(“Anagogical Moments Merit Badge”, 2011, original oil)
The essential point
Is that the Natural Great Perfection
Of complete and perfect enlightenment is uncreated,
Not dependent on causes and condition
Thus not subject to change and degeneration.
Uncreated it simply is
Simply waiting to be discovered
Our true nature
Changeless, primordially pure, untainted
And complete.
Maybe this just doesn’t compute
Flying over your head
Like a satellite at midday,
Or better yet, Sun on its usual course
Across the great arc of space.
Doing what it always does
Unstoppable, indispensable
Immutable and ineffable
So easily taken for granted
Yet so easily appreciated with every cell of Life.
(5/19/26)
The party's over
You got in bed with the devil
And pulled the covers up over your head
It's a bed of your own making
Now you have to lie in it
And lie you have and lie you will
Over and over and over again
You'll toss and turn until morning comes
And after that sleepless night
It will finally dawn on you
It's time to wake up and smell the coffee
To go with your breakfast of crow
Which costs more than you will ever know
And we're all paying the price
I don’t like poems because they are exact summaries of everything felt at the time they are written. Memories of grief, pain, sorrow, sadness, anger, guilt, shame, joy, passion, love, jealousy, and envy wash over you, flooding your senses. You relive whatever moment led to the inspiration behind the piece, and it is both taunting and exhausting. I feel the weight of all the emotional labour I must overcome just to consume the art.
I prefer fictional writing because of its endless scale, its boundless freedom to explore any reality, any dimension. It’s fun, it’s pretend—it serves as a never-ending night sky, covering you like a blanket over your head, protecting you from anyone who might interrupt your fun. In fiction, I can transport myself to an entirely new experience, forgetting everything that might pull me away from this mental escape.
You’re in the army now
Lather you up, lather you down
Jump in the tub, give a good rub
Bucket of H2O over your head, bub
Simple Poetry
Love of nature
Through flowing rivers
Trees planted
Seeds watered granted
Humble beginnings
Sometimes clouds follow me
In the sky, only breathtaking
A peaceful place with no complaining
Turn off the noise
Small things matter most
Clothes, a roof over your head,
And food on the table
Keep life simple
No electronic devices
Just outside nature
The wind passes me by
As one, you and I
Breathe in fresh crisp air
Live in solitude
In the middle of nowhere
Through green prairies
Fragrances and beauty
With soul searching
A Simple Poem
Just the two of us
Room to grow
Early morning rise
Wake up to the aroma of coffee shine
What a luxurious question I wonder,
Or is it ?
To take a pause leave the day unclaimed
No ticking of clock,
Over your head-
Unbothered by other’s agenda,
No login on time,
Or leaving the house on ungodly hours,
I get to choose,
To curate my day-
I wonder-
If I am found by this question,
Would I treasure it?
Or would I procrastinate my life away?
letting the time slip through
like a water through cupped hands.
Our minds so conditioned,
to dance with the tick and tok of the clock.
Suddenly, unrestrained.
Dumbfound,
Like a drunkard lost in a room full of time.
So I ask again,
what do I do today?
Do I seize, create, become?
Or simply linger in the beauty
of having the choice to wonder?
Parents are not perfect and
Neither is their children
But a child/children
Believes that a parent is
Or should be, not true
This generation now finds
The simplest thing to go
No contact with their parents
If they weren’t physically and
Mentally abused that” s different,
But if you had a roof
Over your head and food to eat
And clothes on your back and
They try to protect you then
You’ve been blessed
Stop allowing your lover
Or friend to come in between
You and your parents because
Some people are jealous when
Families are close, because
They’re not use to having it
themselves
I might not be a healer, but I do have words—
Comforting words, soothing words,
Perhaps lies,
But certainly not disguise.
If you come to me, I will put on your skin.
I don't claim I feel like you do,
But I will hold your hand and listen to you,
And never pause you until you pause.
When clouds camouflage over your head,
Certainly I will light a candle.
I will scatter clouds with my palm
And never leave you until you leave.
If your stars do not align the way you wish,
I will align myself with you
And wait for your stars to fall in place
And never stop embracing you until you stop.
Nowadays people keep track of all the wrongs so they can hold it over your head
Parents aren’t perfect
They’re human being to
They make mistakes but
As long as you weren’t abused
In any kind of way and you had
Food, a roof over your head and
Wasn’t forced to be a parent
To your siblings
And some of your needs were met
You’re bless, because every child
Don’t have that luxury
But to be judge because you
Wasn’t cuddle enough or you
Didn’t have your parents
Undivided attention or designer clothes
Is a crock, it’s so many excuses
If you’re a 25-year-old adult
Or older and your
Parents can’t tell you how to live
Your adult life
How can you expect them to
Take care of you and pay your bills
There once was a little snail,
That wondered why It didn't have a proper tail,
She asked all those that passed her by
If there might be a rather simple reason why.
None proved to be that kind,
Which put her in an awful bind,
Until one fateful sunny day
She met a hare along the way.
My friend he said, looking awfully smug,
A tail Is something others often tug,
That's why I run faster than near most,
Never resting coast to coast.
You instead are blessed indeed,
As you I know can get good sleep.
With a house over your head,
You're never far from that great bed.
So even when you dont feel well,
Isn’t it better than my hell?
What are the things that scared you at night
Blankets pulled over your head and eyes closed tight
Is it a witch a goblin or goul or maybe a teacher from
Your new school.
Is it snakes spiders or rats or believing vampires are really bats.
It could be witches that fly around on brooms
And make all the shadows in the corner of the room
Could it be a loud bang from outside at night
Or maybe a Clown that causes you fright.
But now times have passed and maybe your bolder
The things that scared you are gone now you are older.
OR HAVE THEY......
Come to my gravesite
All dressed in red
A black umbrella held
over your head
that partially obscures you from view
As I am gently lowered to
my final place of rest
Take the bouquet you hold
So tightly to your chest
Tossed in as a final farewell from you
Abuzz with life the word will fly
Who is this and what does it mean
This gesture of love so blatently shown
before this to others unseen
Then solemnly turn away
And you and I who loved from afar
Cross the space of realities apart
Will once more connect in this day and time
In this expression from the heart
A beautifully executed ballet
Lake of beauty there in France
Invitation for romance
Of course you know what I'll now say
I want to go with you someday
We don't know French but no big deal
We'll learn together, so much appeal
There is in doing things with you
And I still hope you want me to
But if you don't I understand
And I'll still write odes by my hand
To let you know that I'm still here
Expressing love through words, my dear
And if one day that well runs dry
Just look for me up in the sky
A little plane can create art
With it I'll draw for you a heart
And loop-the-loop over your head
In yellow smoke, a feather bed
Of lilac clouds and Vera Wang
Ascends from you, those scents will hang
And blend in with my best cologne
Acqua di Gio descends down
A fragrant zephyr fills the air
Together, forever floating there
It wears on you
hot summer heat
still hot at nine PM
just want to stay inside
a hundred and three, a hundred and five
feels like blazes
Lord Almighty how I love the ac
too old to do without it now
actually am drinking water
in excessive heat it quenches that dry thirst
do everything in the morning, early morning
by nine AM before the sun burns hard and savage
Just want to sit in the dark and enjoy cool air
go outside and the summer heat will melt you
like being in a daze, sleepy, unmotivated
day dreaming of blizzards and Canadian arctic blasts
those cozy freezing frost biting winter winds
how you miss them in the hot summer heat
Hot and worn out, wet from sweat
let the shower run cold for fifteen minutes
before you step in, so hot the water in the pipes
way to warm, takes time to turn cold
let the cool water run over your head soaking your hair
onto your face and be absorb by your overheated body
And it is only nine thirty AM
going to be another cruel long hot day in the summer.
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