Blessings in Disguise (dec 2006)

Wake up another day,
another chance to count my blessings
Though on the horizon
I spy the dark clouds coalescing
This is the way - to fortify my spirit,
Confront the wave of change
And never fear it

There is a place here
for every feeling
every notion
and when the waves near
we learn by dealing
with the motion

Oh when I’m doubtful
I reach for the hand of who ever is nearest
I guess we all do
And sometimes our vision aint the clearest
This is the way -we place our faith in others
Rather run with the crowd
Than cement ourselves to the covers

For those who stay there
Wind up sealing
Their fate - by their devotion.
while those who flow away but care
learn through healing
their emotions

So come stormy horizon
Rain down on my parade
I know you’ll do your best
To leave me lost, hurting and afraid
This is the way - I’ll learn as I’m tested and baptized
That this fiery rain of hell
Is heavens’ blessing in disguise.

((((just trying to remind myself change is good, things that seem bad arent always...written in the shower)))

A Farewell to Samson (winter 2006)

A Farewell to Samson (winter 2006)
He's not just stains and splatters
sometimes tattered costumes
scattered guitar playing
fairy tales, rare references
quotes from comedies
no one else has seen

he’s deep thinking
deep delving, dives to the bottom
dives dramatically
sometimes NO bottom
sometimes sad silence

pilgrimages to three pronged idols
after pillaging the 4 times distilled silos
and they call out wolf like 5 times
then 6 play risk for a while
complaining of corruption that formed cruelly from competition
risking all, vigilant canoeing solo, patrolling solo through the prairie night

he’s the silent sentinel
for his sisters honor
protective to a fault
but never halting
in vegan vigilance and every other
beans and rice highlighted
with prominence

and with that same loyalty
living dreams,
you hope that without reservation unshielded you could
walk a new direction

east in search of love, of life, of promise and freedom
but if you don’t write articles about glass eating how can we read them?

rare jazz pieces and castlevania
the bizket variety hour
showering my car with mr misty
strangers upright kung pow and 3b....
solidly a part
of the heart -land of indy.

and now we've all gone, and you must too
but go with love and know we'll miss you



(I tried to write this really quick for a friend, it was read to him in front of many of his peoples on 12-16-06, about thirty seconds after being finished.)

(winter 2006)

Drop anchor love,
For cruelest winds have caught you,
Send you sailing in distant directions,
Weary and frustrated with lack of provisions
Angry and fearful for loss of vision

Drop anchor love,
For my causal blowing
Was meant to lift your sails
Not send you seething,
Why cut the connection
Why sever in leaving
All forms of affection?

Drop anchor love,
For if nothing else there once was a reason
Look back fondly
For Homes are still homes
though ripe with imperfection
the welcome mats still here
only friendship soothes rejection.


(((((a letter to someone I care about))))))

We must Confess (unfinished fall 2006)

We must confess

We’re so loyal to oil we support wars we don’t believe in
Killing and maiming while claiming to free them
And my reply comes shining like some sort of liberal beacon
Drawing and waving signs like “love and peace man”
Imprinting them proudly on my face
arm
and chest
would have saved more lives buying bullet proof vests
but did I invest?
no, I flee from the west
hoping to find some peace in the east.

I must confess

sometimes I get stopped at the door,
Confused and slightly distressed
when Instead of pushing, I pull it
And I know a lot of you got confused
with Bush and his bull shit
but the real world spins in cycles
just like a top
more like the revolving door
and when it starts it don’t stop
so a bomb we drop
on one side spreads
the panic and fear
and soon enough you know
we feel that destruction right here

the cycle spins
we say their people can go to hell
for what they did to us on 9/11
but we have sent 15 times as many
Iraqi casualties to heaven

The cycle spins


((((((I just ran in to a couple of political lines i wanted to use, cant quite get the rest straight)))))




*FULL FINISHED VERSION (july 2007)*

Confessions from the Cyclical Cyclone

We must confess

We’re so loyal to oil we support wars we don’t believe in
Killing and maiming while claiming to free them
And my reply comes shining like some sort of liberal beacon
Drawing and waving signs like “love and peace man”
Imprinting them proudly on my face
arm
and chest
would have saved more lives buying bullet proof vests
but did I invest?
no, I flee from the west
hoping to find my peace in the east.

I must confess

sometimes I get stopped at the door,
Confused and slightly distressed
when Instead of pushing, I pull it
And I know a lot of you got confused
with Bush and his bull shit
but the real world spins in cycles
just like a top
more like the revolving door
and when it starts it don’t stop
so a bomb we drop
on one side spreads
the panic and fear
and soon enough you know
we feel that destruction right here

the cycle spins

We drop the bombs saying,
We must kill them before they kill us.
But each bomb splinters families
And causes kids to want to cause a fuss

The cycle spins

Old men who’s lives destroyed by our bombs
learn to want nothing but revenge.
and when they strap explosives to their chests,
we prepare to avenge.

The cycle spins

we say their people can go to hell
for what they did to us on 9/11
but we have sent 50 times as many
innocent Iraqi casualties to heaven

The cycle spins

We must confess

We lost our patience and
jumped upon perceived foes,
our frustration never satisfied,
and for some in fact it grows
as our leaders corrupt with power,
replace each enemy with another
manufacturing our consent
with fear of “the other.”
The other cant learn to turn her cheek
Its burned or depleted through starvation
And still we claim its only justice
When we launch invasions into
the homes of foreign nations.

random scribblings (summer fall 2006)

Minnesota's Other Season
And as for the construction crews
Well they take two lanes and a shoulder
Forcing me to hold her tight to the right
On coming traffic enters of course
Coarsely forcing me to be swerving
amongst the unnerving arrow lights.


Dark and Red
while watching the coke pour on to the grenadine, I thought about how strange and exciting it was to watch the dark mix with the very red syrup and wondered if thats why bush is so eager to make these oil blood concoctions everyday.

In Remembrance of the Garden (spring 2006)

My dear do you remember the ever blooming flowers,
the fields and the hours spent strolling under the cascades of clear water reflecting the summer sun,
before the sneaky one?

Do you remember the smell of the un-thorned rose
and the elegance of the birds prose, the enchantment when morning arrived with blessed song,
before our present wrong?

My dear have you forgotten your friends
Do you think we can make amends, so that we can again dance with the ones of fur
Like we once were?
Do you remember?


((((((this was supposed to be another in the adam and eve series... i was gonna keep adding but never got around to it. never finished the series either, muses are cruel monkeys))))))

Giving (fall 2006)

So my brother split open, set asunder, with mock expression of wonder so still and frozen on thy face
did you even see the car coming? Did you flee at the sight?
Were you standing or running?Was the snaking path, black top, that set habitat from habitat, the black river a death trap instead of the spring of life, abounding and rife,
with machines likes knives, that cut through you…
did you wonder? Why brother after brother, sister and sister
go away and are missed, are you leaving
us this way, as well?
Does streaming light, at high speeds, at night, really hypnotize you just right? Or do you give effort to protecting by letting, just one slaughter, one martyr, give cause to us all, hoping one day the traffic will sway, decay away, like your body your gift, your warmth and your presence, which returns as the essence is reborn and replenishes, the scavenging forms, of your brethren.


((((((I wrote this in the car mainly, and then again later typed it out... uh i was driving and kept seeing deer all splattered, and wondered why that happens, and wondered if there was something to be learned from it, besides drive slower and be aware))))))))

Peace (august 2006)

Everyone has the right to peace
But I hear bullets cease to cease
And their numbers increase
Each day to release
more violence

Why are we silenced?

When its been made certain
Like light decreases with curtains
Violence begets violence - and hurtin
There is not “one” less deserving

For throughout all the ages
In all evolutionary stages
No matter the trends or rages
With abacus, calculators, coloring pages
In palace, hut or cages
In scrolls books and pages
You’ll find Gods, prophets and sages
Proclaiming the necessity and wisdom of peace

((((((((Just to be sure you knew.. shits fucked up and it aint right)))))

shades (summer 1999)

So I put on these shades
And watch the world die
See the roof cave in
And ignore the cries
I see babies starve to death
And all I do is sigh,
And perhaps say goodbye
Cuz I put on these shades

So I put on these shades
And cry all these tears
Behind these dark safety glasses
I see real life fears
I see things I cant stand to believe
And so I don’t
But when I look in to a mirror
I cry
Because I don’t have shades

So I put on these shades
I see a child with holes in his shoes
I see so much pain
I cant stand to
So I look away to safety
Yet still I lose
And so I choose
To turn around without shades.

((((((this was a song I sang out loud while writing it... crying. We were at a school in Tanzania, a dirt field with shards of glass, a classroom without desks or even walls or a ceiling (the broken pieces of which were used to sit on, or write on)
I was in a pissed off crabby mood, and refused to see. But life hits you hard when you feeling stubborn, and that little kid was just staring, not able to say anything, hoping for a pen or a piece of candy. we can try to ignore it, but its there and we know. Life is too important to be hiding from, too many people are suffering to not say anything. --so says me now and at 15 crying in the back of a van. The first time I performed this i think i cried throughout the whole thing, i prefaced it enough so people knew what i was talking about, and i think i have always shook, but im pretty sure it was something different then.))))

A kidnapping and face slapping (summer 2006)

I wish this cameraman
would turn his lens on you
Push through
The famous worldliness
And external ambitions of honest good.
To see through the smoke screen
Fields of green
That seem to turn childcare to child’s play
And navigate through
the clouds of magic dust
display your tragic lust
the not so mild ways.

But how can I judge?
In red carpet awards of Nobel human help, you wrap yourself
Against that wall of publicity, tenderness, civil servant-ness
can off hand rumors bare to even slightly crack?
The flack of former friends means nothing when it contends,
And “ex –loves” -- well you didn’t love -- so when it ends,
The scarring is their own fault.

I wonder if your tourniquet
is wrapped so tightly around your neck
That you cant speak, let alone breathe,
conceived
a plan to save yourself
each action “for the good”
like a robin hood, but the story stands slightly altered
as you give the riches to the poor
and then rob them some more
plundering spirits
on the other side of bedroom doors

American Dream (August 2006)

The American Dream
Got me a big screen TV
So I can watch my soaps and
Sitcoms , sit calmly by while
Others are denied such simple pleasures

The American dream
Got me my lazy boy recliner
I cant think up a better definer

The American dream
Got me this pool filled
With chlorine
Serene scenes attempt
To wash my guilt clean.

((((just sitting up one night or something, started rhyming in my head and writing it out.... I had listened to some people spewing garbage on the american dream on fox news radio.... I guess my thoughts on the american dream is that its selfish in a way, and also that it has gone from something that might have been noble at one point(though a lot of hypocrisy would have to be allowed) to being something more like content and apathetic. I often hear of former millionares back in the day who helped establish things like libraries on their death beds, but now more and more even the rich are robbing the poor again and again. no handouts or step ups.
even the shit about working hard, well maybe we are already working too hard, maybe our goals shouldnt be material driven. i think stronger communities and such would be more worthy a cause. There could even be nationalism based on something real, a community of support of love, rather than a country who's pride comes in how many big ass cars they drive. we will figure it out, hopefully before its too late)))

Riots (2001)

This chaotic uprising
The affects of downsizing
And cops brutalizing -their citizens

Politicians analyzing
The acts
Immortalizing
But songs still tributizing –the anarchy


(((((Im fairly sure I wrote this, and "power" in poetry club, thinking about random shit, trying to impress my heros, turning up like an idiot... anyway im almost sure this poem is about sublime's song "april 29, 1992" and other such events. )))))

Power (2001)

Power
The uncontrolled
the sweet and the sour
rocks in to bricks
bricks in to towers
breaking limbs
until the people decide to cower

I know a place where power comes in the amount of cows
Not the stocks in the Dow
or the oomph in the POW!

Speaking of Pow-er how much comes in the dollar
If my time aint worth cash
Who’s chain is attached to my collar?

For chris (2001)

For Chris


Tossed like a dirty shirt,(Chris)
Played out rhythm.(A repeating system that does not work!)
Passed on by our fathers’ (given up on)
Reborn children. (The same old politicians)
Shadow slave repressed,(robbed of freedom)
Told to sing songs of submission. (Told to give up)
Forgotten peace, chains stalking (its chaos in handcuffs)
denied ambition.
Sentinels on the lookout (Cops are looking)
for the next,
Silly nerd boy who feels misunderstood.
Making money to be cool,
selling drugs in the neighborhood.



((((((This was the first poem I wrote about Chris D, I think he had just gotten put in Juvie or something, we werent sure what was happening to him, and I dont think I had gotten any letters yet. I was sitting around trying to brain storm for class, but i was a rebellious little fucker who didnt want to do any of my assignment and instead wrote about what ever the fuck i was feeling.... it ended up being included with two other poems (power) and (riots) -both of which will be up in a second, and put on a picture... (maybe throw that up later)
---this is the first poem I ever wrote with a sort of more literal translation included... the spacing is all fucked up on blogger so I couldnt show that, and just put the translations in (example).))))))))))))))

Untitled (august 2005)

Adventure had left her, had whisked her away
in a seeming ghost town she had found her krumlov
enchanted in mountains, in prairie, in hills
life flows freely and allows her to live
and like the lions the bears the squirrels that
loudly chatter
she shines amongst the standing trees
while she works at the diner
the motel
the local general store
and like the charcters who thrill her,
she gives each person more.


((((this girl i met in a small town outside of glacier national park))))

Adam Adjusts and Reveals His Admiration.

Chasing everyday to find a higher purpose
Looking in cracks and crevices,
happily distracted by the latter recourse
and if she is the source, then oh what a source.
I once tasted her inner turmoil like a bad apple,
ridden with scars and bruised by times’ inequities,
did I gasp and choke and spit up, but take a second bite?
I’m glad, she offered the apple that night.

Chasing everyday to find a higher purpose
Looking at cracks and crevices
to find some discourse
on things I find beautiful and shameful
but you claim are not so self-inflicted.
Will she bite, when the flesh rips and conquer this ghastly pit,
and when she does will I like that kinky shit and can I bare it?
I feel blessed with the offer, and thankful to share it.

Chasing everyday to find a higher purpose
Looking on as cracks and crevices
change course splitting old wounds,
deepening with force, the wounds to make them worse.
Teeth of sacred indemnity,
but each bite brings forth our identity
so we hide behind the bushes cuz she asks me to
I’m glad cuz there’s nothing I’d rather do.


Chasing everyday I’ve found a higher purpose
Looking at her cracks and crevices
Captured rather happily by that blossoming source
That without force
Brought sacred flowers a teeming
And fruit bearing women new meaning
And will I accept when she offers her partnership again?
Where she leads I follow, just as its always been.




((((this was/is supposed to be the first in a series, on the adam and eve thing. I was trying to think about all the good leaving the garden did... how much more we are able to appreciate, and thus thank eve for the invite... but one of the positive/negative bi products of the apple saga is sex. good sex, painful sex, loving sex, and unloving sex... and of course it is antifeminist to call woman sex, but in thanking her we must also thank her for this gift. so a sort of pro/anti feminist stance on this one... in a way.)

Are You Jenny E

Are you Jenny E?
I see you in every skinny short haired long skirt
wearing nubile goddess
But the essence was never marred by your lack of physical presence
In shadows you leaped and jumped
panther wild
A sleek style
with subtle exclamations
Is it any wonder my mind meets you
melting through crowds on my vacations?


((((I met this chica who later became a friend, on my first trip to italia with mi amigos... that trip was good times. Anyway shes a really cool girl, i used the word "nubile" because it was the first word that came to mind, I wrote all of this in like 3 seconds on the street in krakow... which is why its no good... but anyway "nubile" apparently means sexual, and im not sure i ever thought that way about jenny though she is quite beautiful... it was more about hearing her thoughts and enjoying the adventures.. but i think its funny that i think i see her more than any of my other friends when im out walking around... maybe its just her look, maybe its the fact that i could imagine running in to her anywhere in the world i guess. anyway funnily i ran in to some cats the other week who went to a school she went to down south and they said they had heard of her but didnt know her. Basically she was always really soft and quiet (around me) but seemed to have bigger plans and thoughts than most, and a strange beautiful energy that left a nice impression.)))

Backpacker Conversations

I wonder about the shortness of breath, of words and places to visit with much excitement.
wonder if it will return when Im in turn with you, like the song you sent on a lonely Tuesday afternoon.
He tells me of his blues, the hues of which I've seen before in my own past and scored with such ambitious removal and disapproval and yet in circus we agree with the placard placement, for it is so important to make the statement.

(((((((talking to this guy, who left his life, and love, to travel, to find himself, and he was worried he would lose so much. constantly worried, like i was before... both feeling like we knew we were meant to be home, and yet both acknowledging that the trip was the right thing to do.)))))))))))))

They Call Him Crazy

They call him Crazy
He pleads guilty in action, although is not actively aware of the accusation.
So his pleas to the embassy fall on ears, distracted by fears.
We've heard the rumors and humored the haste and his unkempt face.
But with disrespect overlooked the innocence in his voice,
the possibility of pain behind the strangers' choice.
But they call HIM crazy.

I've been called such before, and almost lost myself before ressurection.
Hasn't the best of us, spent time pondering our own recollection?
Wasnt our inner darkness shattered by the surrounding light?
Yet we allow him to stand alone to his astounding fright.

They call him Crazy
He looks on while faces turn to mock, mitigating another mountain.
Those fortresses built high to barricade, from the impending raid.
We're locked out from his artistic bouts, on mute to his glorious flute.
And when we joke about his unsure future, past and present,
we miss the God-sent presents that he has, and we haven't.
but they call HIM crazy.


((((((this is specifically about a man I met at a hostel, who everyone wanted to be kicked out, because he scared them, but because they didnt listen they didnt know anything about him. How much are we missing, labeling people, hiding or supressing them? what gifts could be shared with the world?)))))