You see them rise while still in the suburbs,
the rings of hills, the wilderness buffer;
smaller, more round than what waits further on,
some sport cabins atop with views quite long.
Down on the road some houses still pop up
for folks who hate the concrete, noise, and trucks,
and at crossroads, small stores with country themes,
selling jerky, t-shirts with wild scenes.
Then small motels folks claim on the weekend,
cars with kayaks, across the ponds to wend.
Just down from that, a smallish petting zoo,
with local critters strutting in plain view,
the kind you wish you could see in the woods,
but they all hide, and that’s for their own good.
Then a small lake, stubbed with second homes,
the kind that you hope someday you might own,
weathered docks and fishing boats on the lake,
could the trout here be big enough to take?
But now the peaks are stretching for the clouds,
buildings thin out, the road the forest crowds,
the foothills gone, these mountains your escape,
a wild land, the kind owned by the state.
The mind has peaks
no Sherpa knows
sudden drops
where thoughts
thin out
like oxygen
at twenty thousand feet.
Avalanche thoughts
bury certainty.
Your grip tears skin
on ice-sharp edges
of almost-understanding.
Below are the
crevasses deep
as yesterday's regrets,
echoing
familiar voices
lost in white.
Wind cuts through
the space between
base camp comfort
and what
waits above
the death zone.
Frostbite burns
circle your fingertips
the attempt
to hold
what altitude
has already
stolen.
Only the fallen
know the weight of thin air.
Only the hanging
over glacier cracks
know the value
of solid ground.
This terrible geography
some must
navigate alone.
This latest theft, stole more than just my money,
It took my soul and left nothing to spare.
With little remains to even fight back with now,
My defeat is final; the white flag is in the air.
Any strength once known has been exhausted;
Chains of despair are left hanging to drag aside.
My new companion is known only as poverty,
Rarely sharing much to diminish the pride.
Looking inward, I seek to learn any lessons,
That could prevent this from happening again.
Although my next thought dwells on any value,
Since my recovery is so unlikely to even begin.
Could this be a lasting piece to the puzzle,
Where survival rests upon those who steal and take?
As if this culling would thin out those weakened,
Leaving those strong enough who want to stay awake.
This may be the greatest hardship that's unseen,
When those can steal what they don't even see in the heist.
So while this theft isn't pawned or even brokered,
The damage is often beyond what is normally priced.
observing oscillation of our attention
between form and the void
with inertia dimming our awareness
accepting the sway as it is
looking at waves in nonchalance
we feel nothing need be done
since the flame of awareness is held
solely in the hands of God
Who weaves his magic within duality
and thus recognising the play
we as aspect of the whole in the dream
have freedom to offer response
to life as it unfolds moment to moment
so choose to thin out the ego
that as boundaries blur nodes within stir
benign bliss friction enlivens dust
whereupon affirming there is no one here
we transmute becoming the flame
as we thin out ego
by befriending silence
we become vividly cognisant
of the energy grid within
being breath of God
poised in the void
ego that never was dies
revealing Self that was and is
our true being splendrous
radiating love and light
By the time it's officially Summer,
Without a doubt, they will be arresting me.
Presently, they are budding under the crape myrtle, which also will be stunning by summer.
Most assuredly, all of our plantings will be most pleasing to our eyes, and will cast their spell on me.
They will dare me to ignore them in the slightest.
Indeed, I will have been captured by their beauty.
My neighbor might even take a picture of them
As they stand tall between the cactus and roses.
I tell you; those beauties will render me dizzy, dazed
and dazzled, standing in attention like a patriotic soldier.
I must remind myself to thin out the cactus plant.
I wouldn't have to cut them if they were mature enough.
In time my cactus will burst force with yellow blossoms.
God gives my flowers plenty of water, and I weed them well.
Get right with the creator...
Teach your kids how to fish.
Give EVERYBODY a second chance or even a third.
(That's if they're not too vicious).
After that, you're wasting your-breath- my dirty dime.
Do hire more GOOD police; they're quite necessary.
To keep the hell hounds off the streets.
Thin out the Neapolitan herd of:
STRAWBERRY KNEED race-baiting politicians.
BLACK-HEARTED MEDIA HEADS.
Billowing out the pale sludge of lies and half-truths.
Thin out the GREEN-EYED OLIGARCHS.
Greasing the souls and crotches of politicians.
Do promote peace within your family.
Don't paint people in your backwash of hate...
The community will bud-cities will bloom...again.
Tend to your teeth -a smile will naturally follow.
A smile can make all the difference.
....and did I mention, get right with God.
We'll all be better off...somewhat.
My hair was thick for a moment
My heart was thick for a week
My love is thick when you want it
Though afterwards, I can't speak
If you won't come by the bedside,
You can still come to the back door
There's all kinds of fish in a red tide
And a hopeless few still down the shore
Everybody's dealing with sickness
Nobody knows any cure
The worst kind of debt is thickness
Against that, no one's insured
The red meat is thick in the middle
The dark meat is thick like the past
They're now thickening individuals
I guess so they're fit to be gassed
If you find that you're in the thick of it,
Maybe you'll be amazed
The plague don't care if you're sick of it
And God lets you know when He prays
Thick as thieves —
Thin out the herd —
Isn’t it funny
How the line between thick and thin
Is often blurred
You know I’ll be yours through thick and thin
I won’t fly out the door when the money rolls in
I’ll be the singer you always wanted
I’ll be the glamor you never flaunted
Tomorrow
thorny bushes
ripped t. shirt
dripping blood
stopped, which way to go
forward, the bushes
must thin out
upfront
and reveal a landscape
of bliss.
Retreat
back to the beginning
that is painful too.
It is good to know
when losing-
there is tomorrow
Let’s thin out the herd. Let’s thin out the herd.
Tear off those masks, those gloves, be absurd!
Dance in the streets; share cottage cheese curd.
Bring home a vulture, a myna, a good dodo bird.
Let’s all give a shout, a wheeze and a cough.
Perhaps this pandemic is nothing but scoff.
Maybe it’s all a hoax, a holiday for so many.
Amazon toilet paper delivery; do you want any?
Some are of a mindset we’re all going any way.
The time is inevitable, it’s just a matter of day.
Let’s thin the herd; let’s thin the herd.
Let’s open the beaches; let’s all be absurd.
If eighty percent of us are getting it any way.
Why shelter in place? Why have such a bad day?
Why not see our people? Why not go to school?
Why not have our parties, our funerals, you ghoul?
Let’s dance in the streets, watch fly overs too.
Let’s do the watusi, and meet with friends, quite a few.
I’m tired of being a shut-in, these masks are absurd.
Let’s thin the herd! I say, let’s thin the herd!
Panning in frigid water for a nugget called freedom.
The seed of the dream sprouts in the mind.
Deserts are brimming with icy coyote eyes
The mountains, though lovely, grow higher.
Barely alive, the hopeful lies battered
Dust devil dreamers - roses tossed into the fire.
The worthwhile journey never has an ending.
Tough miles gather like sparrows on broken fences.
Cartels and sex barons thin out the flanks.
Hope waning-wailing-chalk hearts in the rain.
For the worthy, lady liberty patiently awaits.
Those with clean nails and fine fancy homes.
Shove barbed wire agendas down blue-collar throats.
Buzzards hover above, dreaming only of dead meat.
Anarchists and pretend patriots bloody the streets.
Front page nuggets whittled down to fine print.
Only rattlers and God know where dead dreamers lie.
The masses become immune to imminent death.
Dust devil dreamers and roses tossed into the fire.
Antiques gathering dust on hidden shelves.
Bits and baubles from kinder times.
Can you hear their stories amidst the silence?
Do you care to learn from the past?
Each day the dust gets thicker as the memories thin out.
She was curious to why he was the way he is.He was so closed about everything couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth when he stated that he was “ok”.Begging him to explain his daily thoughts only drove him farther away.She no longer had grip of his hands letting go was what he was good at.Night after night she repeated the same question to herself “Am I not good enough for him?” and couldn’t seem to find a answer.His love for her seemed to thin out as they grew apart each day.She screamed in such pain “I hate you, I love you, I’ll never be good enough for you!”.Pain was filling her mind slowly spreading throughout her heart.Love seemed to not exist to him.
It comes as something of surprise.
We need the broken figurines.
the malice we expressed,
the heart forever bound in cords
constricting its magnificence.
It seems
the pure, transcendant, holy orb
that shines above the saints
cannot be dealt with quite so well
as grief and pain of loss,
as ashes on our foreheads,
or the sacrament of penitence.
Chagirned though I may be
to prize the fragments packed away
in tissued boxes, just
to call upon until the years thin out
and memories themselves are jewels
I am beguiled by them,
and sifted through the fingers of my mind
these worthless shards
encased in dusty time
at last surcease their cries
for they are mine alone,
and in this pageant of the years, I find
that I need play no more
the cumbrous role of God.
~
Theirs someones lips i wish to kiss,
their breath i wish to mingle with,
their face i remember as if in a memory,
though not a memory of mine,
their scent it lingers in my nose,
appearing thin out of air,
their face i can almost see,
and feel my tounge pressed behind their teeth,
my eyes slide shut as im engulfed,
the sky is dark twilight ithout the stars lighting up,
the sun is dieing embers setting on the mountain ridge,
and who is this that i kiss,
within my memories,
except that in this life,
these memories cant belong to me
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