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Long Rights Poems

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Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Christian Evangelical-Charismatic Republicans

I grew up with rural Michigan white red-neck evangelical root systems.
These did not always feed my multicultural self/other liberation of the GLBTQ subclimatic root system
for regeneratively healthy instincts,
yet I learned to survive within this fundamentalist-alien-straight Christian White anthro-culturally supremacist climate of heterosexuality
not understood as a fully regenerative multiculturally organic sexuality,
most certainly inclusive of GLBTQ,
among full-octave color rainbows of exegetically trusted truth 
with beautiful ecopolitical dynamics.

My staunchly farmerish  fundamentalist-nutritionist Christian parents
would no more know what to do with a Donald Trump as a Presidential Republican National Party Candidate
to become a White Male Republican Christian Preferably-Rural Fundamentalist EcoPolitical President of the United States,
running against incumbent General Dwight Eisenhower,
however I think he probably would not even have been an appropriate topic for polite, much less nutritional 
as integratively-spiritually appropriate for healthy developmental conversation.

Despite these agrarian Republican root-systemic memories
during my ecopolitically developing GLBTQ adolescence,
not a lot of people have asked
what I have seen and heard and smelled
within the approximately 200 years of tension
between a Republican/Elitist-WinLose NatureSpirit EcoPolitical Conservatism,
hoping to win for ego's embodied nature
even if they must thereby lose our multiculturing spiritual-experiential Salvation,
thereby a dark anger/fear mark against WinWin regenerative ecological health.

Today, I see this continuing Republican tendency
to distance economic and political elites
from our more humble,
yet somehow not too fearful-angry,
maybe touched by paranoia,
especially about the natural supremacy of heterosexually ecopolitical parents,
refusing to see possibilities for multiculturally ecological parenting as more optimally spiritually-nutritionally rooted in Jesus' Creation Story TimeLine.

By unremarkably co-arising dipolar contrariness,
the currently prevailing Democratic national through local nutrition strategy
of looking for opportunities of and for multicultural trust-building,
to permaculturally broaden a shared ecopolitical ecology of health
becoming together ego/eco bicameral-binary empowering
in a more dynamic healthy kind of GLBTQ thru Z kind of way.

While the historically unthinkable Republican Nominated Choice
labeled Donald Trump,
represents a remarkably not-Christian fundamentalist conundrum of a non-choice,
his own sense of supremacist entitlement
to interpret and prophecy fools of self-condemning hypocrisy
carries some resonance
for those premillennial die-hard evangelical White Republicans
where ecopolitical faith
is rooted in becoming stronger
than those who disagree with us,
while Hillary Clinton's embodiment of Democrat
cultivates co-empathic trust
among constituencies feeling disconnected from multicultural promise
of healthy democratic inclusion of diversity
as an intrinsically therapeutic positive
for ecological climate-healthywealthy outcomes,
more ecotherapeutic
than the more anthro-elitist monoculturing ecopolitics,
LeftBrain way too Male TestosteroneThymine Dominant elitism 
of Old School Rural White 1950s Michigan Republicanism.

Today's Republican has upstaged Fundamentalism
with more excessively climatic Rabid Paranoid Terrorist 
WinLose-politically and economically preferred proclivities,
but not quite a full-blown climate LoseLose death-wish rabidity 
searching out invisible Climate Win prospects for regenerative health,
while nakedly investing in 
further dissonant discomforting cognitive-affective suboptimally degenerative suffering multiculturally rainbow-rooted DNA/RNA ribonucleic systems.

Donald Trump was chosen over other nutritional-enspiriting alternatives,
chosen to lead through condemning those unlike him
as false prophets of hypocrisy and cunning
toward unhealthy liberating multicultural power-sharing intents,
sometimes vengefully judgmental
of us lesser non-elites,
now both evangelical White non-elite would-be farmers and feminists
on around the growing rainbow of multiculturing margins,
on through the cystosine-nurturing more LeftRight ecobalanced half of the U.S. adult nature relations,
and just as oxymoronic to be an Evangelical Christian Republican
as it is to be a Transgender Republican.

For Jesus of Nazareth, the poor and marginalized,
homeless and hungry,
and especially their children,
were more sympathetic comrades than Monoculturing Elitist Pharisees
they were sadusees, too, like us right now,
having been robbed of our parents' Republican Supremacist paranoid-competitive belonging, 
nurturing ecopolitical as ecological longing,
no longer deep learning paranoia
for interior and exterior ecopathologies of YHWHGod's unkind impersonal
lack of omnipotent love,
our unresolved theological problem of evil NonRepublican NonChristians,
and why similar rainy outdoor wedding crappy days
fall on fully invested Republican Christians,
who never quite fully believe in the power of a personally-invested God the Good Father
in exactly the same unreflected way
from that nightmare's dream on through death's dualdark portal.

What happens now that our Republican EmpireBuilder 
has become seen with too-naked vulnerability
to collectively hide our own egocentric predative paranoia from ourselves,
fear and anger about radically full-speciating inclusion
of ecopolitical Democrats,
regenerating empowerment's healthier climates of pronoia liberation?

Perhaps positive psychology
as therapeutic ecopolitical judgment
on behalf of mutual help
rather than continuing to seek power
through mutually condemning judgments,
competitive WinLose ecopolitical choices,
reborn faith in higher WinWin power 
optimizing Earth as Tribal Home,
no longer anawim of our own optimally organic Body of Christ potential.

Christians
truly investing in Christ's physical/mental health.



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details

Where do we come in

Where do we come in
					in medias res  not knowing nor caring when
doesn’t everybody pine being number one we leave behind our lives in pages  pictures  or else make for images of what we saw dreamt of as part of our lives in marble  stone  rock  twisted metal  scrawled hieroglyphics of the tortured deserting mind do we have to leave then or when or do we strain for more  ours and others
lives in one vista of the whole on the tele they are playing games   plentiful games  rubber boats  caves and scaly cardboard mountains in gluey-glossy plastic colours each team was flown in on the sponsor’s purse each team member  tailored for each part  sporting spotted crocodile scales  bunny tails  blown butterfly ears  bearhair streaming down from head to toe in a brownish hugging fur hue before and after  the sponsor’s exclusive breaktime slot invited guests clapping deaf on peak dinnertime  and for millions and millions of others relaxing at home  or maybe standing leaning against the open door or lolling on sofas  sweetmeats within reach of crawling fingers  highballs in handsafter lush juices streaking down protein-heaped plates turned to a gravy curd on the low table that the au pair would remove before the programme end   while the prize board chalked hundreds of thousands  for those who merely did nothing else other than have themselves a ball
      in whose stomach-holes do the golf balls sink  	

	the postman in the morning brings in the Waste Industry’s thick envelopes stuffed with multi-coloured magazines together with ball-points with your name inscribed as though you were to be called on to affix your signature to international treaties that last only as long as the ball-point would that is to say three and half days if you use it only twice your name and add elegantly embossed on handsome stickers asking for handouts with glorious recall of their efforts for the poor the sans abri the diabetics the heart-stricken the spastics the handicapped the endless medical research for cancer how many million times can research be duplicated and all those lush colours in deluxe printed covers  if only they could print a poem for some poet without a literary agent every time they send out a bulging envelope  you give to one and the whole damned carnival is at your door cymbals clanging voices hymning every week of the year  year in and year out they send you their mag with professional photos of dying but well-fed sick forsaken-looking children posing from Ethiopia India Costa Rica ha the Rich Coast what you give in return cannot cover the cost of stamps after a mere stream of au secour calls for oeuvres caritatives during a period of weeks or months  
	in whose sick souls do the golf balls sink
what are they doing so wonderful that is not like the blaring blazé voice of the compère on the tele on a Saturday evening primetime show who gets paid in the hundreds of thousands just because he’s a celebrity and all the made-moi-selles in the front row with tongues lolling would at the slightest glance be ready to lick their hands  a tincan Saturday night chivalrous mounted charger whom the hebdomadaire hounds write pages and pages about their visits to any old place what they wear which senorita worshipping at their lapels  so often that people don’t look at their faces anymore for they know every feature by heart every trait every dimple and pimple  
in whose brain holes do the golf balls sink
right round the year shine tennis stars  the same faces jumping up and down the ATP  grunting and swearing after balls that bounce out and away from their needless hands their eyes straining beyond all measure of human endurance  each ball they hit virtually a hundred dollar bill  and when they are pushed down in the ATP list by the fresh teens buoyed by muscle tyre-lessness  there’s always the clowning in the rigged up exhibition matches or the doubles or mixed doubles Man and John  Yan and JM to take the laugh out of the bounce in the yo-yo ATP also-ran list
	in whose psyche-holes do the golf balls sink 
what do they send in the post to the directors of the beggars’ opera  what do popstars contribute they who sell the I heard that classical melody song on bandaid to millions and get gold in return infinitely more than they can use   who filled the paupers’ grave with Mozart  who gives a thought to the lonely pilfered Cervantes but the Sancho of his delirium
in whose a-holes do the golf balls sink
was that MJ gyrating grabbing his crotch in a spacecraft  the decor specially ordered and paid for   for the nonce  what did it cost  what’s the cost of an Ethiopian peasant Indian meal a day  uncooked corn or flour douzed in tinned or dried milk  the surplus waste of white markets  all above-board of course   eaten out of rusty discarded worm-twirling tins and cans and shells of infested coconuts
	in whose dream-holes do the golf balls sink  
	where do the directoires of the beggars’ opera dine what do they suck on  and how often do they sup together in the name of the needy all over the romping world  do they wine themselves while gobbling on foie gras caviar shark’s fin and pheasant or is this an impudent question  you the charity-mongers
   so here we come in   
in medias res
	it ain’t mon problème that the needy can’t ask but in the street   i’m not the conscience of the world  the grapes of wrath  the martyrised conscience of the common Indian patting tortias on the mud patch a strong people don’t need a strong man how do you make a people strong if not with tortias and chilli con carne  are they still strong where Zapata left only his riddled body in straw sandals  has the Indian peasant still enough fight left in him where drug cartels rule a kingdom where ideals hardly thrust up on reefers
follow the golf balls and squirm jumping up and down in a squirting frenzy on the mons veneris
© T. Wignesan –Paris, 1997  From the collection (revised) : longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by liam mcdaid | Details

Truth is all an act in government exposed

One small little country which houses 
one of the highest paid governments 
in this modern world joke ran upside down

A big part of our life existing reality 
when the backbone is gone snakes appear with light surely 
we spend working for slave masters who get rich of our toils quickly

Paying us poor wages beneath worth middle men 
when fat cats do little honesty whips out 
fairness in the way of work very shy who cares

Because of what the banks done bonuses where paid 
to them that destroyed the building of our country 
highly qualified tradesmen left on the street

Without a shred of pity unemployment has risen 
all our young have left to foreign lands few have returned
tens of thousands I mean addressing it truthfully

Unemployment has not changed hidden secrets spill beans 
there is few jobs in our county facts on the streets speak 
job seekers they call us now with branding irons

Builders can build this country to glory again
yet now we are classed of little worth sent out to sweep streets 
picking up the rubbish where we belong former taxpayers

Corruption when you feel the sadness of truth 
involved in the structure of thousands of homes 
hotels petrol stations even the construction of prisons

Now we are worthless on the streets of our own land 
at a time we were the highest taxpayers of this state 
we now pick up the bankers tab and effects from Europe's deal

Honesty has a funny way of drawing pictures 
lucky our state does not protect innocent people anymore 
without evidence I was arrested on German hear say

My family suffered seeing what I was going through 
long gone is the days of our state justice 
not one person of the state said sorry when I won my case

Held in chains this is my truth If my country would of stood 
up for me as there was no evidence to support such claims 
In my battle kept down made me smarter opening my eyes

Claiming higher ground class beggars bowl out 
hands on now I am a builder one noble profession 
hard working people like us stand the test of time

Paddies we built the cities a legacy stands in concrete 
handed down from our forefathers trades 
hard working men and women of Erin

Sons and daughters worked the green land over
for centuries we have been raped and plundered 
cruelty our sovereignty has been stolen away from us

State owed by the people oil under our soil talk of gold 
enough gas to heat our little island sold out shame 
with out the consent of its citizens power of attorney give

Setting wages to suit elite bodies opens the eyes closed 
non profitable businesses paid by taxpayers government 
Unfair grounds bared selling rights away trail of tears

Keeping people at the lower end scales silver justice 
slaves unto the organ grinders note forced correct term 
There goal is so undemocratic politically set falsehood lies

Forced down so they will not rise the poor struggle 
uneducated fools behind veils we see Holy smoke 
Minimum wage a complete and utter joke

Unlivable as prices soar out of control insurance rockets 
for toughest jobs beneath suits employed struggling 
be realistic we receive a pension at seventy respect

I cannot stop laughing at stupidity when it strikes a funny key 
bones aching approaching middle age life's labour exposed 
wore done from years of sweat even blood dripped

Joke of the century double standards stop for a moment 
hiding away with your secret pacts undisclosed truths reveal 
for the workers vote government bodies take note think

Should be the same all around lead by example set down 
we fought against slavery once before our forefathers 
freedom and civil rights for the working class to speak

Middle class has almost been deleted from society 
as monies are less and the work load doubled 
for peanuts a third of the value meaning work until death

Logic rents in cities increase backwards peddling rotten apples 
as the vice like grips society happiness is rare and beautiful 
Long hours less holidays in most cases very true

Homeless has risen to an all time high 
hospitals people are dying on trolleys fact 
even cutting funding to the disabled beneath par

Grants are cut in the arts field to virtually nothing 
roads are in disrepair in dark wet nights dangerous 
without cats eyes a safety risk to motorists meeting

Motor tax is daylight robbery only new cars have little tax 
hitting those less well off playing the game 
property tax laugh a minute after paying tax on materials

Now water tax another con to control natural energy 
our seas are being plundered as quotas are enforced 
by Europe on our seas controlled without out consent

Do we bend over as a people backwards as our riches are stolen 
do we know or learn any lessons from past tense democracy 
taxes make it better for our children they say

Long gone are the days people trading from their toils 
organic healthy food sold in small shops from local farmers market 
past tense fresh milk in a bottle was always beautiful to drink

Even milk is not the same as they fill it now with substitutes 
no such thing as fresh eggs in the supermarkets or meat 
everything has been sold to big co operatives

My granny told the same story struggling away back 
our country is going backwards in time controlling food 
people have lost the meaning of life

Poisonous goods sold in shops Gmos 
next it will be steroid filled meat nothing healthy anymore 
even farms have shut down emigration so many young gone

Why a country is beginning to cut the elderly 
leaving it cold a cruel blow in truth for those now retired 
They believed the lies but i don't

Now seeing so many of the straws that breaks a camels back 
looking through the needle eye of greed no remorse 
instead we struggle on in our every day hardships right

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details

Unquotable quotes: Janitor, Gardienne, Portero, Sereno, Hausgast -XXXI Part One

Unquotable quotes: The Janitor, Gardienne, Landlady, Housekeeper, Portero, the Sereno and the Hausgast – XXXI  Part One

Be they so named or not in these here parts, visions of shrieking furies with Gorgon heads and frightful temple-guardian Dvarapalas and Gothic Frankensteins with blood-dripping fangs and gnarled claws loom into view at the very thought of these gentle folk. 

This class of saintly women  cannot but live off the mass of urban populations under the pretext of serving the latter as their hand-and-foot maidens. Gare à vous!

The C.S. (Conseil syndical), the all-powerful co-proprietors council which decides what is to be done with the monies they require residents to pay for the so-called upkeep of the place under their control. The CS - mainly composed of women: housewives, spinsters, widows and old maids, with one or two crusty men thrown in for good measure - is supposed to be elected by the entire number of co-proprietors at the annual general assembly, but, in actual fact, the inscrutable ways of democracy being such the ring leaders canvass and obtain by proxy the majority of votes to do whatever it pleases them.

The Syndic administers the accounts of the co-property: collection of provisions, payment for services rendered by plumbers, electricians, lift and intercom maintenance technicians, insecticide sprayers, including the payment of the whopping salary to the gardienne (and her otherwise employed husband), and of course the famous organization of the General Assembly when decisions taken by the CS are put to the vote for the succeeding year’s expenditures. The president of the CS also maintains a common account from which (s)he pays for certain emergency services, the sums of which (s)he recovers from the Syndic, however.

Now, the rub is this: the Syndic receives payment for his services; the gardienne is paid a regular salary, but the CS, nothing. Their services are considered to be offered in an altruistic spirit for the betterment of the co-proprietors, but is this the case? Th	at’s for you to decide. It is however a convention among all the residents that they may help themselves as and when they please to whatever appears appropriate in the circumstances and here much developed forms of imaginative speculation is required to guess at what they can do to pay themselves for what may be considered “work” whether foul or not.

The gardienne has the quintessential role in this set-up. She knows the ropes, for her kind on a national level have managed all exigencies and are worldly-wise about how to keep the money flowing.  She informs and directs the hand of the president of the CS who then allows her a sizeable cut of the purse. For this purpose, a whole array of service providers who are willing to cooperate are called upon to serve them.  And the coproprietors don’t much bother about who benefits from what, so long as the job gets done, and they are not put out - much too much - of their pockets.  Their least of all concerns is the legality of the situation. In this thieves paradise, the insurance companies’ employees too willingly play the game by shutting a conniving eye to misdeeds.

Little wonder then that in Napoleonic territory, the chief players in this particular form of laissez-faire hail inevitably from the Mediterranean countries. Only such a state of affairs could have provoked the greatest wit in these parts to comment: “…wherever you go in France, you will find that the(ir) three chief occupations are making love, backbiting, and talking nonsense.” Cf Candide by Voltaire.) 


                     The Terror at the Door

There she blows the tough lump twitching rude bums
   Riding on the mop stick between wily witchy thighs
Nasty tongue lolling with itchy gossipy gums
   Messy breasts soured by curdled milk‘s retchy sighs

Mean glutton button eyes on the lookout for victims
   Those without rich connections the lone occupants
On whom she unleashes her venom her whims
   The hushed neighbourhood numbed by wails by rants

Each morning the terror strikes at some bolted door
   Some migrant woman in arrears rent husband on dole
Accusing the wretch of littering some space out of door
   Summoning to witness the mighty indigene soul

Each night she’ll scorch indecent threats on paper:
   “He who laid that lame cabinet down by the basement
I know by name – Before the day grows duller
   I’ll have him arraigned by holy writ’s firmament!”

So she’ll whine and she’ll grind her victims to pulp
   Till she’s got them all on the run tout azimut     
While she fawns kiss-asses the rich who cuddle pup
   At the buildings entrance where she sets up court

There to villify denigrate and condemn
   Those who dared point a finger at what she got
To justify phantom expense free flat unearned gem 
   The terror at the door the lèche-cul lèche-bottes

This migrant terror who would not finish school
   Sports a sinecure even Ph. Ds cannot earn
Add to that kickbacks from fake contracts drool
   And payments from useless chores money to burn

Do Lords of the Manor tolerate terror at their door
   Turn masochist key in keyhole of prison
What system of human rights permits such horror
   A land that’s seedbed to such criminal poison

Everyone’s out to break the coded law at will
   Who’s there to watch over other individuals’ rights
Can the system of Justice prevent wanton kill
   When the vast majority abhor others’ written rights

When rulers and electors are left to their devices
   All turn a deaf ear to open faults and crimes
The people show brazen courage in upholding vices
   So long as those who suffer do not decry the times

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Allah and Buddha were Talking

You know what I think sometimes?
said Allah to Buddha,
Of course you do
and yet you don't.

I think I gave this gift of language
because you have a uniquely humanurtured gift
of comprehending
and transposing
and translating languages thru-out each and all Earth tribes,
but primally amongst your anthro-Allah loving selves.

Buddha thinks
we under-invest using this cooperatively intended gift
to speak clearly
and honestly
with candid integrity
about what "I need"
and what "I really do not need more of,
or any longer."

Perhaps at work
in your vocation
you get along confluently,
most folks act professionally
and politically
and socially
and economically
and ecologically
and healthily correct.

Yet, notice
next time
perhaps even within yourself,
within your family,
with your spouse,
with your kids
especially with those teenagers,
how much time do we invest
prattling happily
and sometimes ranting unhappily along
about what we want or wish for,
don't want and would never care to see
or hear
again;
now compare to your investment
conversing about what you most need
and what you most critically,
yet also chronically,
most specifically do not need
in your healthy intended and practiced life,
and in your death-trending non-life
of false wealthy abundance,
yet ultimate loss.

We might turn to our professional colleague at work
say "I could use a cup of coffee."
but we would probably never say,
"I need more stimulants in my system
or this situation will put me to sleep."

We might say to our oppositionally obsessed daughter,
"If you throw that one-eyed Zoe doll down the stairs again
in the middle of this clunky throbbing night,
you can predict its immediate demise
in the trashcan of life!!!"
but seldom think to say
"I need for us to figure out a less alarming way
for you to wake me
when you need my attention,
and for you to let me sleep
when you merely want me."

Why are we more comfortable
telling our life partners,
"I don't feel like it tonight"
and less comfortable adding,
"but a back and foot and scalp massage would be heaven."

Seems like we would all be somewhat healthier
wealthier
and wiser
if we were more articulate
about our bodies' "need" language
while less reductively focused on
our little ego's cognitive "want"
"don't want" messages.

And, for that matter,
Allah adds
it might be nicer
if your national and global political conversations
followed this same trend
of ecological body integrity
with Buddha-mind communication patterns.

Rather than
"If you keep killing those innocent victims,
I'm going to spank you
and starve you."
as if sociopathology had not had quite enough of both
rather than co-mentored love,
what about,
"I do not need you to lead us toward more death.
I do need you to do what we elected
and supported
and expected you to do,
to facilitate positive health and wealth trends
for me
and all Earth's Tribes,
for life,
and all Time's incarnating needs for health right now,
through future's timeless generations,
positively trending outcomes
rooted in needs and not needs,
not-so-much about what you want
and don't want
for your small-minded anthro-exclusive future."

Our global Buddha body,
Earth as Sanghakaya
multisystemic incarnational economic school of ecojustice,
evolves religious as cultural sanity
screaming for cooperative healing
while speaking PC
through appropriate channels
how nice we could all be
through competing for wealth
by following Allah's nature and nation-building rules
of healthy reason,
inclusive organic seasons without threat of treason.

Our bodies need to compete cooperatively
even more than our minds want
to cooperatively compete.

It                   We
IS                  ISn't
crazy              sane
to                   not to
kill                 communicate
against            with
those               you
"Allah              "Allah creation
has                  has not
created"           destroyed"
without             with
first                 terminally
sharing             killing
Allah                Allah creation's
beauty and joy  ugly and sorrow
hospitality         ballistics
generosity        competitive selfishness
integrity.          mendacity.

When economic interest in ego
exceeds equivalent value
for eco-logical interest
and comprehensive assurance coverage
in healthy wealth optimization,
then ego mind
operates out of cognitively dominant "want"
messages
rather than bodily-centered "eco-need"
messages,
rich environmental responses,
and healthy dialogue
of about and for optimizing life trends.

How could we incarnate
create
regenerate
economic or psychic wealth and health
not eco-logically balanced,
positively trending toward "beloved"
or "climax"
healthy-wealth nutritional optimization
meeting Continuous Quality Improvement
Permacultural Standards
of Positive Design
and universally-uniting, integral, dialectic Development?

And, even if we could,
Buddha body would hate it
and Western mind
would disrupt into further cognitive-reductive dissonance,
rather than this emerging eco-consciousness
of Allah's incarnating mind as body-wisdom,
seeing while seeking continuous religious experience.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

King Solomon and Jonathon

Said King Solomon to Jonathon,
speculatively,
"Think of helium
as saturating the eggwhite understory
of this immense Earth-atmosphere
egg-incubator sack of hydrogen-saturated
wet air breathing in heat and light co-informing
to breathe out teleological
and permaculturally multisystemic
meaning and purpose 
for further co-operative becoming."

Warmly
and lightly
responded Jonathon,
son of bicameral love,
"I think of billowing cumulous clouds
ballistically foreshadowing
our ballasting clear blue sky,
like "death" and "life" are just human individuation-language
for Eco's recycling RNA-syntax and beauty and health,
universally radiant
unitarianly co-gravitational
co-arising breath."

King Solomon co-prehended,
"This Life is our encultured Time,
and Time's natural evolutionary
and revolutionary purpose
is primordial
and eco-centric,
rather than human nature's anthrocentric language
of meaning as co-inspiring intent."

"If that were true
what could this mean
for you and me?"
asked Jonathon
with some immediate concerns
about the evolution of our human race toward
naturally cooperative ecological culture,
and could it ever explicate our cooperative vocational
eco-centric purpose
for each day,
each choice,
the sacred co-operative co-arising value of each life,
human and otherwise,
each bionic form
with self-optimizing regenerative
slow-positive evolutionary growth abundance
of healthy-wealth,
with polyparadigmatic eco-cosciousness,
with multisystemic CQI therapeutic standards
for both deductive/inductive balanced values,
digitally QBit trend (-,-) Win-Win double-binding binary,
analogically biologic as ecological economics and 
Earth Rights political optimization power,
much less tglbq old and young minority-identified people's rights
not to be climatically and chronically bullied
by overly-commodified-quantified dis-eco-normic
suboptimization values
with high risk of failure to thrive.

Empathetically responded King Solomon,
"With Our exegetical care of eco-consciousness
as health and wealth of wisdom,
and interdependent assets v. liabilities,
we emerge more free
to discern those nutritionally meaningful positive-organic outcomes
most likely to enrich our ego-eco balancing polycultural identity
as binomially orthopracticing vocationers."

"That both does and does not sound
quite right
somehow"
concerned Jonathon's mind of bilateral Time-squared
as interior landscape enlightenment,
Zero-Zen-center-home-nest-syntax,
bicameral information processing/producing/consuming
regenerating/decomposing
neurally balanced rational-intuitive
Universalistic syntax-system messages and language
with comprehensively Unitarian eco-consciousness intent.

"How are Our co-arising environmental opportunities
and competitive risks,
and my own endosymbiotically responsive opportunities
and dissonating risks
co-derived, co-discerned, co-redeemed, co-mentored
in this here as now?"
asked King Solomon
sage wisely.

"Cooperatively co-arising economics
and ecological multisystemic therapy, design, and development
are not new eggs;
they are elder network-nests re-membering"
enlightened Jonathon's imagination.
"Eco-normic values are old RNA eggs
in a more recently ego-centric DNA nest
of stringing rings of Trees commodifying Life's Time."

"Cooperative co-arising economics and ecologic"
King Solomon analogized
"are my Right-Brain having her post-feminist
fractal-zeroistic
biometric way,
after a long reign of dominatrix
by an overly Yang-Left deductive-reductive
exegetical enculturation of history
as Win-Lose symbiotic dipolar evolution
by slow strangulation of all losers,
while ignoring deductive logic's
prime Eulerian Dynamic Function
in a 4 equivalent-dimensional Game Theory Dipolar-Balancing Corollary:
To Win-Win
transpose already existing Golden Rule Culture
into full-octave RNA syntax
inclusive of all Earth's Beloved Life-Tribes."

Jonathon,
who always had to have the last word
for reason which continued to escape him,
"I think a wiser King would use fewer words
and sing only the best psalms."



Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by T Wignesan | Details

Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part 4 by T Wignesan

 Translation of Eric Mottram’s TIME SIGHT UNSEEN - Part Four by T. Wignesan


"Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontinuity, sentence and parataxis, and an awareness of the imaginative possibilities of relationship between particles”. 
                                        Eric Mottram. 
December 29, 1924 - January 17, 1995, prolific poet, editor of the Poetry Review (organ of The Poetry Society in England during the seventies), eminent critic (Times Literary Supplement) and Emeritus Professor of English and American Literature at King’s College, University of London in 1990. He won a scholarship from Blackpool Grammar School to Cambridge, but chose to join the Royal Navy in 1943. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos (1947-1950) at Pembroke College, University of Cambridge, after serving out the War as second-in-command of a mine-sweeper in the Baltic and the Bay of Bengal. Just for the anecdote, his family traces its descent from the times of the Norman Conquest as Lords of the Manor.

The following translation is the fourth part of “Time Sight Unseen”, published in The Poetry/Rare Books Collection, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1993, n.p.

                                                          4

les lois tendues vous réalisiez
                             furent enseignées
le droit civil
                             à présent reste intense

cette machine menti
à présent son temps présent
entre dans une absence vidée du temps

où même vos poux
                             disparaissaient en tombant
                             sans être alimentés Umheimlicher

les muscles se lassent
                             réapparaissent maniaque sur des roches
                             la marée mise à nu 
                             les colonies renfermées
                             bleu noirci et noir
                             coups de froid coloniaux

les mêmes groupes 
                             des bernaches moules anémones de mer
                             aspirés aux roches
                             attendent les lois de la lune pour couvrir
                             leurs voies aériennes minces avec l’océan

faites sortir la chair en forme de H
                             laissant en dehors
                             sa volonté

du physique au mental 
                             le vieux ce
                             habitué à

c'était habitué à la pensée
                             mais jamais utilisa le mot
                             à l’exception pour

j'ai pensé que vous saviez
                             ou  
                             je ne jamais pensé que vous voudriez

arriva du reste un dealer intéressé
                             maintenant le transformateur s’arrête
                             son affaire devenu loi

reste immobile
                             où il oeuvra sans relâche
                             aux intérêts mérités tant qu’ils augmentaient

uniquement au plan partiel
                    un portail sans affiches les gardiens dépourvus de la parole
                             tout pareil le langage silencieux

lèches bottes dissimulés derrière eux
                             passent par le portail en présentant des documents
                             sans un mot à travers

à une main de verre dans du cuir
                             faisant la lecture à travers des verres du soleil

l'invisibilité du passeport
                             eux ils ne l’en rendront pas
                             la résidence serait-elle un état si dénudé

une fois franchi les frontières
                             sans ces lampes blanches perchées en haut
                             la hutte dans l’ombre

regardez fixement en penchant
                             au dessus de la barrière du fil métallique
                             qu’est-ce qu’il y a dans le cartable

(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Designer Ways and Means

Permacultural Designers
are taught to multiply the number
and networking depth
of relationships
between species
and organisms
and systems
and cooperative economic networks,
rather than the simpler adding functions
of traditional agriculture;
Where,
if you plant eight crops,
you get eight maybe interdependent functional relationships,
and maybe not so much,
especially as we learn to add the evolutionary trajectory
for number of functional relationships
between interdependently planned species,
organisms, etc.,
across multigenerational time.

A's are given out for diversely sustained polycultural outcomes,
and F's mean LoseLose failed 
to sustain a quasi-healthy unbalancing,
running too multigenerationally fast 
out of control, 
monocultural outcome.

There is something different
about a third generation poor single Mom,
as compared to first generation.
The failing number of functional relationships
of primary health focus,
of nutritionally diverse balance,
of color, harmony, seasonal symmetry,
mutually cooperative atonement,
as compared to a first generation poor single parent
whose parents were actually better off
in ecopolitically nutritious relationships
than the dwindling aspirations
horizons
landscapes and climates
of their own monoculturing children,
and their drowning in toxins of despair
grandchildren.

We have this same multigenerational disparity,
at least here in the U.S.,
between Third Generation plutocratic supremacists,
rich in wealth
yet poor in mental health,
in their dwindling number and depth of functional diverse relationships
with other species and organisms and cultures and religions,
elite partnerships and competing unto death incorporations
and public sector democratically oppressive
lack of inclusive health and climate care assurance,

As compared to their First Generation
of nouveau riche,
Horatio Alger stories
proving the Original EcoPolitical Principle
of interdependent needs and wants
make systems grow longer,
sustain diverse functional relationships,
mutually nurture health
which is,
after all,
a system's only true WinWin polycultural longterm outcome.

In this light,
I find it fascinating
to explore the similarities and differences
between a late middle-age denialist Donald Trump,
third generation wealthy,
and Elder socialist Fidel Castro,
from at least three generations of not wealth,
just regular folks
doing the best they cooperatively could
given humble circumstances,
and yet great communitarian
multiple-functional relationship expectations
across subtle nuances of race
and religion
and culture
and multi-sensory color and fragrance and taste
and philosophy. 

I wonder if this has anything to do with
why you find cooperatively supported small farm and garden 
straight to locally driven or bicycled market
nutritional economies,
and national health care,
as a right to cooperative life 
multigenerational expectation
in Cuba,
outlasting Castro's own adolescent and young adult
violent dictatorial issues,
not trusting his own inherited experience
as a magnate for permacultural peace
of multifunctional-multigenerationally deep
and rich
healthy relationships.

Perhaps if Donald
had not been born Third Generation Entitled
and if he had another decade or two
to grow into more mature healthy adulthood,
he could see White House potential
as therapeutic for all Earth's interdependently cooperative health functions,
rather than his current myopic preoccupation
with what a toxic swampy dump it is,
with how to sound like his cock
looks as big as his militaristic fascist walk.

After all,
a younger Fidel had similar Trumpian oppositionally disordered issues,
counting his number of guns
rather than remembering to stay focused
on growing the number of multiplying functional nutrients
interdependently cooperative relationships
across this network
we Commonly hold
called Earth.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Revolving Rivers

In backyards of my history
lies a tidal river
of ebb and flow revolutions.

These revolutions are normally no-news evolutions
back up toward headwaters of crisis and opportunity,
diastatic and polyphonic purest capital boundary roots
for future's river flow investment
out-flowing down
from Earth's absorbing rain
back through tributaries
toward saltwater seas of creolizing cultures,
estuary bounded 
vulnerable fertile forests
in deep blue lagoons,
anthro-roots of historic habitation preference.

Preference for normal downstream flow
of peaceful evolution
following wiser councils.
Uncivil and international strivings paddle more violently upstream
merely to tread equivalent water,
stuck in midway-revolutioning
ambivalence about criminal necessities 
of both WinLose capital gives and takes of violence
about our historic civil rights
to simply revolve around
to float WinWin downstream
with time to sing and dance together
more harmoniously
heading for Earth's shared polyculture forest
Paradise of globally non-violent,
and well-fed, democracy.

Democracy has swung both ways
across my USA lifetime.
Sometimes revolutionary fighting
toward purity ideals of heavenly headwaters,
inspired by conserving dreams of where
and when
and how and why
our river of democratic loving leisure started,
in austere glacial yet matriarchal mountains
of alpine womb regenerativity,
bright and thin-aired climates
yet already trickling with deep rich promise
as this river's economy tumbles down
both healthy wealth
and pathological abuse
of toxically competing poverties
among nutrition's spiritually diverse dynamics.

Dynamics of feeding and bleeding rivers
feel not yet ecotherapeutically known,
yet ecologically
and psychologically
and even democratically
and global multiculturally felt and already heard
as absence of dissonant ecopolitical waters.

No regenerate river can bleed investments
downstream toward political enculturing forests
except what has been co-invested fed-in upstream
evolving cooperative nurturing streams 
flowing economically healthy downstream.

Downstream revolutions
are caused by history's upstream co-invested evolutions.

Evolution along this democratizing river history
prefers to AnthroParadise arrive
within Earth's blue lagoon fullness,
emerging from headwaters of capital investment
cooperatively flowing down and out
to become caught where most needed
by future generations
longing for eternal peace,
yet finding daily violence
in nationalistic
supremacist,
often patriarchal,
voices.

Voices violating tidal rivers silence have not yet listened
to learn
deepy etched peaceful river revolutions.

When rivers are yet young and steep
and still bedrock stoned
with our own internal needy cultures,
we overfeed gravity's urgent pull
down and out into salty seasons
of confusing chaotic surge and surf.

Surfing revolutions of peaceful tidal rivers
are sweetest
in deep creolizing histories of matriarchal family
and tribal peace-keeping cooperative revolutions,
slow-evolving rich soil striation,
river double-boundaries by WinWin consensus.

WinWin consensual tidal rivers
flow back to re-invest in capital producing austerity
of ego-eco concentric flowing purpose,
to conjoin again
back down and out
creating forested economic views
and deep creolizing dreams
of slow rhythms
rich blues
dancing in and out,
up and down,
singing democracy
back and forth,
breathing in history's peaceful evolutions
with acrid burning and burying violent revolutions
to breathe downstream and out
peace intending rivers
co-revolutioning awareness,
bleeding ebb of matriarchal opportunity 
and feeding flow of patriarchal crisis.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Isabel San Martin | Details

ASPIE

Thousands of ants crawl right upon me
It's no wonder then why I bounce my legs
The mall is an eruption of blind white noise
It's no wonder then why I don't like crowds 
People see me and associate me as dumb 
It's no wonder then why I gave up making friends 
People laugh at me and call me stupid
It's no wonder then why I'm well enough alone 

I write about cold cases and school shootings
It's no wonder good teachers call the cops on me 
I write about serial killers and social atrophy 
It's no wonder people don't want to listen to me
I step over the lines so I walk with clear purpose 
It's no wonder kids gawk at me like I'm weird
I trip over my words and can't take a good joke 
It's no wonder kids mess with me—
And I'm the last to know

I want to initiate change 
So I shout aloud from the rooftops and say,
“Does anyone want change? 
“Show me your hands if you want change!”
And lo and behold, people nod their heads 
And they agree because they want change just like me

I want to initiate change 
So I shout aloud from the rooftops and say,
“Does anyone want to change? 
“Show me your hands if you want to change your ways!”
And lo and behold, people shake their heads 
And they don't want to hear me 
They don't want to hear 
In fact, they don't want me near 
They just want me to disappear 
And shrink back in fear 
And they say,

“Get away! Get away!”
“So stubborn and hard–headed!”
So they say.
“Get away! Get away!”
“So rigid and apathetic!”

And they say,

“What a retard!”
“Mentally challenged!”
“Crybaby!”
“Too sensitive!”
“Get lost!”
“You don't belong!”
“That's right!
“Too quiet for your own good!
“‘Cause you've got nothing left to say!
“Just stay away from us for good!”

Drag me over to a puddle of mud
And beat me while you're at it 
I won't raise a finger 
In fact I'll take it like a woman 
And prove to you 
How wrong you really are

I'm not a psychopath like you told me 
And I'm not a threat like you implied
I want you to face me 
And see me for who I am
“Get to know me before you judge me”

Scared of the unknown 
Or so I'm told
I behold the seed of genius 
But you grab it and you crush it 
And you make me conform 
Don't you get it? 
I don't fit the mold 
Don't you see it?
I don't do what I’m told 

Please don't keep me in a jar
And please don't lock me in a cage 
If only I had wings like a monarch
Or feathers like a raven
Then maybe I could fly 
Far away from those who harm me

Free me 
Just don't smother me 
I am more than what you have intended 
See me 
Just don't bother me
With the words that you've left unmended 

Closing in
And holding in 
The fire shut up in my bones
How I'm tired if it smoldering me
And burning me deep inside
Inciting change 
It all starts within the heart
Tear out the roots before a wicked tree grows 
Or force you to bloodlet before hate fills your veins

Brilliant minds trapped in a mediocre society 
While propriety is gone into obscurity 
And iniquity takes reign into my own epiphany 
The frequency of one’s own discrepancy 
The flame of critics as they blind us off 
In their own vain duplicity

Criticize me because I'm not neurotypical 
Hypnotize me because I'm not neurotypical 
Brutalize me because I'm not neurotypical 

You can't change me 
Because there’re some things I can't do 
You don't know me 
Because I'm in the spectrum 

Stand beside me because I'm not neurotypical
Rise beside me because I'm not neurotypical 
Fight beside me because I'm not neurotypical 

You can change me
Because there’re some things I can do 
Now you know me 
Because I'm in the spectrum

Copyright © Isabel San Martin | Year Posted 2017

Long Poems