The Bull
The bull in the china shop
Stopped and made a purchase
and then forgot what he bought
Or to pick it up, now the china cup
Is broken from his reckless behavior.
Now he’s on the psychologist couch
Trying to make sense, find a personality savior
Something or someone to blame
For to take this on himself would bring too much shame
Imagine a bull red faced;
Now how can he confront his own kind; he would only enrage them
It had gone way too far, it became an anthem
Repeated in the head with syncopated rhythm
Drew the knife across the throat of my problems
The skeletons danced and laughed at the songs they sung
The daisies that smiled in spite being trod into the dung
They should all be put in the closet and hung
It wanted so much more but turns out it was done
It all was too much and turned out to be no fun
So here we stand holding them at bay with a gun
It’s got the best of me and brings out the worst in me
And sometimes it is all I can do to fight it
And each time I do I know that another day will come
And launch a new bout, then every night it
Haunts me
It wants me, to do things to myself my sane mind would never do
I thought if I left it alone
It would starve of loneliness but it thrives
On inattention
So when left to gnaw on the bone
It rears its ugly head and even survives
Send intervention
Quick before I blink an eye and it’s too late and one of us dies
Robin Williams was a great talent but depression is a monster of disproportionate means.
It is not about faith it is only about fear
Hiding behind the black book
With scathing looks
And putrid judgments’
When they have no idea where
In the world my mind went
If you went to a doctor
And he did to you what they did
You’d be lucky to be alive
The streets are paved in the gold you paid
The crystal clear buildings and muddied from within
Since the perception is a deception
A shrewdly drawn conclusion
A wildly contrived illusion
When they know not the intent of your heart
They do not have a clue to what beats inside of you
Rhetoric from the pulpit
And other forms of nonsense
Endless nights and endless days
Is he so insecure that he requires endless praise?
The details are the work of devils
Prolong torment and agony is declared for
“Hope is the worst of evils”
And faith is based upon the hope we cared for
And hope is based upon the faith we dared for
“Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man”
Friedrich Nietzsche
"Beware of false knowledge; it is more dangerous than ignorance."
George Bernard Shaw
I was about 5 years old
When I woke in the middle of night
I hollered for my Momma
She got me a drink and asked me, “What do you think?”
Thank you Momma
Then she asked me, “Is there anything else you want?”
I said, “All I want is your love.”
She said, “You've got it.”
10/01/2014 Marty Stuart interview on NPR when asked what some of the last words Johnny Cash said to you. He stated that Johnny Cash asked him, “Is there anything in this room you want?” and Marty said, “Just your love.” Johnny said, “You’ve got it.”
A hole in the…
He sweat and he worked and he toiled
Until he made
…a hole in the…
A hole in the wood
The boss yelled that is no good
So he began again to working and fretting
Until he had
…a hole in the…
A hole in the stone
The boss screamed you got it wrong
This time you work all night
Until you finally get it right
So he dug and dug and he shoveled
And drilled deeper and deeper
Until he had
…a hole in the…
A hole in the ground
He then laughed with glee
Saying out loud I’m finally free
The boss said I don’t like the way that sounds
The boss fussed and fumed and stormed about
Wanting more work but the worker was out
He yelled, he screamed, he shouted, he punched
…a hole in the…
A hole in the wall
The worker traversed the tunnel to the other side
Finding the life he really wanted
He felt exhilarated and vaunted
Now he won’t have to hear the boss deride
The cadence of the song Red Right Hand by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds inspired this poem.
So Hard, Too Hard
There once was a young phallus
that decided to go to Dallas.
Though his friends were jealous
they really bore him no malice.
He went to the Pleasure Palace
just to taste life's chalice.
He met Debbie, some others and Alice
spent a lot of cash, wound up bare ass.
Then to his dismay, alack and alas,
he developed a rash and a callous.
Coming to Terms
Tonight instead of hoping desperately
and playing solitaire;
me dreaming of you and you dreaming of me
Why should we dream separately
when we could make each others dream happen
the loneliness we can crush
we've got all night, no reason to rush
our spirits can smile and not be dampened
I'm coming to you, you're coming to me
Wrung out, spent and limp
You open up and sing out,
I stiffen and listen
I'm coming to you, you're coming to me
When the tree starts to fall
You take things in hand and do it all
and hold me up
drink from the cup
I can't leave
I can't deceive
I gotta gasp
from your grasp
I going to have to exhale
let my wind fill your sail
Big Richard's Legacy (Ithyphallos)
It is only a symbol,
a monument to our stupidity
The huge concrete dildo
a testament to our lucidity
Shiny, grey, hard and metallic
based on society's reflection
it casts a shadow long and phallic,
an engineers' asinine erection
Every woman's nightmare,
the wet dream of any man
the eyesore outstanding there,
in the park, the steely Dan
On the ground next to it
with a message sublime
in red letters it exclaims, "DO IT!";
surely this is not benign
Sex Doctor
I wasn't feeling well
I really felt like hell.
Some kind of attack
left me flat on my back.
Now I'm in the waiting room,
waiting and starting to fume.
While I was getting impatient
the Doctor began to get in patient.
You can not hurry the Doctor
he's busy trying to rock her.
He's prickly as a cactus
but he's licensed to practice.
Now that he's beginning to get her
I'm sure they both feel much better.
Was it the posted banner
or his bedside manner?
Was it grim or whimsical
when he gave the physical?
So did he kill or spread the germ;
were there any new lessons learned?
Did you feel like his very special guest
or a little let down when he said, "Next."?
God must be off somewhere
Preaching or giving a sermon
While we are left alone there
On earth to deal with the demon
Hope He is having a good time
While we suffer and bleed
Enjoying the hymns sung sublime
Where is He in our greatest need?
We have given up on God
Where is the great redeemer?
He’s fallen asleep at the wheel
Drifting along, the lost dreamer
He doesn’t give a damn how we feel
The forgiving cup shall not be passed to God
The Sanctity of I
The Sanctity of Individual
Everything will work out and everyone wants to be civil
You will work for the team; your own self will not be thought of
There’s the concept that good always triumphs over evil
Is as diseased as the skeletons in the closet which have rotted
There’s a schism between what we dream and the notions of people
Placing their trust in an uncaring and absent Deity
Thinking that the godless cannot win over those gathered under the steeple
The might of the world does not have any piety
(With acknowledgements to genius of Rush and Ayn Rand)
Sticking Sticks
Building a frame
Framing a place
Placing an emotion
Emoting it on your face
Facing your dreams
Dreaming out loud
Loudly, shriek screams
Screaming at the crowd
Crowding out the thoughts
Thinking above the cloud
Clouding the future
Featuring the present
Presenting the past
Past your eyes
She lays down on a fine wire
Cutting through the clouds tinged with the pinkish hue of the world on fire
She cuts with a razor sharp knife though the cloths
Disrobing the layers in broad sweeping swaths
The man lays on the bed and watches through hazy eyes
Seeing through the layered deception and the innocuous lies
They see each other for what they really are
And have no problem with hanging that hat on that star
The room full of the lustful heat
From which neither is willing to retreat
Painting the walls with the blood pumping through their veins
The splashes and drips cover the floor in spite of the vane
Effort at a symbolism
He convulses as
Time shakes with an embolism
She blooms and showers
Him with all her flowers
And the garden fills the room
Stood in the swirling mist and fog
In front of the cathedral
In awe mystified by this edifice to a god
That was so ethereal
The mists swirl around me
These thoughts confound me
I cannot fathom the depths of those that place faith in the invisible
There is a fog of confusion
In our conversation
You state it like it is obvious, we cannot come to terms we are indivisible
Why spend the money on a building used one day out of seven
When there are hungry and homeless with greater need
More than the need to congregate to see spires pointing to heaven
Is this really about worship or aggrandizing or greed?
Your arraignment of Sunday best, if sold
Would keep someone else out of the cold
Your donations that keep hierarchy in power
Could do so much good for those in need so dire
So come worship here where I am and stand here with me
A natural organic experience
Of Mother Nature and scenery
In deserts, forests, plains and fields
From the beginning
From that moment
Until the end
It is an endless chase for those moments
That continually elude us
It is a timeless race for those moments
That finally delude us
Into believing things we would not ordinarily believe
We are so desperate that fire, water, wind and stone become our gods
Those statues are looked up to and believed to have once been supernatural
Those words in a book outweigh all the common sense we have inside us
Everything we have is sorted into black and white painting a cross hatch mural
We believe the ancient legends and stories seemingly without verification
We believe in these things taking for granted that they existed and are factual
Are there questions that should be asked, or at least discussed for clarification?
Or is there a progression from microorganism that is logical and natural?
I am further away than I’ve ever been from the main stream
Kicking back in uncharted waters
Exploring and questioning, taking nothing for granted
There are no givens or absolutes
Everything is up for grabs and the inquisition has begun
What is life? Has it a meaning? Seriously, where did we come from?
How can a microorganism which has evolved
Really create a society and heal and solve
Favoritism is rampant, do microbes have feelings?
Why are we the way we are?
Are we really capable of thinking about others let alone loving?
Rivers run deep with treacherous questions
And faith killing rapids
We get sucked under and have the breath of consciousness knocked out of us
And what is left of us is only the fleshy thing, the mortal shell
Others want you to believe in the consuming fire and gates celestial
But maybe there is absolutely nothing; that is real hell
When the grave receives us, is there a soul in that hole as well?
Hard Questions
Which language is best?
They all are used for communication
How do you grade them?
How do you measure the relation?
Of one to another in effectiveness
So if there was a way to break it down and measure which was best then should we force everyone to communicate in that language?
Which religion is best?
They are all used for worshiping someone or something
How do you grade them?
How do you measure the relation?
Of one to another in effectiveness
So if there was a way to break it down and measure which was best then should we force everyone to worship in that religion?
Which gender is best?
Each body is used for being a person with emotions and sensations
How do you grade them?
How do you measure the relation?
Of one to another in effectiveness
So if there was a way to break it down and measure which was best then should we force everyone to be one gender?
Which sexual orientation is best?
Each is used for enjoyment and pleasure
How do you grade them?
How do you measure the relation?
Of one to another in effectiveness
So if there was a way to break it down and measure which was best then should we force everyone to be one orientation?
Lie yourself into a corner
Then you recover
By lying even more
When will you face the truth?
Can you see the proof?
When will your knees seek the floor?
Is it a sign of weakness?
For us to believe in something that does not exist
Or a longing for a intervention
Do our minds and bodies play imaginary tricks?
Is it a figment of invention?
Some need to believe
Some cannot conceive
Some kick against the pricks
Disgustedly get their kicks
By playing some kind of game
We throw around words like we own them
They are a tool to use
Descriptors abound
But how many words can describe the sound
Or the feelings of your heart, your mind, your soul
Use all you want
Still there is a void
We play silly power and mind games
Because we are bored or annoyed
One holds something over another
You mess with your sister
You hold it over and over your brother
In the end you decide to do something
In the end it changes absolutely nothing
Call it fate, karma or destiny
You are on this thrill ride until it ends
It just is and it does not make any sense
The Cross
There it was on top of someone's house, a weathered cross that had been there who knows how many years or even decades. What did it mean? What does it mean to them? What would it mean to someone else? Think about it, if your savior died upon a cross how does it further the knowledge of mankind or your cause to continually see that murder weapon? Those who think of Abraham Lincoln do not continually display the gun that snuffed out his life, they celebrate his life through display of his works, his speeches, his knowledge, his humor and his wisdom. So does that displayed cross on the house proselytize and announce to the world about this mystical person who died upon it? How do they react with this knowledge? I have seen plenty of crosses in my lifetime, on people's rosaries, in cathedrals and both inside and outside of churches and never once seen someone exclaim and suddenly yell, "Oh My God! Now I realize.", and fall prostrate upon their knees. Must not work very well and why not? I mean for a group that claims it has at its pinnacle the all powerful, shouldn't it work constantly?
Why did not Jesus himself write down his words and his meanings rather than let others write them for him and thus introduce possible nuances or even errors in his message? Did he proofread the passages before they were accepted as canon? Transcription is hard work and even in the best of circumstances memories can be fuzzy or interpretations can be full of inaccuracies.
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