DisOrdered Sons and Fathers

May all sacred,
but not quite omnipotent,
fathers learn this day
as we impatiently correct
our stress-disordered sons

That respect is earned,
so maybe disrespect is too
positive and negative layered
for and against authority
for and sometimes restlessly against
repeating Business As Usual
white middle-class dadisms:

You snooze
you lose

May apply to your lethargic
chronically anxious
cannabis-fed son

And yet feels counter-intuitive
for babies
and us great grandads
who need our outside rest
away from commercial
too lit up
and loud
and relentlessly plastic
inhumane degradations

In such a rabidly anxious hurry
to wait for inevitable pandemics
and genocide,
forest fires
dry river beds

Taking a snooze
feels like a healthy alternative to:

capitalist narcissism
anthropocentric monotheism
monoculturing nationalism
painful survivalist isolation
demented diseases
species extinctions

safety and defense-oriented males
on a bad day
in a depressing moment

yackity yack disrespectful
feeling privileged to rightwing exclusively define
“real [and not indefensively stupid] men.”

Yet quietly hiding
under these sacredly respected
and secular unrespectful unsuspecting layers
of diverse manhood hues and cues
and patriarchal cultures

Capital invested climates
prefer cooperative integrity
over dormant faith-based respect
and creatively traumatic disrespect
and unenlightened
stress-triggered unrespect

Desecrating sacred solidarity feelings
learned today
as synergetic need/want supportive
communication systems
sometimes impatiently correcting
my pre- and post-traumatic
stress disordered father


Chill Dillen

Are you ready to greet
this new day, Dillen?

To get up off your
couch-chilled feet,
to bring new warm meanings
to life lived without deadly restraint
embraced with sparse complaint
to repurpose all our favored ways
and means for chillin

Are you ready
to give up all ego-fattening strategies
to hardly survive
the WhiteMan’s rage
raving consumer competitions

Are you ready
to gratefully engage
all EarthTribes
cooperatively willin

To take
and make
and rake
and shake
and bake
this day’s new choice cake

not fake
for thrillin

All who meet you feelin
you, our fully engaged
young Black American son,
the only one
Earth brings forth
for this still perfect multicolored day,
chill Dillen.


Sleeping with Devilish Angels

My non-languaged son sleeps with angels
by night,
swimming sometimes erotic exotic
running free of AFOs and walker
dreams of past multiculturing lights
and warm glow-voiced richness.

What could it mean to him
to sleep with devils by day,
poking and teasing,
singing and dancing,
inviting his attention and participation
across his bedroom floor,
breathing in his syntaxed-ear
to say

I love you,
as life our abundantly nutritious self

My son can hear this perfect love as life.
We should all become such
wise listeners of
Internal warm nutrition voices
as mutually-held External warm light
contenting ecoconsciousness.

My son would become a Bodhisattva Messiah,
were he capable of maturing images of memory patterned landscapes
as less than already fully diastatic
Beloved Community of Angels by Night,
DNA/RNA Earth-Holonic BeLonging Community
of Cooperative-Contented EcoPolitical Family
by Day.

Now if the rest of us
could just catch what he has,
in part
because we feel free to return
his open-handed love as co-empathic presence,
what a remarkably wonderful cooperative world
we would remember to see
each time we look at,
and listen carefully to,
a human mindbody tree
as another bicamerally
economic ecosystemic
ecologically nutritious
doing the best I can
given the compost I have to work with,


January’s Dark Light

Dear Sacred Son,

I realize this feels like a Win-Lose
New Game Year,
with you as “Loser”
and so it is,
a self-fulfilling prophecy
equally as powerful
as if you could find a way to choose
this as a Win-Win Game
opportunity, with only shorter term risks likely,
with you as CoWinner
and so it would be,
your new year self-fulfilling prophetic resolution.

January strikes each new year with tough love
messages everywhere you see time’s cold harsh claw
fang of Lose-Lose angry threat of fears,
self and other hatred
of political and economic
and personal and familial hypocrisies,
thinking we might ever Win through trying
Love’s narrow path
between Angry memories
and their foreshadowing winterish dark Fear
of freezing death.

Especially true, perhaps,
without Advent advantage of more positively waiting
in elational CoMessianic Expectation
during December,
hosting Winter’s Solstice
Transition from Win-Win new year expectation
into Lose-Lose ego pay-it-forward investment
in eco-health and therapy
by divesting of Ego v. Eco SuperCompetitive Pathology.

Even, if not especially,
in cold freezing heart of January,
it feels good and warm to remember Present EcoPresence,
Interior Landscape as cold, cold Exterior Winter Landscape
of dipolar revolution
toward Summer’s Win-Win regenerative wealth maturation,
whether incarnate or no longer,
either way,
this year is likely to get much better
within six months,
before things start to shake down
for the next round.

Perhaps it helps to imagine your Interior Landscape
as already experiencing July’s warm climaxing Beloved Community,
worshiping together in verdant gardens and fields,
or just sitting in front of any RealTime old-rooted tree
or sublimely octaved unfolded flower,
or imagining the beauty of human bicamerally unfolding
eco-centric balancing temporal-neural nature
and culture
and iconic language patterns and rhythms,
and information and bicameral communication systems,
and history of science and psychology and ecology and evolution,
and then a nap

As warm radiant light
baptizes me in cosmic atmospheric bright
drifting toward another January sunny afternoon,
Interior Landscaping for Win-Win EcoPlay.

Your Always Loving, but also Retiring,



Sharing Challenged Selfies

Thx so much for sharing.


It is good to step into Dysfunction’s eyes

when we were apart,

perhaps to see him for a second

as one who has not met him,

and fall in love with his perfection once again.



to recognize this one

as cherished part of you,

and us,

still enraptured with his presence.


RE:  Daquan, my son,

physically blind,

unable to speak,

metaphysically complete perfection

singing fine songs,

dreaming compelling stories

of nightflight’s present futures.

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/member_area/submit_poems.aspx