TAKING ROOT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A field of snow before the first footprint.
My hand hovers, a hesitant bird
above the frozen ground.
What seeds to scatter here?
What thaw to coax from the barren space?
A word takes root.
Another follows, tentative, green shoots
pushing through the icy crust.
It unfurls, tentative,
a fragile bloom pushing through concrete,
nourished by doubt and desire.
The pen, a conduit,
trembling at first, then finding its rhythm,
a dance between intention and impulse.
The page surrenders,
accepting the ink's embrace,
the birth of something new,
A poem emerges, breathing,
where only emptiness resided before.
Isn't it funny how people see money
pieces of metal so very small
there's not a lot you can do
with a penny or two
money itself has really no uses at all
it used to be beads and once it was shells
at least you could wear them and buy or sell
how many have a dim view of money
pieces of paper so wafer-thin
there's not much you can fill with a note or a bill
money itself has very few ways it can thrill
its value is based on the bars of gold
buried in the basement of a bank
and whomever says whatever they're worth
is who we have thank
the root of all evil isn't money it's man
he'll wheel deal and steal to grab all he can
the more money he has the more money he needs
the root of all evil is mankind and his greed
With these rings, we said, "I do,"
Never planned to play the fool.
Too young to grasp loves weight,
Too blind to heed its rules.
We were D—drifting, never devoted.
We were I—insensible, inconsiderate.
We broke our Vows, splintered trust.
We were O—reckless, outrageous.
We were R—tangled, bitter root.
We were C—careless, never committed.
We were E—estranged, unraveling fast.
A word we swore would never be ours
became the silent sentence:
Divorce.
Too immature for love’s responsibility,
we fled into goodbye.
Where to begin?
Perhaps with the hum of the drill
lurking in some unseen chamber,
already rehearsing my name?
Or the taunting clock counting down
the minutes?
I’d like to write a poem
about something else besides
dentistry but this is the
loudest thought I’ve got
and it’s already wearing
my favorite shirt
and deciding if the black flats
or pink sneakers
will be more forgiving
when I’m walking out numb.
I don’t want to go and I
don’t want to be late
at the same time.
It’s a complex philosophy
for someone who hasn’t even
picked out her earrings yet
and still hasn’t decided
if she’s brave enough
for mascara today.
Soon enough, with keys in hand,
I’ll step into the waiting day—
the brave face applied,
the sneakers sympathetic,
and fate already flipping
the open sign.
I think the root of all evil is selfishness
Selfish people put themselves first
They do not see, hear or think about others
Selfish people take guns and shoot people
If they were unselfish, they would have empathy.
I cannot see an empathetic person shooting anyone.
If they were unselfish, they would not think rape was okay.
Incest would be a thing of the past.
Child **** would be eliminated
If people were less selfish.
Wisdom was bored, so she left heaven’s serenity
Yaldabaoth was bored, so he formed the world we see
Saklas was bored, so he moulded man like you and me
Samael was bored, so he taught man silver and money
Man was bored, so he worshiped this blind deity
Through this boredom, we forgot heaven’s serenity
Through boredom, we crucified heaven’s lamb on the tree
Through boredom, we beheaded the Prophet Mani
Through boredom, we burned the Cathars despite every plea
Through boredom, we seized and colonised land and sea
Through boredom, we filled all with blinding anxiety
Until Adam will rest his head on the lamb’s tree
I am tired, but wisdom’s touch moved me to write this for you to see
Inspired by Soren Kierkegaard’s argument that boredom is the root of all evil, from his work “Either/Or” Part 1, Chapter 6.
Banana tree root
Can be made into noodles
Flour made from extract.
When roots wither
All parts dries up
the vines die off.
There was a teacher who taught math
and had her students on the right path
But she found one quite cute
and squared up his root
She now feels the principal's wrath
10-5-2024
Like Root Beer Diamonds
smokestack lightning on the pomona freeway
plays their twangy sound brimming with desire
tan mexican cheerleader rides in a ’46 chevy
passing neon hamburger stands in walnut city
passing the silver taco trucks parked on main
they clang like bells in a distant temple of god
she say she want pozole beans and coca cola
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
her dark skin enfolds me with unimagined force
the stars above my cruising machine wink at us
they know of our holy genuflections in the dark
the ‘46 chevy parks at javier’s mexican canteen
smokestack lightning plays their twangy sound
plays it on 8 track plastic brimming with desire
her sweet salsa voice puts my soul in handcuffs
her straight white teeth and wet lips enslave me
we sit close at a back table in the dim darkness
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
The iroko may be
The tallest in the forest
But I know the secrets
Of men better than him
The woman with the
Secret child whose
Husband must not know
Sits and cries at my
Trunk willing my
Roots to keep her throes
'I must keep my crown' she says
So down in the waters of my heart
Is the secret piece of peace of her heart.
Planted in the ground of possibilities
Stemming from inner catastrophies
Am I blinded by curiosity?
Am I losing my sanity?
Attraction, love, lust
Obsession
Money, status, purpose
Obsession
Entertainment, power, time
Obsession
External? Internal?
Obsession
As the pulse that renews itself in itself,
as above, so below, although caged in form,
within our heart glows, eternal light of Self,
albeit at this time, veiled by a thought storm,
which as long as we have desires on our shelf,
with law of agape love, we cannot conform.
Strange it is that heart to darkness pays homage,
even though in truth, we’re made in God’s image.
Transcendental is pi,
and Euler's Number, too.
Irrational, as well,
is the square root of two.
He who judges a tree by its root
Misses the chance to taste its fruit
But he who nurtures it with understanding
Reaps a sweetness without ending
Bite size poem no 75 poetry contest
2nd place
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