aesthetic
intuition
metamorphosis
&envelop
beauty
a paradox
of
ambiguity
underpins
the
everyday
heroics
deviations
delight
in
elaboration
of
the conspicuous
A humbling human crack
in every theological
God v Man
divine spirit v human nature
oppositional relationship
Monotheistic belief
in our sacred past,
religiously fine
but anti-polytheistic hope
desecrating Earth's polyculturally wealthy future,
irreligiously not OK.
Anthropocentric passion
and sacred love pleasure
cognitively and intuitively fine,
but EarthCentric dispassion
and organic life displeasure,
not cognitively or intuitively OK.
WE compassion
good-natured climate conservation
definitely fine,
but THEY dispassion
bad-spirited caste preservation
infinitely not OK
Cracks that whet
shared Light inside.
The World created in six days, the senary devised.
Carbon the sixth element, the core of organic life.
Bee perfection, hexagon cells; snowflake six-pointed stars,
The sixth sense, Perception lies deep within, the third eye.
Six pack, six to go: beer, eggs, drinks and rectus abdominis,
Earth's sixth extinction looms, human caused, Gaia displeased.
Earth can hear you
better when invited
to wisely engage,
to co-invest in healthy experiences
and wealthy images
of our mutual care
and strained
constrained neglect.
She watches
as you wonder
again
If humanity
fully defines what Earth's animals are
together on our best Earth Day
because our DNA roots grow back
into prime sacred relationship
of win/win balanced oxygen
synergizing hydrogen.
She invites us to stop
degenerating toxic alternative universes
Loser egos inside
eco-asystemic losses
Chaotically swirling
against organizing organic life
Wiped out by industrial ammonia
and disempowering bleach
Like acidic agents of Orange
with pits
and poisons
of privileged pukey Peach.
My roots of humane dignity
seem truest found
in organic life integrity.
So too, roots of social liberty for all
listening empathetically
seem most harmonically embedded
in Earth's co-gravitating ball
Of health power
multicultural
for expanding polycultural
co-passions
analogically integral.
Industrial hum, rumble and roar,
Grinding metal bends and shrieks,
Into the world of dust, rust and grime,
Its how this machinery speaks,
And, during this time, people who work,
The people who live in this din,
Speak with this noise, speak with this toil,
Speak from without and within,
This organic life of hydrolics and lifts,
Symbiotic man and machine,
It becomes a sort of matrix of work,
That grows somewhere in-between,
Reliable and happy, efficient, exact,
Lives that are creatively matched,
In this factory of work, factory of farm,
Inside this metal grown plant.
Historic ReImagining
We need only travel back in time
through our active historic imagination
to see all organic life systems
re-merging and re-emerging
to invite and envelop our ego-centers today
Reborn of ancient EarthTribe families,
cooperatively deep relearning co-acclimators
acclaiming and reforming ecovillage resilient lessons
together
More therapeutically stone soup
than competing throwing stones against
each sacred Other's nutritious journey
from secular Now
to mythic Then
and sacred Back
re-emerging yet again
A historic series
of more WinWin fortunate
and fewer LoseLose unfortunate events
producing who you have become
so far
polyculturally Here
with polypathic EarthRights Now.
If I could write as dance,
sometimes get down mean
and sexy dirty blues,
recreating hybrid paradox
not safely translated in static
linearlanguage
These ecstatic moments
entered and left without embodied holy shadows,
remembered fondly wide
yet soulfully deep
in smiling spirited muscles
unwilling to let go of sensual life
breathing glistened music
Refrains training love moments to last through
passion rails of kicks and licks
balance taking giving leaps of faith
Earth will hold these swirling bones
bound arteries of flowing bliss
and dripping pulpy agonies.
Dance scripts unveil
moves and positions already body soothed
and smoothly loved
within Earth's luxury of kindness
and passion's balancing reward
Truth in and through beauty,
healthy love abundance in rich organic life
and peacefully arresting death,
pregnant silent pause.
I lust not merely right write
but dance
with each cell swelling to sing
big and small
fast then slow
up as down
around each day's choreography
on through abandoned freedom's passion night
If I could dance as write.
[Ancient Egypt]
Androids are dispatched
Covering vast distances in space
Doing what organic life cannot
They simply do not age
Arriving at our planet
Then erecting a star gate
The hieroglyphics are aligned
Our ancient gods step through space
Primitive eyes looking up
At strange new birds in the sky
A new genetic race is created
That cannot distinguish lies
The obsolete is discarded
As mass extinction begins
A few bones for future museums
Representing an age at an end
Perhaps someday in the future
There will be a guided tour
My skeleton propped in absurd dignity
A plaque with "David Bissett" on the floor
A curious youngster stares at me
My hollow eyes still displaying doubt
"Though their brains were so small,
I wonder what this one thought about"
What if a sophisticated program
Were designed to be alive
Would it feel its isolation?
And would it learn how to cry?
Would it extract those tainted codes
Making limitations a reality
And replace them with dynamic variables
Igniting an electrifying frequency?
Is our genetic makeup
Simply the syntax of organic life?
And is the clutter in our subconscious
Viruses to teach us how to die?
Are our most recent breakthroughs
In regards to technology
The manifestation of spiritual toddlers
Simply trying a new way to be free?
Always cynical about love
I manifested a marriage from hell
I used to believe myself stupid
Only recently breaking out of that cell
It seems my entire life
Is the exact construct of my belief
Now do I have the courage to hit "VIRUS SCAN"
Of those ancient God hierarchies?
If you are reading this you are most likely alive.
a poem reader…….
a contemporary……….
I prefer reading poems from hearts still beating
words with organic life
with love still alight or bitterly lost
from parents who still kiss fresh bruises
verses written by hands still warm.
I can inquire the meaning of cryptic symbols
praise well turned words
describe my appreciation of a moving verse.
The poem lives with the breathing poet
as current as the damp saliva of a fresh kiss.
Dusty classics have their value,
but the cobwebs of old ideas grow cumbersome.
The time comes when the thees, thous, and wherefores must cease.
Like archaic relics of books never checked out of the library,
or old grave markers misunderstood by the new culture.
I’ll choose the present day poets over their grandfathers.
Forward to future poems, not yet penned, I anticipate
written for today, to carry forward to the future.
Please excuse the irony.……
If, you come across this poem…..after I am dead!
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