What did Custer bluster as he saw the Indians rushing up the valley?
"HERE COME THE INDIANS BOYS! AIN'T NO TIME TO DALLY!"
Custer's brave troopers fought with all the force they could muster,
But the Indians won the day thereby making a widow of Missus Custer!
# My eight hundred Koalas, emblematic and
Innocent.'
Slaughterd..Reason being.? A bushfire.'
Because of.? Overgrowth.' How many times before has this occoured.? Never.!
Because.? Farmers used to graze the forest.' Thereby keeping undergrowth as just that.' And
manageble.' Why did they
Stop.? Sy-op.? Probably.? You see climactic disasters fuel the false climate
Doom management tale..To allow over control on all life aspects.' Here it enanbled
Enviro-mentalists.? To charter a chopper so the eight hundred victims could be slaughtered, because the bushfire had taken the leaf supply..therby presenting the
Possibility.? Of my Koalas
suffering starvation,.' All because of interference in generationly viable land management..By professional
Farmers.' No experts were involved ( or harmed) in the
Creation of this write.'
The old silphium plant,
Found in ancient Cyrene,
Had some qualities Google
Brought up on my screen.
Seems its seed pod was used
To increase certain pleasures
And was thereby considered
Among Nature’s treasures.
Now this seed pod was shaped
Like a Valentine heart
And that may be how
Valentine’s Day got its start.
Or perhaps that’s a tale
Or an out-and-out lie,
Manufactured and shown
By some sneaky A.I.
But no matter the origin,
Hope your heart’s full,
Regardless of if
You believe in this bull.
You laugh; high waves blow
So my grace undoubtedly grow
Your crying; explodes earthquake
As such gives head thinking so opaque
You stretches Your hands; miracles abound
Thereby making your earthly home a battleground
Your smile; enlivening the dead
Oh Lord set free possible bloodshed
You walk; nature reassembled its value
Lighting up the atmosphere white mixed blue
You look; rainbow ignites
A nice looking gallery musing delights
Yet....
I know no acceptance can raise my grade
Except Thou comes out of love to my aid
I know no cheers can paint Your presence
Unless if no sin has gut to hide me in its essence
I know no suffering can open unto me mercy
Except for luck that brings about controversy
I know no prayer can get the water out of rock
Unless faith strikes gently the rod while liquid unlock
Much time was wasted pursuing narrow goals,
birthing attachments we were loathe to let go,
so life after life we kept changing our roles,
always in bondage to our wayward ego,
amidst shape shifting illusions it controls,
till the day we chose to make speed of thought slow,
instrumentalised like a limb so to speak,
thereby easily plugging energy leak.
Looking back we see that we were always free
but since we knew not that we are living light,
deluded by desires, bound to our mind tree,
contracted by fears, we knew not bliss delight
till the day we got head and heart to agree
and in the void of silence garnered clear sight,
whence as the vaporised self, as the bliss flame,
doing nothing at all, we fulfilled our aim.
instead of doing, choose positioning
present in the now feeling each bliss hue
resting thought and thereby conditioning
toroidal heart pure like fresh morning dew
receptive to God’s grace that does accrue
we ascend although there is no one here
save spasms borne by bliss that does heart endear
'While stranded high and dry
unemployed skippers ate a lot of kippers'
which smacks of a red herring to me
is a tale told when we were but nippers
altho' with neither fowl nor feline
in a beautiful pea-green boat
the motley crew who put to sea
were assuredly safe and sound when afloat
but then as ocean water rose within
thereby a somewhat large hole revealing
the now woeful matelots felt dreadfully unhappy
as they smelt a strange yet serious sinking feeling
for sadly a rather bad leak had sprang in the bilge below
and their ship went down like the proverbial stone
so the jobless captains fared far better
as landlubbers secure ashore home on their own
Mind pursues staid silence, assigning meaning,
thereby foiling purpose of meditation
but by promoting the thought pawn and queening,
ego dies in the stillness of cessation.
Doing nothing, save our head and heart linking,
upon attaining awareness unblinking,
the dark wisps of smoke in our heart centre clear,
whence we sense divine presence of God draw near.
No matter the subject or topic
tho' it may burn will I ever learn
would it hurt if my lips were to close
as whatever I submit suggest propose
she will be myopic
nay-say gainsay contradict oppose
may as well hold my breath
as every word I utter
receives the kiss of death
and melts in my mouth like butter
should I assert it's what she does it's her wont
'No I don't,' is her depiction
in contentious rebuttal
thereby confirming my conviction
and morning noon and night
she'd like to be I'll also mention
tho' none too subtle
the epicentre of my attention
is it a female thing or only her compulsion
for at the end of the day
it's not the last word she wants
it's the final say
If, as the saying goes,
'There's no smoke without fire,'
is it smarter to ignite a spark
(illumination causation)
than bedamn the dark,
and thereby induce a funeral pyre,
or, better yet, a safer bet,
to avoid gossip and accusations,
find the substantiated fact(s)
(true datum)
before you act
and land in sorry situations?
It's no joke, on soot you'll choke,
yet, on the greener side,
carry the torch for earth non-scorched
but best your light you hide,
(it may be life-transforming)
beneath an unburnt bush,
so as not to incur global warming.
All morning thoughts, to paper, aren’t meant to be,
many are reserved for future time or day.
So some, will rest like leaves fallen from a tree,
thereby to hibernate and slowly decay.
But a few will incline to serve God’s intent,
those whisper to me from deep within my heart.
Oft times its an avenue for me to vent,
but to be God’s witness I’ve been set apart.
There I stood where the smell of ancient oaken trees ran cleanly clear through the time honored wood only to be hung there lithely clinging unto the very breath we could not do anything but hold… as it became to be beholden to none it seemed to be tied to the polarized tenacity of the moss which thereby us clung in comical yet musical strands around the worm ridden bark a foray of bird’s voices were at play as though bells it rung from trunk to leaf to feathery beak again and again beneath the sound of our breathless breathes being trapped as deeply as time alone dared too…and so these hearts our hearts were then flung along this very same path until we two all to soon swelled with passionate wales only be quelled to surrender to the silence surrounding us…our eyes then welled upon swollen lids only to calm again peacefully longing to bathe in those deepest feelings and upon those very wishes each sound filled thought were caught then sprung free to ride the very same wish to a crescendoed volley down into our hearts to rest in and about our smiles that gloriously magical day...
Whether the Indigenous People,
robed in leathers, head dressed in feathers,
who had their own sovereign nations,
wanted it or not,
June 2nd 1924,
U.S. President Calvin Coolidge
condescendingly signed the Snyder Act,
a.k.a., the Indian Citizenship Act, into law,
thereby conferring American citizenship
on American Indians.
He had it backwards,
it was no more than an affront
as, whether the Indigenous People
wanted them or not,
it was American Indians who,
altho' they made no claim to own Mother Earth,
should have conferred American citizenship
on the Paleface People,
who were mere trespassers on tribal territory.
And Woody Guthrie
(1912 – 1967),
another white man,
was not referring
to Native Americans
when he wrote,
'This land is your land.'
You who throw stones
Held so tightly in your hand
Like it is your all
Your pride
Your hands are bloody
Because you are a sinner
You are a sinner, and you throw the first stones
Stones that come in words and pain
Whether you were the ones who shouted total trans death
Or the ones who wish pain
Or the ones who support a militia divided
You thereby mind me as level with the pigs
And it is sad
I pray for you
For my God said love thy neighbor
To you who hate so many minorities
A sad message I unfold
For those who wish to make decisions for my very own body
And those who are so bold
Racists or prejudice, those guilty of misogyny
You yourselves
Are the faulty minority
subtle bliss tingles in toroidal heart
personify is-ness of our being
enlivened spine holds erect energies
the disc of grace at fontanel rotates
steadying thereby our third eye’s blink rate
soles of feet and palms glisten as light dawns
cool heat pervades every cell of our form
though we’re void-centric we cannot deny
heightened delight as our soul so blossoms
being both immanent and transcendent
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