bicycle. Splat: transcendence.

 

SILENCER

 

The national anthem asks, oh say,

Can you see? But some people

See more than they can say.

Like when I know I’ve been sold

Out – saying it aloud would only

Compound a painful absence of

Grace, so silence provides me my

Only solace. Wounds don’t need

Words or even sound to send a

Message, but if you see these

Soundless words, they’ll tell you

That what cuts even deeper than

Feeling sold out by you is the way

You can’t say you’re sorry. If you

Can’t say it, I can’t assume it.

 

ACCESS DENIED

 

Access denied because the

Password is some kind of

Family secret. What a fall

From lofty rank, like a big

Shot discovering he’s firing

Blanks. All thanks to the

Collective will of the herd,

Eager to hoof it for greener

Pastures and better friends,

While I fend for myself

Against coyotes. The herd

Heard rumors I know how

To download corrupt DNA

Into the deep end of your

Gene pool, making them

Panic for the sanctity of your

Bovine bloodline. Actually,

I was thinking one small

Small step at a time. What

Nerve of the herd not to

Investigate, just terminate

My access with no warning

Or farewell. If I’m outcast

So ingraciously, then may

It be coyotes instead who

Crack your sacred access

Code and bite you and your

Over-protective herd on

Your collective ass.

 

OVER-REACTION

 

Drop an atomic bomb on the mouse.

Oops, you took out the whole house –

Collateral damage. No, it’s not an

Over-reaction. We are the last bastion

Against the mice. It’s them or our

Civilization, like the Alamo defending

Us against Taco Bell.

 

IN MY OWN WEENIE WAY

 

It’s not exactly a new idea, some

Joker typing away trying to capture

A voice in his heard. They used to

Do it with pens. When the Marquis

De Sade got thrown in a French

Prison for writing blasphemy,

Pornography and politically

Insulting poetry and prose, they

Took away his pen just to be

Cruel but he continued to write

On the walls of his cell in his own

Blood and feces. This man had

Something to say. So do I, though

I’m just a weenie compared to the

Marquis. I don’t write to you in

Blood, but in my own weenie way,

Believe me, I’m bleeding.

 

SCRUTINY

 

Like a frog in biology class, I can

Feel scrutiny bearing down. You

Want to understand my mechanics

Like Japan always striving for a

Better radio. I better copyright

My consciousness, bottle up my

Lightning and sell in on special at

Rip Off Mart. You can buy Beatle

Wigs, Springsteen lunchboxes,

Rolling Stone dildos and Grateful

Dead bongs. Would you like to

Own my itch, or just brag you’ve

Got accurate data, made a factual

Analysis? Anal, yeah sis? I am of

No commercial or academic use.

I don’t even see why you like me

Unless your screws are tinny too.

 

MILESTONE

 

They left me to figure things

Out on my own, so I guess it’s

No surprise I soon deduced

What works for me. No one

Insisted I pursue a certain

Direction, so my process of

Self-becoming never involved

Pleasing anyone else. Left to

My own devices, of course I

Quickly intuited my vices of

Choice, but hopefully with a

Virtue or two as well here and

There. This self-reflection bit

Feels perilously close to self-

Promotion, but it’s another

Milestone so I’m supposed to

Tally up where I am and how

I got here. Ok, so where am I

And how did I get here? The

Answer is, I don’t really know,

Which I suppose is what I get

For watching the scenery

More than the signs.

 

UNCONVENTIONAL COUNSELING

(NOT TO MENTION UNSOLICITED)

 

When I say they live in the past,

I don’t mean it as an insult to

Their good intentions, but they

Were young in the ‘60s and ‘70s

And you’re young now. In their

Own way, they’re just trying to

Protect you, but some protection

If they force on you a partner

Who’ll beat you, cheat on you

And divorce you. Then what are

They going to do? Say it was your

Fault? Partner selection is a very

Personal thing, not just another

Community undertaking. You

Used to marry whole families

Together – that was all fine and

Good – but nowadays even

Families can’t guarantee if a

Particular pairing will soar like

High flying birds or crash like

A train off the tracks, and

Doesn’t staying together just

For the children’s sake sound

Like a benign form of torture?

Marry for serious love or don’t

Do it, I say, but everyone has to

Decide for themselves.

 

Done