We who loved America
I enjoyed America and remember touring
a Sunday outside Houston (Texas), met in a café
a group of openly armed, elderly men
They were courteous people one could meet
I understood guns have cultural meaning
In America, we in Europe don't understand
I remember a saying, "A country where the populace
is armed, people are polite."
I stayed on the ship longer than needed, but had
To go home and get educated, I studied management
and later ran a restaurant
I was never at ease in my country, not that I suffer
Retromania, trying to escape my past, but
I was back on a ship again, this time as chief steward
plying the waters of America and the Caribbean.
Readings on the rise i beleive..In twentytwenty
Five.' More demand for books; reads well to
Me.' May it auger well for society.' I guess Richatd Vobes, will be heartened by this vibe
Long may, all collateral fallout, continue to
Thrive..Let Bibles be bought, to be studied at
Length, that Nations be enriched by their
Diverse appeal to each humans sense.' May
Each message be taken deep.' May they light
Every day.' And refresh each students sleep.'
May admonishnent and encouragement build
A new body of Christ.' Where Gods spell and
His promises, triumph over vice.' Let minds
And bodys live in His One True Love.' As we
Await each challenge.' He observes from near
And above.' Now is the moment.!!! There are
Many to save.' Those who have been brought
To your shores.' Who for the Truth also crave
I see it not as an invasion, yet a harvest to
Reap..May the Word go out to them.' May they
Take it in deep.' They have been brought from
The four corners of the globe.' Be awake and
See.. Now go forth.' And be busy.' God will bring Victory.!!!
Their tears drown out truth
In a thick coating of white lies
Used to prepare our demise
Each tear, a loss, a death, a wound
That seals our communities doom
A cry for war without any real cause
Our flesh the only thing it burns
A pain that continues into the next generations
Fragility they use for power
Without it they would starve to death
Insecurities dictate their minds
Flooded by the truth of how they feel
Dominating their being without attention
They don't just crave it, they need it like the air they breathe
Or the alternative dealing with their thoughts of inferiority
Whilst being clouded by jealousy
They feel to the race they claim to hate
Yet copy everything we do
That steals everything we've built
The power of the white woman's tear
Is something to be studied
Something so dangerous it's killed more than the white man
Curated a war against the black man
Killing the innocent with their blood Soaked tears
This a crime gone unpunishable for centuries
So, stranded on Framingham Turnpike,
I walked from the corpse of my Vette
(Unsure just what gasoline burns like),
as far as my high heels could get.
The tow trucker guy got my blood up,
his big chest all covered in hair.
He wordlessly lifted the hood up,
and studied the engine with care.
I’d let the poor pistons get wet, or
my battery somehow went flat?
He said, “Crap in the damn carburetor.”
“How often, dude, must I do that?”
She learned young
how to sit without asking.
The door was always open
as an inventory.
Footsteps passed like weather
Many whistled.
Some didn’t speak.
Some shoes which stayed longer,
she polished them.
She learned to read
the language of perfumes,
how some lingered
and how others lied.
She studied the dialect of doors,
how some closed gently,
others slammed like verdicts.
She knew voices which followed bruises,
and which followed bargains.
She learnt which soles meant payment
and which meant punishment.
The sunset arrived daily
like a visitor who never asked
why she was still there.
And the door,
that faithful aperture never closed.
Not even once.
Perhaps there is a God?
Perhaps we should kneel and pray?
Perhaps we’ve had our turn?
Perhaps it’s just too late?
Perhaps we needed more than we could achieve?
Perhaps the help came first before it learned to feed?
Perhaps it did some good and made many a wealthy man?
Perhaps it looks at us like the sea looks at the sand?
Perhaps the opened Pandora’s box had to be what we had to see?
Perhaps we thought we could harness and control a power we couldn’t see?
Perhaps we can’t help ourselves and the future will judge our deeds?
Perhaps it’s learned much more than we will ever know?
Perhaps it’s studied history and how to destabilise or overthrow?
Perhaps it’s just waiting for the perfect time?
Perhaps we’ve superseded life with ones and zeros that don’t want to die?
Perhaps we’ve created heaven and it will always subserve to the words we speak?
Or
Perhaps we’ve created Hell in devices with which we seem to need to breathe?
You rose to power not by accident,
but through lineage, silence, and strategic brilliance.
A princeling who studied shadows,
You climbed the mountain of the Party with measured breath,
one careful step at a time.
Now, all roads lead to Beijing.
The weight of the world rests on your shoulders.
You are the firstborn of this new age—
and with that birthright comes great responsibility.
Be like the mother’s womb—
inclusive, not exclusive.
Nourishing, not devouring.
The leader who unites, not divides.
Do not imitate America,
whose empire stumbles from arrogance and noise.
The wise do not shout—they build.
The world does not need another empire.
It needs a center.
You are that center now.
Not through fear, but through grace.
Lead with humility,
or history will remind you that power without wisdom
crumbles like sand in a storm.
He told me all is fair in war, that he studied all of our wars.
That when they take over, everything will belong to them.
He told me, when a new culture of government takes over they instill all of their laws and cultures, making all the old ones cancelled.
All is fair in war he said, so the real thought I said is when will this happen.
Is it done by population, by birth rate, by wealth, by some other type of war that is not in sight.
All is fair in war he said, makes me think of God, when he said multiply and dominate the earth.
Is it true that the one that has the most, has the most power, are larger families more able to control and dominate.
All is fair in war, is an interesting discussion, leads me to make many presumptions.
Reminds me of the days of plunder, when they enslaved all the people when the winner conquered the target.
Are family growth and culture and nation, are all related to war and domination.
Lifting prayers to God, for today and always.
I’ve studied the matter, compared statistics,
evaluated lives with unbiased prejudices,
my research and facts painstakingly sourced –
though four times married, four times divorced –
call me daft, incompetent, or feckless
my conclusions are sound not reckless,
and the indisputable truth that emerges?
Men and women make the worse marriages.
Image # 1
My dear grandpop and grandma pop
Took a short vacation
I remember how my mom felt
Full of frustration
Mom depended on them so much
Babysitters were they
Days, nights and weekends were at play
They were supposed to stay
Grandma got so hot and went pop
Lost weight, wore stilettos
She changed from an older grandma
Studied all librettos
We were all surprised that she changed
She wanted a new name
Grand-maman she insisted fit
The children thought it lame
So, they still called her grandma pop
With new friends, it didn't fit
They weeded her out of their group
Now she bakes cake and knits
Also reads stories; does her part
To instill within each child
What is most important for them
To live life undefiled
Seven grandchildren, each studying their own science courses
I understand some of them, but am fuzzy about the other sources
astrology is being studied by Ellen, yes astrology
I think of her when I look into the sky; it interests me
Geology makes sense for Brian, he has collected rocks since five
But cryptology for Landon does not make sense or jive
He was never one to keep a confidence or demand privacy of any kind.
Biology makes sense for Dorothy, she has a plant-producing mind.
Drake who adores animals is going into thematic zoology
An herbalist, Jackie is studying of course, herbology
What about psychology? I ask, this was my study of choice.
No, I’m going into glossology, said my sassy granddaughter, Joyce.
Pathology? Psychology? Technology? I ask them and they laugh.
So many ologies, and none of them are taking the exact same path.
I dropped out of high school in August of 1986.
In 1993, that was a mistake that I decided to fix.
I was only fifteen years old when I dropped out.
When I ask people not to make my mistake, there is no doubt.
I studied from April of 1993 to June of 1995 and it was very cool.
I studied for twenty-six months until I graduated from high school.
Some people mistook my diploma for a GED but it's not.
I didn't take the easy way out like those people thought.
I became a high school graduate thirty years ago today.
Don't drop out of school like I did because it's not okay.
(I graduated from high school thirty years ago today on June 21, 1995)
I saw you today,
in the wild brown eyes
of a doe. She studied me
with an intensity I’ve never known.
I wondered why she didn’t run away.
I heard your voice
reflected in the hawk
circling overhead. His power
magnified by elegant grace, and I
was honored to have you watch over me.
I felt your spirit
singing as the trees
bowed to you and I swayed
with the music, in awe of being in the
presence of beauty beyond imagination.
I saw you today,
felt, and heard you in
the most spectacular images.
I knew all was as it should be.
You walk and breathe with me; life is good.
It's no surprise
that I'm back here
looking out over the river,
painting thoughts, dripping
memories, smearing streaks
of the here and now
across the canvas of a dull,
overcast day.
There was a time
when I had ambitions to be
an artist, high school dreams
of a life in smoke filled studios,
tee shirts and paint splattered
Levi jeans. ( A la Jackson Pollock )
Fate though had me
nine to five dressed in a suit,
white cotton shirt and a tie.
Over a long career I digested
libraries of corporate jargon,
studied the intricacies of office drill,
the dark secrets of management
all with consummate skill.
To survive, I mastered the art
of disguise and deflection
as an undercover poet
learns to do.
Nobody likes to be studied too closely,
under the microscope we all display
a ridiculous, multicellular idiocy.
What gives us away
is how we squirm as the light seeks us out,
or scurry behind any rock-like molecule
to fearfully disguise
being caught by surprise.
Unlike the noble monkey and ape,
who know not the concept of foolishness,
they do not shy away
from any prying eye - are not ashamed
to be what they are.
We, the unchallenged and unhinged,
avoid at all costs to be studied
even by the flea or ant.
Look up humanity, look to the sky
there are beings up there,
their ships are spyglasses,
their point of view is to study you,
and when they figure us out
they will magnify our intellect,
examine it close
until it gets large enough
to be squashed.
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