Shall our neighbor to the Great White North
become our fifty-first state?
To be proudly crowned their eleventh province might prove a better fate
Fresh air, clear lakes and grand vistas not to be beat
Maro-O-largo/Maple Leaf Hotel would make such a grand winter retreat
Call me a Tory turncoat if you must and I'll heartily agree
Oh Canada, my Canada, I'll stand on guard for thee!
Recently, the President-elect
showed a noticeable lack of respect
when he opined that "Wouldn't it be great
if Canada became the fifty-first state?"
I have a proposal for the President-elect
and forgive me if I am less than circumspect.
Instead of imposing your country on us,
let America become a Canadian province!
That way, all Americans would get universal health-care,
as opposed to your system which is grossly unfair.
And say what you want about our flaws,
but at least we have strict gun control laws.
(And on that point -
although I know you don't care -
mass shootings in Canada
are extremely rare.)
Also, here in the land of Northern Lights,
we have respect for women's reproductive rights.
Yes, Mr. President-elect,
I know my country is not perfect,
but, unlike you,
we know a thing or two,
about respect.
Sitting thinking how will we know when we meet again, if we are just energy and no longer kin? That's the fear I have noticed brewing within. This unsettling thought we will never feel this lifetime again.
Like when we leave these cavities do we merely dissipate to our very first state; energy. Will we flicker the same lights? Turn on TVs late at night? Or will we meet in a familiar light, where we have memories of this once lived life?
I hope we end up two birds on a branch singing our hearts out pretty tunes bellowing through the lands. Just two bird sisters and friends. I love you. Until we meet again
Unassuming spider makes his web on a tree
It is small but to me
It is a special key
For it reflects web of life therefore destiny
With spider web basking in star light
Or in the morning as above it birds take flight
Covered by dew like moon’s tears to the eyesight
It is a delight
Located between cheekbone and backbone
The brain is a web on its own
And in our biology are all things by it known
It can foresee some of its future but it is never written in stone
But mind that needs no reference point at all
Being just second consciousness but what of most high of them all
What reflected in spider web what we in our first state call destiny would fall
And for that supreme consciousness what would be what from our perspective we call soul
We all want a few things to do
just once in a while
We want to kill that special something that falls through our fingertips
Like last moments of a kiss; the break tears off a gasp of your facade
Leaving skins spoken into yet louder spins
Whatever it takes to leave a hand or footprint
over these chapters, over these pages
An ink blot or two on their unknowing faces,
all those many you's
that at times used to confuse you,
remove you, reduce and prove -- You!
Oh You used to be so underground then.....wouldn't even have noticed me even if I could write a wild song with my pen
"'the pen is always mightier than the sword', they say"
Well, was this even supposed to happen?
Nein Mann, there was no first state to seek out no matter how you ranged it
In the blank shoulder-space view that you just can't see whatever you do
chronic stress races past the quickest laugh --
wish it off
wish it after!!
take the next ride out
take the next sarcastic utterance
~ how Easily we forget our skins...
hast thou forgotten the true spell of nothingness?
...it wasn't a memory you might have had, or a future command
...it is you now
you how....
and when
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