2 John writes, so much to say, on parchment old,
Revelation 22: My reward is with Me, as foretold.
"I truly thought His word was real."
Yet He comes no more, with a seal.
I am nothing more, upon the Pacific's shore,
Than a single grain of sand, nothing less, nothing more.
"He is coming back?" you say with a cry,
A thousand years pass, and the empty heavens lie.
Lightning flashes, and the roaring thunder breaks,
A sudden bolt of lightning wakes!
"You held a holy presence deep inside!"
"In a grain of sand, let My dreams reside—
In a grain of sand, let the Lord's dreams hide."
Even if someone tramples your dream in the dust,
You will still pray, as you must.
Crying out, "Why do You give me this pain and trial?"
"Lama Lama Sabachthani," for a little while.
"You already hold My dream, child, all the way."
I get three shots
on an afterlife
when I come back
as a living thing,
I've decided,
but only if this world
gets better
and not worse.
I choose an assortment.
I choose mythical
and nonmythical.
First, I'll be a Marahute
and save those who save me,
or an albatross who sails
the sky with unfathomable care.
Second time around,
I will be a Secretary Bird.
She stomps around
like it's no one's business,
and she tramples over dinner
al dente.
Third time and last chance,
I will obviously be a mermaid
with everything perfectly proportioned
and enhanced, just for me.
I will choose to be
the most beautiful mythical creature
of my imagination.
I will see
everything
under the sea.
That is where
everything
shuts up.
I will only have my eyes
and an appreciative heart,
and amazingly long
rainbow hair.
The fish will
appreciate me.
Otherwise,
they will just keep swimming.
Either way,
I will have the sky, the land,
and the sea.
O who will sing that rudderless ship
that has lost her destiny?
With her sails in rags
and her lines in snags,
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The captain lies in a coma,
his hands clutch helplessly,
and the shantyman chokes
and wheezes and croaks:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The crew are extict and jolly,
they gnaw themselves hungrily,
and their black lips grin
as the rigor sets in:
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
The pilot has smashed the compass,
and tramples the sextant with glee:
he erases the log
and steers by the fog;
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
O the skeleton climbs the rigging;
his sockets scan the sea,
and he cries to the crew:
No land in view!
-- the Ship of the Dead is free!
We call it freedom,
but what is freedom without form?
A flame without a lantern,
a voice without a conscience,
a march that tramples the morning peace
just to echo its own rage.
We say we speak freely,
but truth is not noise.
Truth is not venom dressed as valor,
not rumor parading as revolution.
Speech is sacred,
when it builds, not breaks.
When it heals, not harms.
When it dares to be honest
even when honesty is inconvenient.
We say we protest,
but protest is not chaos.
It is choreography of conscience,
a civil dance of dissent.
It is the heartbeat of democracy,
not its hemorrhage.
It is a hand raised, not a fist clenched.
A sit-in, not a smash-out.
A song sung in the streets,
not a scream that silences others.
A civilized society is not just paved roads and tall buildings.
It is paved hearts and tall ethics.
It is liberty with love,
rights with responsibility,
freedom with form.
So speak,
but speak with truth.
Protest,
but protest with purpose.
Live free,
but live with grace.
Because civility is not weakness.
It is strength,
restrained.
It is fire,
refined.
It is freedom,
fulfilled.
JCC/OMP
The Killers of Happiness
Psychologists didn’t want my life, because I love God
They didn’t want my life here.– I respect the ancient past
The modern psychology tramples my life, because I love God
God gave my life; he created. Not a man, not a human. God didn’t create
He is eternal, I am not evil, but this is my life. God gave life
Not for psychology. Never. Just for the live. The life
Yes, life is pure without psychology. Psychology is demonic
Must
Destroyed
Life
Is winner
God, I know you do a lot for me, please forgive me
Never
Never
But
Destroy
This psychology
I don’t need
Parasites
In my life
God, I know I am a curse of your creation
God!
Never love me!
Just do justice!
Your commands are trampled underfoot by modern psychology
I am suffering
God, I suffer from modern psychology.
Because I love You
God
I am a victim
Of
Psychology
In this country
Politicians line their pockets from back-door deals
Sports figures kneel with raised fist, and protest our flag
Hollywood celebrities exclaim they will leave our country
Silicon Valley tramples on free-speech norms
Corporate elites rig systems to transfer wealth
and live more royally than kings of yore, while
Children hunger
for food
for love
for protection from abuse
Where are the marchers,
the protesters with cardboard placards
funded by big money,
Declaring that these,
the youngest of us
have a right to a life?
That simply being born
is not enough?
Where are those God-fearing pickets?
In light industrial units, sheet-metal roofs
ping under the rising heat of the sun.
Sounds of tin stretched into rhythm.
He tumbles out of a fuzzy dream
tramples over himself, sucks in
half-digested thoughts.
Morning on the edge
of a medium-sized mid-west city,
Mourning doves throttle a coo or two.
This late chiming morn,
he shares a first-rate breakfast tea
with the chug and chur
of a de-frosting fridge
wallows awhile in flabby abstractions.
Minor keys ding aluminum sidings,
gradually low-grade whispers
stutter into words, a kind of poem
he can almost hear.
Rich man’s blue
A problem when a person meets someone
seriously, they lose their logical sense when
the rich person speaks to them or smile
They are ready to agree that the person says
is the truth, if we accept what he says
He makes mundane of going to Mars
we know his timeline is wrong
but what the heck, he foots the bill
I think of Elon Musk, who has become
the new Shreck role Putin had
But it didn’t sit well as old Putin looked cultural
Wear a nice tie and is a dog lover
His foray into German politics is brave and timely
the AfD can lift Germany out of the hole
she is in now and is making Germany strong again
As for his intemperate opinions about the UK
one can say they stirred up the reaction that
one thinks the British public was in favor of
if not the political leadership in that country.
We can ignore Elon Musj when he tramples
on our precious dignity
like the Vatican, he has no army divisions.
When shall we learn to recognize the truth
That we are being preyed upon by beasts
Whose sugared words are not enough as sooth
For our wounds that rather increase like yeasts?
How many roads or bridges need to fall,
Or lives to lose fighting in others’ wars?
How many children need grow in the hall
Of ignorance, or tending their own sores?
When we go to the polls, let’s turn the tides
And put aside thoughts of personal gains;
Let’s break partisanship that just divides
And tramples on what decency remains.
They feed the beast that vote for selfish end;
They let the wound fester and never mend.
Safety, comfort, food and offspring
Is that all they need ? Could be!
Doggies bark, the birdies sing
Feeling happy, they can’t see
Anything that spreads disturbance
Evil species of wrong kinds
Cause it would disrupt concordance
In well balanced little minds
They don’t need minds fluctuation
Taking life without complaint
I don’t have such consolation
In the shrinking world I gained
Hard to boast about the mission
Of the restless human race
Who believe that competition
Is godsend, and fall from grace
much too often, in their faith
That the fittiest survive
And the weaker must obey
If they plan to stay alive
Wars and troubles, nations power
Tallest towers, I can’t bear
I am jealous of wild flower
As it grows without a care,
Living free, until some soldier
Tramples it by accident
And my world gets little older
In accordance that was meant.
It is summer,
and the umbrella men
are selling hotdogs.
A good-looking priest
enters Saint Pat's,
gangly girls giggle,
then make the sign of the cross.
Thursday is All-You-Can-Eat pizza day,
the joints will be too crowded,
the slices rushed out, slapped down
way to early or late.
Office workers flock
from the second floors of everywhere,
huddle shoulder to shoulder,
to spread rumors,
then return to gaze at desktop
computer games
or TikTok –
**** is a compensatory privilege
of the under paid.
The year hurries on,
rats scurry behind neon facades.
Downtown is slip-sliding,
it used to be a place to get noticed,
a gated area for outdoor passions.
Modest ladies now
hold the hem of their skirts down,
and not because
of any up-lifting wind.
Dope is in the air,
thieves hustle to get their share.
Tourists meander dazed,
as the stark exposure of the city
tramples over them.
Winter bites its chill tongue.
Come December’s last glittering moments,
that glass ball will hang by
the thinnest of threads.
~~~~~~~~~~~
(new edit)
Now it is dark January and the crows are singing.
A river runs through my heart,
where thoughts drown too soon.
My mind plucks old green hats,
out of the frosted air.
the hats belong to dead leprechauns,
doppelgangers lost at sea, trying to get here,
to be me.
Sometimes the sky is too brilliant,
it hurts old wounds.
Today the sky is a grey gun,
and as hard as gallstones.
January tramples over snowmen
scatters then into phantom blizzards
or stickmen, holy thorns of dark brier
crowning their twig-pointed heads.
Soon this freeze-framed pantomime,
will be known as February.
The birds will die and recover,
and so shall I.
We silently watch as our nation bleeds
Warring factions of race, color, and creeds
Discontent tramples each and every town
Misinformation will bring us all down
People believe lies despite the facts
Encouraged to commit criminal acts
Why are we blind to a repeat of history
The answer to that remains a mystery
The war's not between the left and the right
The haves over the have-nots started this fight
Challenge all politicians hypocrisy
Before we witness the death of Democracy
How did he, she, they, and them come to be?
Diminished, reduced, and ignored in society.
Relegated, or perhaps delegated, to busy city streets and desolate byways,
Street souls somberly paint landscapes with a myriad of overlays.
Barely decent soles, or none at all, cover these souls' feet,
Yet they endure daily tramples on sordid sidewalks and weather-beaten streets.
Cold nights meet cold stares in the daytime,
Oftentimes, the human connection is disjointed and can be quite unkind.
How did he, she, they, and them come to be?
No one knows, but compassion and love should be the reality.
Even the sparrow has a place to lay it's head,
So why should I lay worries on my breath?
All the world's colors laid with such ingeniousness
so why should I live in gray grievousness?
Oh God! you even crafted nature's music in brilliance!
Then how can I be overcome by my monotonous silence?
( It was my silence, a strangling silence,
Unpeaceful, condemning, rooted in me with defiance.)
-Storms visit all forests.
But trees are anchored with firmness.
So when anxiety hits me hardest,
trees teach me calmness.
Even how the tides dance over the oceans, and how they crash and thunder!
So small I feel, and insignificant,
that pride cannot be a blunder.
To the short-tempered man,
I'd advice,
look to nature and her device.
To the jealous
I must teach,
How all creation will live in joy and peace.
And those who hate must consider
that Life always tramples the bitter
Hence what I know is this:
Man is witty, and crafts many things
but has forgotten to think about all his blessings.
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