Uncategorized

Trumpian Walls of Fear

In a land where campaign threats
have been recast as mandated promises,
where pathological divestments
are reinvented as healthy investments,
a green cry goes out

Historians,
please help us out here!
How did Mr. Hitler gain unilateral powers for war-mongering investments
of Germany?
Do I recall something about declaring a national emergency?

Which actually was an international emergency
of his own fascist leadership making

I wonder if there were any more Germans
foaming at the mouth to build a nationalistic wall of soldiers
and armaments,
paid for with their own cooperatively intended taxes
and regulatory fees
and blood
and tears lost
during loss of life
in World War One,
than is the U.S. case today

In the USA,
where compassionate boundary issues
have Trumpian infested all Green Commonsense,
that man-made social and language boundaries,
walls,
are economically and ecologically best resolved
through establishing more diversely rich robust webs
of economic/ecological cooperation,
humbly acknowledging we are all on Earth together
or about to tear Earth’s climates of health
monoculturally elitist apart.

White patriarchal fascism is a national emergency
already declaring narcissistic war on what’s left
of the U.S. and U.N. compassionate co-investments
in health care climates,
domestic and international,
internal and external,
personal and political,
economic and ecological.

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Uncategorized

Don’t Tell Me Why We’re Waiting

My favorite radio show
is Wait…Wait, Don’t Tell Me!
on NPR near you.

But, it has bothered me,
over the years,
a snagging voice in sign-off background,
threatening the host will see me again next week,
as if that was the answer we had awaited,
and so hoped he would not tell us.

Why does he lie to me?
Deliberately or otherwise?
Did he not notice his is a radio show?
Isn’t the point that I don’t have to go anyplace
to be seen?
Nor need I look in his direction
to enjoy his show and tell.

This untruth could be like Ray Charles
telling his audience he will see them next time.
Either an embarrassing mistake
or a revolutionary news story
so dryly understated
it went almost without saying to his death.

Although at least he might truthfully say:
I will smell you with your money again next week,
or even hear you.
Although with Ray
I think my hearing point
would be the other way around.

Why not the truth?
We’ll be back again next week,
same time,
same station.

A little traditional.
Perhaps a twitch of self-promotion.
But, at least not an outright threatening misconception.

Which got me thinking
about how I kept hearing Trump’s campaign promises
as both personal and environmental threats
for way bad climates to continue
on all of these tired stations,

And whether he now has any idea
that each time he reminds us
of what a great job he and his beloved are doing
and please tune in again next week,
we continue hearing that as menacing reassurance
that he is insanely unattached,
detached in absence from,
unavailable for processing
how scary we find his anti-healthy outcome standards
for public sector administrative leadership performance,
usually more WinWin,
and considerably less about covering one’s own
Win some-Lose some
private bought and sectored butt.

I’m not so sure he’s doing such a good job
compared to,
well,
most any processor of information
of any multiculturing species
including those who claim they saw and actually listened to me
again last week
about how his comedic success both promises
and reassures us
of further tragic despair
as I think and feel what’s already not left of healthy wealth
for my own special needs and opportunities kids
trying to live in healthing climates,
and not quite so much pathologizing,
who may not reassure anyone
about what a great job they are doing
taking care of even themselves,
but that is honest;
this family is about and for transparent integrity.
At least we know when we’re sucked up
to by psycho-phantic
‘non-political’
moneychasing machines,
more mindful of badnews robotics
than goodnews gospel teachers.

We will also not be fooled into believing
we can be seen and heard by a public sector self-promoter
just because he threatens to come back again next week
to do this same monoculturing elitist thing again
that we know has only one-badway happened truthfully,
same time,
same sad and not quite true
yet still
kinda funny
spacetime NPR station

Playing
Wait Wait,
Don’t Tell Me
public sectors can’t really quite see private ears,
can you?
despite all our weeks
of mindfully listening
to our tragic comedy
threats as promises
together?

 

 

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Uncategorized

Listening For God

Among the Potawatomi
they speak of Yawe,
dynamic being,
integrity,
perpetuating interdependence
within this whole Earth system.

Among the Israelites
they only reverently spoke of YHWH,
again integrity
continuous historic interdependent perpetuation
within and between languaged fissures
of empty non-being.

Among the Taoists
again dynamic integrity
dipolar co-arising Yang embedded strong relationships,
exegetically stored and restored
between empty Yin fissures of non-becoming,
notnot yet imagined
exformational absence
aptic
potentially synaptic.

Among Buddhists
dynamic zen integrity
dipolar co-arising
Interdependent Earth
within and between Universal Empty Zero
basic non-being spaces
notnot imaged
yet diastatic places potentiating.

Among still communicating Christians,
they listen for YHWH’s
richly dense and resonant love
again integrity
perpetuating cooperative inductive-dominant interdependence
within this whole Earth climate
of mutual subsidiary systems
between universal language networks
for centering polypathic journeys
from and of and toward and away from seasons zen zero,
absence of integrity’s regenerate Promise,
notnot yet imaged polypaths
of Yawe.

Dynamic becoming,
integrity of nutritional values,
perpetuating healthy interdependence
within Earth’s (0)-sum
whole WinWin network of
Promise
Wonder
CoOperating Awe
EgoEco-Consciousness.

I Am
We Are Becoming
through cracks in patriarchal stasis.

 

 

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Summer’s Stormy Move

It started the 8th of June

moving away from too familiar

into too alien,

finding no sane oasis between.

 

Vibrant greens relentlessly fade

to wilting monochromatic drought.

Brown patches emerge with dulled loss

of what might have been a family

an ecological home

a pasture for aging bones,

hinky synapses flaring tornadoes

of heated defeat.

 

Boxes realign themselves

incomprehensibly hiding any value

in their move

from what could have been here

if not left there

where fading memories survive

my loss of presence.

 

Bags batter

bursting malignant neglect.

Chairs no longer fit

for seating hot tempers

of displaced despair.

Dust defecates destiny.

 

A house that should be home

to those grateful for its care;

downsizes redemptive purgation

into shrinking violence,

invisible,

screaming silent strangling sensory strings

slipping

sparkling vents glaring

glacially through stagnant July.

 

Then,

early evening spills thick black.

Tall elder treetops sway

with hope of cathartic wildness,

drama of release

from petulant

radiant

hot.

 

Lightning rolls in thunderous waving walls

and back again in falling grace drops.

Transition storms

through pilgrim soul’s discontented purgatory

in space without place

house without home

faith without hope

place with cavernous time,

mindful without passion.

 

Earth’s sky roars dark wet flashy passion.

Wild yeast superlatively shredding domesticated culture’s skin,

bleaching dark passions from dry-cracked crevices.

 

“Abatement is not removal!”

wild Wicked cackles demented delight.

“If transitions were regenetic

then nomads would rule,

pilgrims would land in paradise estates

with coincidental karmic confidence.”

 

The storm abates,

drought removed.

Thunder claps farewell.

Brief time

now

search evening’s rainbow

before hazing horizon

rolls over light’s last gasp.

As night promises peace,

Thunder cracks and shakes one last reminder.

Serenity is not always sanity.

 

Promise smiles teardrops

on hot tin roofs.

 

 

 

 

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