Uncategorized

More Audacious Hope

Senator Obama’s Audacity of Hope
ends with listing memories,
visual images,
that rekindle his love for this imperfectly united Place

For his Country,
this humane Habitat
for mutual care-giving,
and at least implies this is all he needs,
not yet all he hopes,
for mutual care-receiving.

His vocational visions
of cooperatively developing this Place
are common to cultures
across six of seven Continents,
inhabited by a healthy
and peace-intentional
People

People for restoring naturally cooperative justice,
not so much relying on retribution,
threat of punishment,
ruthless egotistic competitions,
with Win-Lose evolutionary assumptions
about this sacred Planet.

He runs along Washington’s Mall,
while remembering bakers baking bread,
and masons laying bricks and blocks
and Lincolns inaugurating good-faith speeches
and Kings gathering rainbows of good hope
while watching homeless men on benches
rearranging, endlessly, their possessions,
their bricks and blocks for survival,
without judgment or condemnation,
even if without understanding,
with gratitude,
basic positive attitude,
on each and every side.

For, if we do not have proof
those who are differently arranged
and languaged
and encultured
and flagged
than ourselves
are not doing their best,
are not filled with their portion of sacred cooperative grace
for developing this Place,
our spaces
interdependent
and in nondual dipolar relationship,
And who could know another’s Place
so intimately and vulnerably
to have such proof of mere malicious malingering,
shy of Gaian Earth HerSelves?

Then,
without proof of full will and full intent GoldenRule violations,
then we are ethically healthier
and aesthetically more satisfied
to continue in good faith,
We, and those around us,
of all ages
and genders
and cultures
and languages
and colors
and rhythms
and flags
share this grace-filled Place
sacred vocation.

To run through our Washington Malls
of mind and heart with exercising bodies,
Malls of historic healthy wealth development
remembering, with appreciation,
filling with gratitude,
for writers of democracy-growing unity Constitutions,
layers of trust-growing bricks and blocks,
singers of multiculturing faith,
dancers for MotherEarth’s sacred love
and beauty.

Our cooperative relationship with Earth,
and Earth’s diversely polyculturing Tribes,
does not grace us with more life and death
than we can handle satisfactorily,
aesthetically,
and usefully,
ethically,
and in good health,
morally and physically,
until S/He does,
and then we can try our best
to learn to sing
and dance
and co-empower,
to learn restoratively together,
or continue to degenerate
with retribution’s dark intents and purposes
apart.

Restoring democratic climates of health
is also absence of punishing climates of pathology.

Run through democracy’s Malls
for cooperative-growing unity
to run away from plutocracy’s Centers
for competing-punitive uniformity.

Standard
Uncategorized

Dear Donald Yet Again

Dear Donald,

Yes, George Washington was a slave owner.
He also wore a wig.

I suggest you adopt the latter,
and don’t worry quite so much about the former,
because we are not about to Just Say Yes
to becoming your colony of enslaved worker bees.

Or, you might just adopt George Washington’s haircut.
He didn’t bother with the comb-over.

Speaking of comb-overs,
What does the evil of George Washington legally owning people
reduced to economically valued property
have to do with a balanced global view of human rights and violent wrongs
in the year 2017,
heading toward anti-comb-over 2020 revisions?

I’ll take my answer off-line.
If I see you in a wig
I’ll know your answer is
EcoPolitically clueless about health as truth-wealth,
as usual.

OutRageously NotListening Yours,

Your HairDesigner Slave

Standard
Uncategorized

Another Nanny Walk

I already hear the Twittering Trumpers
and Trumpettes
in their unholy locker rooms
reducing the marching evolution of nurturing feminist matriarchs
to another whine,
too gooey,
shrill and screechy,
nagging nanny stroll away from True Patriarchal White Male empowerment.

Never minding Mother’s ecological sacred health
despite unfortunate economic risks of global holocaust pathologies
for our grandkids,
and their little sniveling co-dependent pets.

So let us not walk but march
in loud resonating silence.

Let us speak our claims for healthy presents
and pasts
and matriarchal networking
of and for cooperative future health investments,
yet also listen to our voiceless co-empathic silence,
together,
to gather all our therapeutic
iconic
MotherEarth powers of regeneration.

Let us both march through and around Washington’s squares,
yet also dance in twittering polypathic full-color circles
of sound
and color
and deep healthy ecosystemic nutritional sight.

Let us weep for impudent sons
competing for whom to grab next in smokey locker rooms,
yet also sing our anthems of multiculturing EarthMother love.

Let us lie down in deadly silent omission
of where our Business As Usual competing pathologies
will ominously unfold across each and every bicameral heart,
and also jump and shout our cooperative diastatic hopes,
polypathic faiths,
multiculturing loves
of health within
as without,
as humans
with divine MotherEarth;
ecotherapeutic potential
marching together,
not flying apart
to vote ever again
against Earth’s matriarchal potential for fully inclusive integrity.

Singing and dancing,
dreaming and listening,
marching in mutual mindful silence
until every sister
and her brother
remembers Never Again
Never Again
Never Again
will male supremacist locker room talk
prevail over matriarchal networks
of ecopolitically cooperative global health and safety.

EverMore
Matriarchs march
to conserve Earth’s healthy nurturing progress.

NeverAgain
mere competitions for Electoral College majorities.
EverMore
cooperative economic ecologos of Matriarchal EnWombed Collegiality,
nutritionally enriched consensus.

NeverAgain
conservative matriarchs
not also progressive feminists
for Earth’s political health
as polypathic multicultural full-spectrum safety,
primally known in and through Mother’s Sacred Womb
of interdependent diastasis,
cooperative permaculturing climax.

EverMore
Twitterish Trumpers are left too egocentrically behind,
balding blond old white rugged rough-rider men
without the Elder Wisdom their mothers and great grandmothers
could Full through New Moon share light with them
outside their smoke-filled emptying night timed echoing tombs
of cancerous LeftBrain Dominant klanish locker rooms.

Never Again
Never Again
speak of underpaid undernourished nagging Nanny Walks
as if each Nanny
were not also our Mother’s sacred Sisters,
marching where our patriarchal footprints of history
would healthier fall
to rise Earth’s nurture within-without again.

Standard
Uncategorized

Thomas The Jefferson’s Train

In my dream
Thomas Jefferson pops out a pilgrim
in The Jeffersons family,
proprietors of Chinese laundries
on the worst end of Main Street’s forested path
emerging toward Sanford Sons and Daughters Recycling Dump.

Here, midst polyglot stone soups
both informing and deforming,
occasionally reforming,
Thomas declares revolutionary interdependence with Earth’s dignity
as his senior honor’s thesis
read out boldly to collegial students
teaching cultural enrichment,
hoping for autonomic network surges
of WinWin political ecological outcomes.

Thomas, sometimes called Red behind his considerable backside,
discovered repurposing as economic thesis
and recovering recycling paths of golden intentions
as political antithesis
of terrorist fascist Christians
who had hoped to grow up
to join SuperJewish kibbutzisms
which was merely a more high-toned reference
to the pilgrim’s village recycling crashdump
of at-risk people looking for more inviting places
with sufficient space
for the entire upstairs-downstairs Jefferson Tribe
of Arabic DayDream stews
and stud muffins.

When Red heard young Thomas hoped to revive Taoist MidWays
all along pilgrim’s Main Street sonnets and plays
he prayed to Martha Washington
“My heart, my heart,
I could not survive such empire deconstruction!”

Somehow SuperHero Thomas the Jeffersonian Train
regenerated a multicultural chain of fools
to revolve this foxy precycling plant
into a MidWay forest of sweet and sour bodhisattva delights,
currency accepted up as down MidWay’s carnival street
in Jefferson’s NoShirtTicket-NoLaundryService busy mess
of humanity deforming Earth’s Rights
to procreate recreation of poli-econormic education,
schools of synchronic swimming Red Jeffersonian fish
remembering how to pilgrim surf thru interracial plowing seasons
to turn out hot melting stone soup feasts
of uniting nation futures
invested in laundering unhealthy wealth
until Thomas redreamed rainbow cream.

As Thomas this Jefferson Train
pulled away from wu wei pilgrimage station,
he called out to all repurposing Foxes,
Merry CoMessiahs to all nations
and states of recycling benighted dreams.

Now there’s a good night’s sleep
you’ll never address backward inside-out again.

Standard