How ironic to see ‘chain gangs’
in elementary schools now
Little kids roped together, inmates
at asylums where madmen shoot at you
For their own good and for the good of society.
They used to put the mentally unstable away.
Society evolved; they closed the asylums.
Releasing the unstable into society.
Now we've got tent cities brimming with instability.
These are strange and sensitive times...people.
Society was much happier when it was light-hearted and high.
But eventually somebody had to go back to work.
Back in the day, people were somewhat genuine.
Now its all-saccharine grins and plastic handshakes.
If you don't stay within the ever-changing lanes, they'll hamstring your life.
You've still got your soul
but your soul never put food on the table.
(Medley: My Countries 'Tis O Thee)
My countries misery
creeps and all losers be
of thee, I cringe
And where our fathers lied
and pilgrims took their hide
numb every mouth inside
... with the syringe
The natives can't be free
and nobody can flee
my aim right on
Guided by box of tricks
white hoods all pedophiles
shot with their fractured ribs
high caliber
Sweat oozing felonies
corrupt authorities
asylums for
Their morals run away
regret that either take
sweatshops where riots break
noose round swan song
And where our fathers lied
and pilgrims took their hide
numb every mouth inside
... with the syringe.
We might as well stamp license plates
Government work makes us inmates
When assigned tasks inane
In asylums insane
We'll search for retirement dates
Breathe deeply my legacy,
My mysterious abandonments
My asylums of the dead.
So many forgotten dwellings
Now boarded up and cold.
I once wore them and shed them
Like snakeskins.
All these mental spaces,
What was their meaning?
What visitations did I encounter?
So many giant houses of horror,
Gothic crumbling, rotting
mansions of ruin.
There, I was imprisoned
In solitary confinement self-imposed,
Like a rodent feeding on garbage,
I never thought to look beyond.
I breathe deeply into this meager legacy.
Now all these houses remain idle.
Why I occupied them, I will never know.
In my final chapter, I see,
Everything was empty.
What holds us together
has been torn, the unity
of a people split apart.
Both poles have lost
their grip and rupture
into division.
Categories now proliferate
and place each soul
into a labeled box governed
by the ideologue.
Word by word, language
has been commandeered by fear
and threatened with shame.
Good words are put on trial,
stripped of meaning and sentenced
to silence. They sleep in old books
sought out by the apparatchiks
for removal or to be replaced
by neutered covers.
Soon Macbeth will be lobotomized
to reduce the risk of upset.
The grand order has gone mad.
Long lines of citizenry queue
for entry into asylums
now spreading
like shopping malls.
Others won't leave home
and ossify in the safety
of their shuttered rooms.
Meanwhile, to the chants
of a sterilized song,
children skip towards
glittering castles hanging
precariously in thin air,
proud parents happily
clapping them along.
Porous border
100 thousand Americans dead
Fentanyl poisoned.
Courtesy of China, the cartels, and little Joe Biden.
Sex trafficking and dirty coyotes.
Biological weapons
wet market alibi
gain of function.
Decriminalize drugs.
Close down insane asylums.
No bail for violent fellows.
Sweep God under the rug.
Leaning toward Energy dependency.
To beg oil from our sworn enemies.
War for profit.
The red panda is chewing up our farmland.
War for "prophet".
Can't wait to see what's next?
spark lit by someone flickers flares flashes
flames hearts minds and bodies till ---
doused by the one lit it
Springing from the whole flowing through the whole
fulfills fancies of wholeness ---
fondly flows in the whole
migratory bird taken flight from far
explores unknown asylums ---
flies back tired and homesick
25 March 2022
When lamps are lit,
thumb-downed farmers
smoke on their porch's,
whittle away a churning simmer
of angry ghosts.
Some bury the urge
to slip into insanity, some plant it.
Some clean shotguns long unused,
others go to bed fuming.
A few walk into the dark
following a slow burn.
In county towns,
stone asylums are erected
to contain the fires.
What I have noticed here
and there
on campuses
in medical service centers
within hospitality sanctuaries
in sane asylums
Most of the language
in exterior marketing
and interior messaging cultures
Has gently moved from internment
and imprisonment
and confinement
and isolation
and punishment,
Whether voluntarily elected
selected
invited
or imposed
sentenced
medicinal
sterile
purgative,
Whether mental
or physical,
spiritual
or natural,
Has moved on to a more engaging
empowering
enlightening reconnection
of multiculturally intelligent hospitality
Inviting universal health care
for reconnecting all,
regardless of how irritating
and silent
and/or vocally strident.
Caring spaces
with not quite enough time yet
to grow a WholeEarth health-wealth spa
for co-invested nature Spirits
of nonviolent communion
But heading in that multi-regenerational election,
engaging our preferred healthy
interdependently wealthy
direction.
All 8 billion of us
have mental illness
some
subtly
so
others profound
it's a matter of degree
of shade.
Some are reachable and adapt
become chefs-CEOS- presidents
others curl inward
cannibalize themselves
crapping out
psychopaths
creeping about
raking fangs along
the thinning peace cloud...
We've emptied asylums
population is at critical mass
somebodies going to crack
place an iron neck upon the tracks
derail societal peace
plucking lives
off the vine
before
they're
ripe.
Some are unreachable just outside the grasp.
They'll never adapt
They'll never climb out of the rattlesnake pit.
What is home?
Please, stop and ponder.
Is it walls of which we’re fonder
than of any safe enclosure
where we keep our cool composure?
Is it ceilings, doors and floors?
But those things you find in stores
and in offices and schools,
in asylums meant for fools.
What is home? I ask again.
Just a hiding place from pain?
But a haven from life’s storms?
Could be so… but campus dorms —
even rooms by weekly rates —
offer shelter from the Fates.
What is home? It’s not a lot.
I can tell you what it's not:
not a place and not a time;
not a word and not a rhyme;
not your rent and not your food;
not your sleep or gloomy mood.
Well, I’ve kept you in suspense.
Talking nonsense? Talking sense?
Time to crack the envelope.
Time for what we call 'straight dope.'
What is home?
In my plain view,
home is very simply… you.
Jails are bleeding out because of politics and false empathy.
Asylums died because of Geraldo's passion and naivety.
Now crazies and mad dogs are working out their kinks.
Out on the streets and onto the neckbones of society.
Politicians acting surprised when the mayhem arises.
Even though it was caused by their failed P.C. policies.
While a bunch of fat cats are scratching each other's backs
Pointing claws and blaming while donning fancy-ass hats.
Shedding crocodile tears, but they care less than the predators.
Nowhere is it safe for your sons and daughters.
Not even pine needle trails, where they seek peace.
Two-legged copperheads lurk behind trees, under leaves.
You've passed them before-those wild-eyed half-beings.
Flint souls sniffing for a syringe brimming with gasoline...
Just off trail, a thousand shallow graves of the naive.
Before my front fence,
Gayly clad crocuses chase winter thence.
Behind, rose canes poke few leaf tips yet,
Asters hug ground with green tendrils closely set.
Elsewhere newly bared hydrangeas and mums,
Revive from their winter mulch asylums.
Chickadees and other songbirds visit my feeder now,
After its lonely winter vigil, rewarding my handmaidenly vow.
There’s a new spring to our steps, my pups and I,
Eager to toss chilly mantle for warmth and sunny sky.
What treasures in your yard are there to behold?
Venture forth, with hope and joy yourself enfold.
MRT/4-2-19
Dark Passages
Switch blade cross bones
Skulls branded in a dark forbidden mast
Asylums howl of the mentally insane
Grafted in my brain once again
Demonic emblems viscous fighting soldiers
Once again off again romance with tarot cards
Alone petrified evil cavity
Out of emmense silence there was gladness
Fallen angels plagued with death
Making a covet of blood quenched with desire
Sexual conquest in the forbidden sea of lust
Dark passages follow bellow
Emmense heat of gross exploitation
Branded ivy sphere in direct correlation
Sulfur with eyes of intense pain
Fetus scorched in fire
Afflictions taunt the hidden sullen brevity
This is what the prophets foretold
The poets had feared out of mere speculation
Swords drawn to silence the wayward heart
Long corridors of emmense filled silence
A cause to fear to shed a tear
Passages that would not let me go
Yet I have the right in every fiber of my being to know
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