If you are disobedient, I will disinherit you.
This was said in a mean way with a snotty face.
the young woman felt sorry for her mother.
her mother's attempts to control her belittled her.
I love you Mom, she told her, but not your ways.
She resolved to never raise her children like her mother.
She raised them far away, and they had no contact with the woman.
No idea that their mother had a mother.
Let’s lay to rest all doubts that grout,
rooted in conditioned belief,
that thus giving our soul relief,
we’re at peace as we go about.
Transforming as vast space itself,
recognising we’re all of this,
all nodes within suffused with bliss,
no desires remain on our shelf.
As God’s grace pours in from above,
our feeble form is energised,
objects no longer weighed and sized
and all that then remains is love.
Judging neither fault nor merit,
all thought forms, we disinherit.
The U.S. has a heritage
Born of might and blood.
I will not disinherit it
For wrongs some fools have done.
I will stand with hand on heart,
For those who fought for me.
I rise devoted as a part
Of a nation proud and free.
Our privilege was paid in full,
So high a cost was tendered.
Some knew crimson-dampened wool;
Others, shrapnel-shredded members.
There is no greater love or act
Than to die for the gain of others.
To leave a home, to defend a pact
Or give all for country and brothers.
So I stand with a broken salute.
I do not sit or kneel.
I weep and tremble, the pain acute
For so many died for me.
THE POLITICALLY CORRECT POSTCARD
One picture is worth a thousand words
(And a flower is worth a whole lot more).
This was the import of the card you sent me,
Flu-eyed, runny nose and a sore
Throat. I was to dismiss, on the merit
Of sexism, the Sistine chapel decoration
Botticelli’s Primavera, so disinherit
The mighty Logos and God’s peroration -
Giving the kiss of life to a still-born cliché,
Gaybo playing his theme, with the wonderful score
In the sub-ed’s office with the copy-boy’s roar.
A photo-opportunity for the Amazon dee-jay,
Who rules the world with a golden rod -
Offer a handkerchief to the offended eye of God.
from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008
Age
The face I see
In the morning mirror
Is of my father
I imperiously ignore him
And shave a smooth face
Half my age.
Nature is kind to us old
We are unable to see how aged we are.
As the outside doesn´t look
Like the inside.
But if you tell me I look forty five
You are patronizing me.
And I will think you are anti-old
But being wise I will not say so
Just disinherit you...punk.
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