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Poems from the Heart
------------------------------- 9/6/2000 Everyday we eat so much information, we go to bed with our heads full and get no rest. But when the tiniest bit lights up in your heart, you could be up all night long. ******* 5/16/2001 How can we speak with them? Our words aren't their words when we're worlds apart. The way they embrace life leaves them nothing. Their hunger for holiness became a signal to sleep. When we say they are losing energy and divinity, they hear: they need a vacation. No, they need true employment at godliness-- they hear: go to church. How can you leave for where you already are? We go back and forth like this going nowhere. Time is the true translator. ******* Momentous Moments on Planet Earth 6/14/96 Remembrances heart filled: A little recognition from a higher power. To sometimes actually know: this is good. Moments of love's union with breath; to feel the well being that puts forth joy. ******* 4/17/2000 Is there a lesson to learn that God doesn't punish, that there is only love and no forgiveness. Only love. ******* Mimic 1/7/99 Earth: free will zone. Anything goes. Peace, fairness, everlasting love...all trumped. Complain as you might, we live in Libertyville. Where is divine intervention, if not in the few seconds before a word, an action? We are our saviors. Look around, nothing matters but will; not innocence, old age, gender nor good deeds. This existence is putty in our hands, and we are about our own devices. The power is immense, the senses are feeble. We are bad decision makers in the school of free will. Teenage angst, here in the realm of infinite possibilities. Adventure necessitates risk. What we create can be meaningless, but the freedom is everything. Can we create ideas that lead to true inspiration, creators of a better freedom? ******* Sun setting on water moon high in the sky darkness chasing light day pursued by night. ******* Could we talk to ourselves without language? ******* The brightest star on the darkest night shines us home; follow the light. ******* In the sincerest moments of ourselves, we can reach under and beyond to a calm contentment. In the ever present center, the world drops its leaves, and the lightness of being shines through. ******* 1/2/03 Our sense of right and wrong flies in the face of reality. We live on a planet with an eating frenzy: who eats what. This isn't the world we would have designed: old age, sickness, injustice... we should have been consulted. Perfection, frozen in potential is an inclination, unable to be spoiled. Untouched, it can't be altered. Unattained, it can't be impossible. ******* |
Observations
------------------------------- Neither This The world got a motor that's all. A simple motor to make things go. A gentle shove. We determine what, when, how. We paint it, add gears and pulleys; hook it up to transformers, transistors, transponders. No strings attached, just a simple motor. It's hard to find under the wires, coils and widgets. Still, everything moves because of it. Although much has been layered over, under and around, it churns on, driving the world onward, forward. If we finally manage to put everything in reverse, and completely convolute the natural world, no problem. Listen, a hum, that's all. ******* Address a Peal I look forward to a president's speech, when nothing is said at all, and everyone just claps. ******* Since I don't know any better, it's a good thing someone else does. ******* Belly-Busting Angel Clowns December 24, 2002 Angel Clowns? Whoever heard of such a thing? Big red nose, puffy oversized shoes, wings askew, dangerously dangling midair. Angel Clowns, faster than fast, funnier than funny. Buddhas of humor. They tell you jokes in the clutches of your grief. They make you laugh in church, at a funeral. And in your madness will lift you up to watch safely, far away from yourself. Armed to the big red smile in yuks, Angel Clowns shake loose the holiest of the holies from the driest of the dry. ******* Soon there'll be no people, only recordings talking to recordings. ******* November 30, 2002 After visiting with my father I don't know if I need a priest, lawyer, or psychiatrist. ******* Let's August 22, 2002 Small talk big talk talk of the town. No talk, all talk, talking to the wall talk... all talked out. Said it, heard it all before, busy circular, riddle talk. We talkest of nothing... Others are talking cheap. Heart to heart talks. Walk it...or around it... it's always behind your back, over your head, in your ear. Meaningless talk. Talking it up talking it out, till we're all blue in the face. ******* Stick September 2002 Navigating his two dimensional life the Stickman comes walking. All he needs he has. Generic, he goes unnoticed. Unpretentious, he can only be what he is, the symbol of himself. His lineage is the shortest distance between two points. There are no skeletons in his closet. Though many of his brethren have been hanged they were but victims of language. There are those who try to change him, yet he sticks to the path of simplicity. Efficient, he is only what is necessary. Feelings plain as day, thoughts round like the sun, he keeps things as he found them, leaving nary a footprint. ******* |