Long Stiff necked Poems
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At first we had traumatic stress
just being born
and later shock of near death,
physical and mental,
natural and spiritual,
lack of health
and unsafe, messy wealth.
Then traumatic cultural stresses
grew up into a global syndrome
of sad neglect
toxic fueling chronic depression,
multicultural repression
caste suppression,
cognitive and affective
double-binding dissonant
multigenerational dissociation.
Then post-traumatic historic stress syndrome
swept up panic attacks,
disabling shell shock,
invasive violent cultural shlock,
long-term victimization locks,
criminalization ad hoc
legislated abominations,
violent domestic and national monoculturing schools
of semi-thought through
flowing pure and healthy imaginations
creeping toward chronic creepy anxiety,
lose/lose de-nihilistic codependency,
mutually assured destruction
in bloodless
micro-annihilating pools.
Now we have pre-traumatic herstoric stress syndrome
for ever more biocultural pathology
in internal
and external climates,
venues,
lyrics and lessons,
narratives of unraveling devolutions
inevitably heavy self-implicating
stiff-necked stubborn scales
In-between disempowering monoculturalism
monopolistic monotheism
ego-privileged anthro-supremacism,
economic ecological lack of co-invested empathy,
And enlightened EarthPatriotic resonance
anxiously anticipating
polycultural revolutions
sustaining robust health care
ecosystemic wealth.
Why does it matter
if we sing or dance or call
"Make American Trauma Again"
pre- and post-suffering
the greatest response of all?
Isn't trauma of unrelenting win/lose competitions,
of StraightWhiteMale aggressive monoculturalism,
mono-egotheism,
monopolistic theology,
a culturally devolving climate trend?
Inside and outside,
before and after traumatic birth
and death of isolated individuals
swimming in a hegemonic
demonizing atmosphere
of win/lose capitalist self-defeating wounds
at risk of overwhelming all empowering lovely acts
and pre-post-enlightened passionate hearts
For resilient
ecotherapeutic stories
of positive
multiculturally cooperative
green peace
health care wealthy resonance.
“You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your fathers: You always resist the Holy Spirit! Was there ever a prophet your fathers did not persecute? They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous One. And now you have betrayed and murdered him— you who have received the law that was put into effect through angels but have not obeyed it.”
Acts 7:51-53
All who were sitting in the Sanhedrin looked intently at Stephen, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel.
Acts 6:15
THE STONING OF STEPHEN
Before Stephen fell asleep, he gave a sermon.
It culminated into a bold accusation t’wards the leaders.
The Sanhedrin, with the high priest, would determine
The fate of this angel-face. They were breeders
Of contempt, accusing God’s man of blasphemy.
They were teeth-gnashers, stuffing their ears with glue,
indignant, jealous, furious. They would rob Stephen’s vitality.
This follower of Jesus is never alone, heaven’s in view:
“Look,” he said, “I see heaven open
and the Son of Man standing
at the right hand of God.”*
Clasping their ears, they rushed at him,
Yelling in full view of the glory of God, not
Seeing nor hearing, choosing their dim
View of life. It was evil they sought.
They snatched him, dragged him out of the city.
Were those chosen stones unearthed from hell?
Upon a saint of God, they took no pity.
They were underneath Satan’s spell.
This favored of God, they could not ignore.
A Sanhedrin bull in full vent with dust and smoke.
Truth will shake powerful men to the core.
Arms and legs like chariot spokes,
The high-horse pretenders lambast
the great orator with great force.
Stephen would soon meet the holy cast
Of forefathers…most importantly life’s source.
Another man is enthralled, also blind
To the goads he’s kicking at. He’s in his heyday,
a young man giving approval to death, the kind
of man Stephen prayed for in this way:
“Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”*
8/8/2021
*Acts (from the Bible)
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
—William Shakespeare
Cupid Knocks
War waged with red ribbons and lights of white.
The lights pure, expansive, deep and wide;
and ribbons spaced upon a stone wall.
War waged, why you wonder; the holidays thunder.
Across the street since half past October, erected,
dastardly tall; couldn’t, hardly, have been borrowed
from a laboratory scientist or graphic teacher;
unless this could be a Goliath and his found head.
Engaged in warfare - serendipitous armor of the Christian;
the stiff-necked, serpentine, who fires eyes like darts.
(oh isn’t this delicious fodder, as I pass by and bypass all.)
Oh, just send a news crew to investigate; first the cold case.
Who is enjoying this more? Sure, he must look out his pane
and see this superstructure of bones with no skin, a cane -
not candy, but bait; a Christmas bow tie to hold severed neck.
(I jest! This seamless skeleton, this unseemly demon, kept.)
War waged since half past December. The holidays thunder.
I wonder who will fold. It’s a tick past February, and Cupid’s
in a quandary. Such a state, as he aims, but which way.
(Perhaps he can get them to obey the love your neighbor rule.)
Still, will Barry Bones be given a big red heart, a box
of chocolates, stationary to bother the kind old soul
across the way? How small the man, the skeleton, all
told, there is practically no skin in the game. Father Christmas
doesn’t mind his electric bill - it razzes the intemperate, raises
the heat, further hoses down the closet where the spectacle
came from. Perhaps this neighbor ran out of room to store
his aggravations; by moon he must endure a level starry night.
I’m tickled. I can see the sparkles down the street. Still there,
every night, night after night. I wonder what brews in the homes
of despair and enlightenment. I would love to interview the two.
What would I eschew? What fodder to chew? Cupid knocks.
This is going to be fun…
So, is this personification
of political systems?
asked the organic ecologist.
Or politicization
of intimately
yet transcendently
secular and sacred
personal economic-nutritional analysis
of health-wealth trends?
asked the macrosystemic economist,
in his rather too long projecting way
of exploring means
and medians
and in-betweens.
And both?
asked the theologian
after listening to each as Other,
DefaultNetworkAssociations (DNA)
betwixt enscriptured lines
of historical metaphonics.
Just because we do not reside together,
sharing identical labels,
need not mean we journey apart.
Just because my neighbor,
my enemy,
those I don't know,
those I fear,
former friends and family who have angered me
believe in a personal God
the Supreme Straight White Father theology
does not mean they,
like I,
can not also feel Earth's climate
like an interpersonal Gaian ecology
of healthy sacred regenerative emergence
into a win/win superlative
rapturous future life together
more healthy than residing degeneratively apart.
We all speak the same emotional language.
Humor and health, good and bad,
speaks and sings and dances and enacts
and dirges and reacts
a universal win/win,
win/lose,
lose/lose bilateral climate language;
eco-political heaven
and hell,
and all that lies more mundanely in-between
killing us climate softly.
Just as adolescent loss
of a lover to suicide
steps into an endless shaming/blaming toxic story
of depression,
ego-repression,
ecosystemic suppression
of positive affect,
of hope for healthy relationship,
of faith in wealthy resonant communication,
So too
it is not theologically
or ecologically
or ego-rationally insane
to fear,
and become angered by
genocide of our entire species
shamed by our own stubborn win/lose dissociation,
climate capital-pigheaded
stiff-necked degeneration,
rabid suicide ideation
through lack of Golden Rule Rapture,
win/win integrity,
theo-eco-ego triumphal integration.
The obstinate angel stands between her desire and its realization
inhumed by impulse
then by mistrust be bound to walk a faithless path
and physical love
in unchaste carnal
be brought to unflattering sin
none but the charlatan there
denies the beast within
All but the rampant touch
to be laid upon her skin
as to such pristine interpretations
no lover can begin
never to lead her in
Her stubborn search for ecstasy
reined in by the fear of penitence
time she passes unrevealed
under the guise of reticence
never known and never spent
in the secrets she concealed
Better then to resist in silence
with just a pinch of love and openness
Yet there in the night
stalks a passion with its soft and panther claws
breathlessly lithe in its silken furs
her accusation behind its prison
a sultry wanton
too afraid to answer the abandonment's
of its purring arms
As dark to the darkness is
from which she always turns
the stiff-necked angle stands between her desire
and by mistrust chooses a faithless path
Little daisy angel on her tip toes away from herself
bright little pretty things
of there's nothing else
that witch inside her fevered dreams
abandoned by her own angel can't resolve
bury the enchantress there in the darkness there
there in her animal skin
and deny the beast within
Bright little angel speaks
childish with a daisy tongue
as she tiptoes past the wings of Eros
claiming to be simply innocent
don't crush the flowers
don't light the hidden spark
this wildcat of the fantasy
moves ever closer to her untamed heart
but she can't surrender
and so she can't control
as an emptiness grows ever nearer
to the yearnings of her soul
Placate desirous with the mediocre
ignore the spell binding to mysterious
find the emptiness has more to offer
in the time fixated
on daily doing something else
out there in the penumbra on the far side of such thoughts
the shadow of the purring panther
and sensuality forever stalks
The prophet spoke
until She broke
We are many uniting ecorealities
helping You unbecome
one universal ego-over generalization.
Yet, Universe is ZeroSum LeftBrain total
while united EcoLogians
rebirth Right WinWin
polypathic subclimate healers.
No healthy WinWin Ego
wills to destroy cosmic therapeutic law
of nature/spirit
Left/Right
primal ZeroZone mutual love.
Cosmic re-creative will
feeds on Both/And exercise
enthusiasms of heart yin-wisdom
over mindbody yang
Either me or Loser you dissonating
reflexive opposition,
hardness of mutually despairing hearts,
growing stiff-necked cultures
and subcultures
splinteringly anxious.
chronically stressed,
Win/Lose jaundiced
by bullying
and ego-neglect
thirst and starvation memories
In terminal LoseLose climate peril
Both/And will becomes RightHeart cooperative
with critical moments,
experiences,
events to heal
LoseLose past climate disasters,
When RightBrain GoddessGais restores green cool muse,
WinWin practicing
orthopraxi-sing
Earth's ecotherapeutic
organic nature/spirit rituals
of co-discernment.
Cosmic revolutionary will
is a Yang omnipotent muscle thing
with yin-energy heartflow
toward cooperative Both/And health options
within everyday competing ego-commitments
toward multi-regenerational
ego/eco restorations.
We are Left egoskins
worshiping Father EcoSky
And Right EarthTribe
eco-bilateral core ZeroSums
discerning HereNow together
what healing course to steer
downstream through revolutionary climate crises
confronting our Future regenerating lives
Loving secular patriarchal problems
with sacred matriarchal WinWin
inside implicit muse/spirit resolutions.
Prophets sang
as Climate danced
health/wealth
Both/And
away
and back again...
**************************************************************************
....“But Solomon built Him a house. However, the Most High does not
Dwell in temples made with hands, as the prophet says: `Heaven Is
My throne, and earth is My footstool. What house will you build for Me?
Says the Lord, or what is the place of My rest? Has My hand not made
All these things?` You stiff necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears!
You always resist the Holy Spirit: as your fathers did, so do you.
Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed
Those who foretold the coming of the Just One, of whom you now have
Become the betrayers and murderers, who have received the law
By the direction of angels and have not kept it.`
When they heard these things they were cut to the heart, and they
Gnashed at him with teeth. But he, being full of the Holy Spirit ~
Gazed into heaven and saw The Glory of God, and Jesus standing....
At the right hand of God, and said, `Look! I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man
Standing at the right hand of God!` Then they cried out with a loud
Voice, stopped their ears, ran at him, with one accord; and they
Cast him out of the city and stoned him. And the witnesses laid down
Their clothes at the feet of a young man named Saul. And they stoned
Stephen as he was calling on God and saying
`Lord Jesus, receive my Spirit.` ~
Then he knelt down and cried out with a loud voice, `Lord, do not
Charge them with this sin.` And when he had said this, he fell asleep.”
**************************************************************************
....“The Book of Acts, Chapter 7.” *
Form:
The dark continent; a place of extremes
where the sun rises early and surprises me with its intensity.
In between can be found the stuff of life at every level,
whilst beneath my feet the red soil heaves with life
as the insect microcosm dashes about its business,
before the white heat commands them into the shadows.
All around, the vegetation stands tall and proud,
as if trying to be the first to touch the sun
and birdsong fills the heavy air
perfumed by the breath of exotic spices.
How can this be the dark continent
when every sight that blesses my eyes is brighter,
bolder, painted with brushes not of my earth?
yes, the skins are intensely black, blue-black
But when the smile which adorns every beautiful face
grins – and bursts open to reveal two perfect rows of pearls
the infection is passed to the viewer
who now sees only brilliant light
as the soul is finally revealed.
These people, wearied by poverty and bowed by blind politics
nonetheless walk tall and proud
as if trying to be the first to touch the sun
standing head and shoulders above
our stiff-necked dissatisfactory lives.
If Africa is the dark continent
then I am suddenly in love with blackness
and I fear for the dimming light
which bathes my homeland.
When Stephen laid his charges out,
Both devastating and severe,
His verdict then left little doubt,
Delivered boldly, without fear,
Held nothing back, his message clear:
“You stiff-necked folk, you never learn,
Uncircumcised in hearts and ears.
The Holy Spirit always spurned;
Just like your fathers, all these years.
The prophet’s tale, all woe and tears.
The heralds of the Righteous one?
They all lay dying, dead, betrayed.
The Law delivered, kept by none.
Angels ignored, for none were swayed;
Now in the wilds, for all have strayed.”
At hearing this, they grew enraged.
Their chests, they beat; their teeth, they ground.
But Stephen, towards the heavens, gazed
At God in heaven, glory-crowned,
The Son of Man, beside Him, found.
“Behold, I see them standing there!”
But they cried out and stopped their ears.
They cast him from the city square.
The verdict reached was swift and clear:
“He’s guilty!” said his juried peers.
They laid their garments on the ground;
They placed them at the feet of Saul.
A hail of stones came raining down.
Those gathered there saw Stephen fall,
Cried, “Lord, forgive them, one and all!”
“Account them not, nor record keep.”
He breathed his last and fell asleep.
(from Acts 7)
i can never tell you how displeased readers
are by that position the singular
moment when nothing makes any sense
to them at all but only to a few brilliant pebbles
that soar across the night canvas unknown
to the dullards of academia
it is the ONLY reason
i write; to express self to those very few
who HEAR ME.
the rest are noise and there is no
time for wasting one's artistry on rigid brains
and stiff necked human-geese.
Then again, my imagination never demands
an audience of understanding but more
of an emotional receptivity.
A slumbering shadowy cloud-vignette
seeping from a tormented mind onto
freshly sliced paper cuts.
This is the color red screaming in a dying ink stroke.
All inside of me is all i have. The 'be careful' took
leave upon wings last dreaming evening of reprieve |
a mind wondering if wondering is real
to show me is love if upon the wind of life and how
is lovely sitting upon a window sill while being
productive (at the sink doing dishes)
if more is heavier than thought
then more is the anchor of all tears
/to tell do please : what imagination never demands
-- that audience of understanding.
just tears.
:: 01.02.2022 ::