block on block
up one
knock after knock
up another two
talk on talk
stones into temples
one way we walk
trying to somehow fly
diagrams scratched out
so much colourful chalk
hop scotch for little ones
tall people and little folk
striving for upwards
dreamy times when we woke
we saw it was downwards
spirals with wheel spokes
one thought binding
taken abruptly to another
viral thinking is like finding
predestined forests of ancient oak
one block at a time
hopefully as we build
one era after another
we won't just choke
evoking line after line
like some sweeping vine
hedge work and handy work
ultimately by some divine
giant people and simple folk
improving what is
yours and mine
block upon block
civil is the real sign
sometimes I think
it's muck on muck
not much understanding
compounding what is base
so good luck
to us one and all
good luck
who face such yuck
so good luck
sometimes we're stuck
good luck
so if we must surrender
with all our hard luck
we'll find life
can still be tender
if only we can decide
we're safely unstuck
so block on block
building things up
towards an imminent sky
deciding we need to stare down
when things are amok
decide to refit gems
from creation's golden crown

                     * * *

 

once around the block
Vancouver's inner city
you've seen it all doc
what else is there
besides domestic pity
up and down the alleys
sometimes if you dare
through a homeless valley
past carousing fentanyl
count that terrible tally
such an arousing mental plea
hope is merely a concept
nothing concrete really
just a laughable precept
passing through
valleys of desperation
city places
where everything
is doom and gloom
beyond consternation
a hapless void my friend
a helpless place of indignation
if only God could
rein in evil's instigation
replace prediction
without condition
advise some healing medication
perhaps a garden still could grow
instill the self with predilection
be still the wounding pain
that so many broken folk
live with drastic homelessness
devil fentanyl a constant foe

                   * * *

 

so fallen angels
if there is resurrection
wings to fly us home
some new direction
like a prayer and a poem
admittance after insurrection
simply dying alone
control after dysfunction
samples of some after tone
craftsmanship with that distortion
everything and then there is none
twisting reality into relative information
some duality with collective donations
can you imagine how it feels
determining destinations
what if we are damaged
what if we just can't heal
still there is an inclination
some of us want to resist
try to see beyond some magic seal
why must we insist
that trauma and tragedy are real
perhaps our dreams
could remake our world
perhaps it only seems
heaven and hell is what we heard
in reality we're just fallen angels
trying to grow cosmic feathers
wanting to learn to truly fly
there must be so many angles
what we see is low or high
what we know is do and try
blowing like the colour of the wind
some of us will laugh
some will cry
hoping for resurrection
praying that we never die
wanting to balance where we've been
trying to see where we're going
hoping to grow wings
so we can fly home
amongst those directional things
speaking inspirational prayers
dreaming spiritual poems

                   * * *

 

regent saguaro stand guard
extravagant like well suited CEO's
karma that exists with Presidents
ocotillo warned me off
all those deep residents
resistant in their holes
excavating land and other incidents
at night this place is rockin
something this thorny space has meant
complacent therapy with look who's talkin
what next will surreal God invent
more sacred sage brush
petroglyphs etched on sandstone that is forming
there is rational intent
reconstructing this world
from what it was formerly
structure is instructively unfurled
frustrating and maybe tormenting
more thorn and less natural curl
a recipe of leaves and burrs fomenting
perhaps rare chemicals
will solve resentment
what the earth is hurling
to remain solvent
perhaps repentant
things must evolve
survival is the only incentive
in the rivalry of desert
there is no joy or love
only consentual nature
warming to the very idea
of all this desert push and shove

                    * * *

 

when I'm upside down
when I've skewed
wearing a desperate frown
something needs to be renewed
maybe a poetic trip to town
I need to be refueled
something nourishing and upscaled
not just diminishing and down
stimulate me with numbers
encourage me with words
let me see beyond shadows and umbras
let one solar disc reveal its mystic crown
let dislocated armies disband
lay down bloody swords
live peace instead of allocating war
let's say we've been shown
already an intriguing light
beyond an esoteric veil
maybe with enlightenment
we'll finally find
we have spiritually grown
navigating swirl and swale
like bolts of lightning
welding spots of different kinds
static throughout electric divinity
indifferent to lightning's incivility
thus there is mobility
virtue in being upside down
if we feel skewered
something trying to tear us down
something needs to be reviewed
maybe a bolt of lightning
wielding a golden crown

                * * *

 

I don't want to be tortured
by your cathedrals and your politics
I'm seeking permission from God
helping me remove those broken bits
help me to be divinely nurtured
suturing myself so my parts properly fit
this befitting imagery of clump and clod
an earthy soddy steady on a grassy plain
so I wait for modest summer rain
something falling from a plaintive sky
giving me strength and wisdom enough
to not just grow
but also to cry
it's that level of suffering
where we truly need
something less tough
it's that something which roughly
would be more than enough

                    * * *

 

that quietus day you left
that day I died inside
that day clouds repented
that resentful day
when love turned a corner
down some distant street
try resistance one might say
then the former
comes to mind
I lay down that ash filled day
after all the fires
were extinguished
retiring all the love
after all the spirit
relinquished verbal love
retaining quiescent soul
I don't admire myself
maintaining this covert kit
something deep inside
died the day you left
something tragic broke my heart
just too much pain and angst
so I lay there quiet and bereft
hopeless we remain so far apart

                    * * *

 

those feathers
I want to know
so I can soar and fly
those sacred seeds
I want to sow
so goodness and truth
will sprout and grow
lifting us all high up
those eagle eyes
I want to see through
beyond the ethereal sky
so I can witness
all that divinity
where real truth lies
something in my soul
needs to travel and soar
high over peaks of tall mountains
where beauty and truth bless us
affording a better view of the world
take in all those mystical hues
being amongst even so much more
this life we're living
these ultimate breaths we take
giving us a chance
so we find ourselves
for our own blessed sake
just like the sacred sun
giving us all this life
just like sacred water
quenching our thirsty lives
opening our worthy hearts
so we are grounded
becoming more able
always finding our way
to lofty heaven from down to earth
all those sacred songs we sing
keeping us on an even keel
helping us to be compassionate and well
helping us to lead good lives that are bountiful and stable
so over all our mounting years
we discover how to truly be
divine people that are truly healed
those people can be you and me

                     * * *

 

if only sweet love
could somehow surmount
boundaries and obstacles
those obstinate things
dividing hearts and lives
all that separation brings
souls chained to pain and loss
if only cherished love
would become a hallowed fount
astounding marked by resounding miracles
binding loving hearts and lonesome lives
finding graceful souls and real joy
enjoying lasting happiness
if only magical love
would heal all our bleeding wounds
could mend our broken hearts
repair our severed lives
restore our feeling souls
rejoice with a blessed view
invite celestial love
let joyous live there too 

                * * *

 

when we can't fix things
things that are painfully wrong
pulling at all those loose strings
discordant chords to an unfinished song
maybe it's just broken me
existing in a place where I don't belong
lost in a mystically flustered world
where I just don't clearly see
you might say things
like onerous cruelty unfurled
I might do foolish things
that seem twisted and untrue
still I'm marked for destruction
I know my heart is a depressing blue
if I could see clearly in my dreams
if I could be cheery and magnificent too
maybe my soul would find a way
perhaps even let me live life as you do
if I could only feel love
maybe I'd finally want to stay
remembering how it felt
when we were together
recalling those sweet things
we both used to say
but when I feel nothing
knowing I am always alone
wishing there was something
give me one reason to try to atone
but the anxious moon
sees me feeling nothing
while the brutal sun burns me
right through my skin
right down to my bones
if I could only rise up
crawl out of my deep lonely grave
if I could grow feathers and wings
gently flutter skyward and fly far away
if my soul could somehow be saved
maybe I'd find a reason why
to tell my old self some truth
take back all my childhood lies
perhaps then I'd be moved
to think and feel again
if life only let me try
but somehow I feel unloved
when I wake from my difficult dreams
even when I dream of a peaceful white dove
when I open my eyes it so often seems
I lay there alone and just want to cry
I lay there in pain and alone
just wondering when will I die

                       * * *

 

on the hazy horizon
a crazed Angel of death
rising before our very eyes
what prayer must be said
when that last lazy day arrives
when everything just stops
sudden revelation followed by incineration
like cumulative self-immolation
assume churches and mosques and temples
scorched and burned alive by that Angel
angry death raising its fatal fist
there is no immediate consolation
tearing all the life from Mother Earth
peeling us all like a Rosicrucian onion
revealing each and every weeping layer
as if appealing for restitution from God
if Creator God truly cared
this Angel would not be here nor there
if our Creator held to some human creed
all that is sacred would be shared
replacing hatred and terminal greed
if another holocaust wasn't so near
would shallow prayers truly be heard
what hollow prayers would even be said
if credence be truly given
perhaps truth would become clear
but hatred and greed are alive
living and breathing together
evil revelatory with one overwhelming cheer
like a fire breathing dragon
so disruption remains fixed here
rigid corruption at the very head
incorrigible bravery will not matter
instead fortitude and faith will be dead
for that forthright Angel of death
holds fire in those ethereal hands
behold those esoteric prophets
listening to those heretic criers
shouting voluminous warnings
culminating in fire and thunder
booming over so many entombed lands
when the gates of looming hell
are so arrogantly flung open
so surreal fantasy land
comes bearing fruition
tuition for wrack and ruin
unlike fruition of some wonderland
so many hoped for
but still some grand fairy tale
illuminated as if fairy tales
mirrored real life
instead real scary tales
reflecting all those entail
as that luminescent Angel of death
arrives wielding divinity's killing knife
stripping away arrogance and stolen wealth
with outright power and unimaginable stealth

                            * * *

 

so you think you're possessed
something deep inside you
rising up because you feel oppressed
are you one or two
so you feel you're possessed
one body with two minds
maybe you're just obsessed
look around yourself until you find
possession is 9/10ths of the law
if your soul's repossession is heartfelt and kind
perhaps you'll see that things can be incessantly raw
and that possession you are convinced of
is partly soul and partly mind
so with true concessions
you'll likely find
that depression defined by true confessions
can be that demon speaking deep inside you
thoughts and words wanting to get outside of you
because of what indiscretion always finds
deep inside your mind and soul
where everything is lost then found
ultimately we're chained to life and living
which is every demon's penultimate goal

                         * * *

 

everything appeared streaky
streaked middle ground
streaking undergrowth and ground cover
streakiness everywhere
even Heaven and Hell were streaked
streakiness causing confusion
places and things
all streaked with desire
strange thing about streaky
every which way seems to be freaked out
freakiness is like that streakiness
always twisted out of shape
non-conformist
continuously deformed
most often bleak
even terrifying
never performing
difficulty reforming
streaky thoughts
streaked vision
hearing all streaked with distortion
all this streakiness
admittance of some grim disturbance
disturbing beyond comprehension
every dimension streaked and smeared
when everything is smeared and blurry
who can possibly find their way
say we found a way
wiping away at least some of that streakiness
perhaps even enough for some clear view
even further remove
all that bleak streakiness
go as far as breaking the primordial mirror
suddenly there are no streaks or reflection
only one way left to go
some clear direction
where we all can see
a 360 view with that correction
instantly we are enlightened
no longer confused and frightened
Heaven and Hell are even brighter
the very sky seems brilliantly lighter
we feel more resilient
breathing easier
our chests are less tight
our messed up thoughts are freed up
less angst in our lives
existence without fighting
in sight some contrite purity
everything good and sacred
now that we've cleared away
all that streakiness
we are naked
naked but not afraid
every steep grade
becoming more level
we're no longer disheveled
there is still an edge
but instead of steep it's beveled
so God help us
take away our streaky dreams
even if it seems impossible
those places that once were impassable
because suddenly we have wings
soaring above and far beyond
leaving all those streaked and bleak ways behind us
entreating our enriched souls
to take us even past the stars
to that place humankind always seeks
but we must remain humble and even meek
finding that magic in our lives
those things that mystery and mystical always seem to hide
that realm where we can confide in God
odd how streakiness compels us
our hopes for a clear vision
us humans wanting something good and true
perhaps if we learn to lift the blinding veil
so we can clearly think and see and do
then all that streakiness will disappear
maybe there is happiness and joy in something new
what should we think
what should we do
wipe away all that streakiness in our lives
greet each day with true adoration
share the world like we knew
that blessed sacredness
is what our Creator meant
for both me and you

                 * * *

 

gathering medicine
roots and herbs
gifts from Mother Earth
I ask for her blessings
power and healing
everything that is worth
this headiness
I find myself in
ready to believe
that sacredness
does exist
this mindfulness
of medicine and power
where heedfulness
deconstructs Babel's tower
I mindfully talk and pray
with those roots and plants
purity I readily gather
listening for each herb's mystic story
imagining great healing and even magic
resplendence with their sacred herbal glory

                    * * *

 

independence day
or something other
dependent upon
big brother
those things
some lost and gone
one belief and ultimate faith
cumulatively taken away
mutant politics with cruel strings
only one blatant way
some always say
mortars landed
boom boom boom
tanks withstand it
three dead soldiers
all right handed
five wounded
war commands it
down the road
bereft scared villagers sit
grunts in their fatigues hunting
M16's and their battle kit
a stern Viet woman cooks rice
inside the hut those guilty
farmers and left wing locals sit
outside foreign grunts hunt VC
inside simple huts
children looking scared
as frightened women fret
sergeant notices and he cares
that big pot of cooking rice
enough to feed a dozen men he'd bet
lieutenant orders a closer search
in and out and behind
grunts poke around
seek and ye shall find
to surely see what they get
surly corporal notices a hidden hole
burly sergeant orders a soldier
flip the furrow lid
expose that bamboo net
grunts fire their M16's
empty two mags
into the deep dark pit
sergeant and corporal
toss in two grenades
frightened women
crying children still sit
boom and boom with obvious doom
smoke and dirt fly
from that earthen crypt
lieutenant orders a teenage soldier
jump into that smoking shit
firing his M16 down a dark tunnel
at the ready grunts with their deadly war kit
soldiers haul out nine bloodied corpses
lay them out as scared villagers still quietly sit
soldiers wait to see which women
rise up to break down
over each dead VC git
lieutenant orders his men
down the country road again
to see what they get
all eyes and M16's at the ready
scanning green rice paddies
just in case there are waterborne VC yet
lieutenant radios command
ten minutes later two screaming jets
soldiers turn to view the land
oblong bombs fall right on target
napalm exploding into fiery balls
bits and pieces with those fire brands
old men women and children is what they get
blown to fiery hell
some still alive scream and yell
the country village is obliterated
out on the Tonkin sea two roaring jets
landing on an aircraft carrier
like a vengeful dream
caught by the ship's safety net
another successful foray
hunt and destroy mission
war with all its blood and glory
viciousness is what we get
an independence day story
sordid politics and morbid war
what the resplendent world gets

                     * * *

 Haiku Monday

in the big picture

everything is destroyed

one final gasp left

       * * * 

game of life and death

you can't trust anybody

nothing but danger

       * * * 

damn damn damn damn damn

this crazy world we live in

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

       * * * 

chop back the jungle

carve order out of chaos

manicure your life

       * * *  

borders separate

over time fences fall down

sunrise continues

       * * *

 

those homeless streets
hopelessness dwells there
disgrace in some outdoor prison
concretion of a peaceful mind
that migratory city space
where all the birds have flown away
I saw Jesus walking there
Satan secreting close behind
open doors have closed there
if the freedom we craved ruled
if rapture bravely walked
those sordid streets
if more of us just dared to care
perhaps every drug and viral jungle
would eventually be left behind
that crowd of slave and prisoner
a penchant for proud flesh rotting off
truthful inner city misery they're in
roaming in profusions of naked
hand in hand with homelessness
where nothing beneficial or penitent grows
creature limbs mysteriously decay
where faith and sentimental love
propensity for joy falls away
such detrimental ancient history
contentious minions and humans
we with our two legged adventures
when we get where we want
that getting most often
ruins so many beautiful features
when we get where we need
like pure water and adequate housing
some flourishing with nourishing feed
our ghoulish selves might not live on
when life is foolishly undernourished
homeless and thirsty and starved
spoils of replenished garbage
tossed into filthy streets
might actually seem
like a generously friendly thing
trending in unfriendly places
where homeless people meet
picking through discards and leftovers
sad storied people inhabit
those tragically sorry streets
forced by homeless thought
fed by hard drug habits
where did Jesus go
I thought he was there
saving lost souls
Satan is there
searching for fools
stalking lost ghouls
demons shall certainly steal
even more than a few
life just isn't fair
drugs and drug dealers
don't ever care
those inner city blues
blowing pollution and smoke
up society's perverted ass
that one big inverted city rule
something hurtfully converted
tragically a nothing new stage
society's magical is forgotten
formulas of physics and chemistry
compounded in this trying day
confounded in this bent age
street life and homelessness
seems so damn crass
populated by this modern
fentanyl and leper class

                 * * *

 

out in the street
halfway down town
there is that big
red bargain store
plainly on the busy
remaining corner place
where street folk
hang and meet
groups of this
scenes that rhyme
homelessness and fentanyl
with such sad stories to tell
concealed in every alley
retelling revealing stories
compelling mischief and vicious crime
conspicuously out front
those poncy fonts of colour
right under niggling lights
where fidgeting sorts
short skirted gidget girls
stuck on digital phones
while some rigid
men and women walk
others strut and shine
zombie drug addicts
stumbling they fall
all that sombre litter
beneath buried excess trash
ranks of has been and still green
pompous plastic garbage bags
elastic stuffed up with rags
used against roughed up curbs
tough things and graffiti walls
it seems drugs and crime
leave a muggy grime
tidbits of fatal art
installations and exhibits
trepidation in every city
those inner city streets
bearing a tragic beck
harried by some worrisome call
those Shenzhen prostitutes
giggling and wriggling
teasing in skin tight shorts
wearing revealing halter tops
smoking long hot cigarettes
stoked in their skimpy thongs
broken by their weary wrongs
altered with cheerless bling to sell
weaving through scary street hell
hurry further up town
more flurry and scurvy finance
sometimes scurrilously known
wearing just another down trodden frown
some nominal place for example
trifling sites in the city of Lvov
eleven year old boys
swirling and twirling around
dancing and freely prancing
those scamps on cemented city steps
inventively playing and swinging
revolving around black lamp posts
those young tramping boys
cramped beside their ample mother's
displaying their disappointment
slaying life with plastic rainbows
bearing brother's machine gun toy
listen and watch all that taunting
haunting ways and perilous ploys
distant war and those fearless boys
not so coy with their machine gun toys
real gangsters fire bristling bullets
overtly hunting and hurting
inculcating big city stories
youngsters living with their plastic ways
ask what is morally adjunct
there are homeless people
trapped in a drunken funk
there are those fallen gangsters
stuffed into bloodied trunks
there are those far away places
that have more immoral stories to tell
incensed with chills and storied hearing
gory frightful sights and horrid smells
there are those frittered faces
fettered by drugs on Kensington street
not so sweet in down home Philly
a dilly of an immoral story pal
then those good-natured nomads
traveling the Kalahari and Serengeti
what mirror's grounded herdsmen
in every astounding desert zone
far from that broken city tone
once upon a token time
most coping folk had a home
living with some real hope
treating big city headaches
knowing recipes for remedial remedies
still there are distrusted enemies
infringed with marks in city streets
encrusted within busted up nature
living as most frustrated people do
warring over water and soil
perhaps there are places
realms that are even hotter
still there must be
some safe places
where people escape war and toil
almost safe seems a modern wonder
oddly sleeping and dreaming
while outside it's storms and thunder
no wonder the world is a performing mess
so many conform to poverty
so much big city stress
all those haves and have-nots
often pressed with morbid slurry
places void of meat and potatoes
what things hurriedly brought people
dwelling in those upset spots
most driven by personal distress
trumped and stumped by social shock
escaping dangerous plots of this and that
living in corrupted city streets
most are probed and ice cold
some are doped and burning hot
most have hopeless nightmares
full of razors and a switch blade knife
terror and horror is all they've got
their indiscreet outdoor life
crushed by daily harm and relentless defeat

                           * * *