Road trip in U.S.A -work in progress

Here With The Birds

Today I am here -in Wisconsin.  Daughter is with family in Michigan

I sit and listen to the robins in their nest.  The babies get so excited

when their mom and dad comes back to the nest to puke up worms

into their ugly little beaks.

Husband is at work.  I’m making angel food cake

My house smells sweet.  It smells like my grandma’s house

I plan on making a salad.  I bought green leafy things.

My house is clean.  I am going to have too much angel food cake

Can I freeze it?

The woman under my kitchen sink tells me to drink a beer or a glass of scotch

She says, “What the hell do you expect – no one cares how good you cook.  Mop bitch.”

And laugh she does with her whole body until she coughs and sighs and sighs some more.

Tough Choices

Tough Choices

The dishes need to be done

the laundry    the beds   vacuum

the mopping

Always something pressed in the spine

I am told by the man under my table.

Remember that day when we got together and grilled

in the backyard?  Right before dark we lit a fire and sat

around eating and drinking. There were hamburgers

and salads.  Cheese and bread.  Red potatoes with

garlic and onions -a dash of parsley.

There was music.  Someone had a guitar.

We ran out of songs and so we had to make

up new ones.  My face hurt the next day

when we hugged good bye.

Random Niceties

It is nice to know

there are humans still on planet

earth even though they

are destroying it

The fact they are here

and can destroy it

is fun dada poetry

Dry Your Eyes –There Is Work To Do

In the city of normal

with the gentle light

of dusk and the blossoms

of the flowers’ waft  sweet

aroma

-

I had a conversation

which led to the conclusion

when I am walking

on the sidewalk I should

not move my lips when

there is no one in arms

reach

-

I wondered what it is like

to be tricked and kidnapped

sold as a slave in postmodern

day United States of America

and if by chance you got to

watch some news or reality TV

I wondered how pissed

off a person gets when

you realize the land

of the free and the home

of the brave is a giant

john that doesn’t

care how you landed

on a dime in some dirt’s

riding place

-

or  perhaps you get

to watch some popular

children’s program

and say,  you are a child

I wondered how bad

it hurts to have

no one and to be

repeatedly raped and afraid

to breathe out

while other kids are begging

for candy bars and complaining

about homework

or an early bed time

-

Sometimes I think

there is a miracle out there

-the thing that makes a person

want survival

even though their life is

horrible and awful

-

but most of the time

I’m too confused to wonder

because of all the people who

hurt others just because

they want some things like dollars

the street is no place for the thoughtful

to stand and mutter in madness

Must keep the face masked

with smiling stone

and the feet humping

the ground in the pale hope

that the eyes never meet the enslaved

and broken without a loaded weapon

to extinguish those who

master over the innocent

to teach the meaning

of liberty and justice for all

and the enslaved can

learn what it means to have

someone in arms reach

-

that offers compassion and safety

and freedom

Do I need to say more?

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all, except atheists

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible under science with liberty and justice for all but the dim witted and religious

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation under Santa, indivisible, with presents and candy for all.

or

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation of greed and bigots, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all but the poor and homosexuals

Or

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

Ten Years

ten years

In the last ten years

I have done nothing

with my life and failed at  attempts

for betterment

In the last ten years I have made

all of my dreams come true and the universe

allowed me abundance

In the last ten years I have dropped out of college

and I have graduated from college

In last ten years I have fallen in and out of love

like a willow branch breaking and sprouting

In the last ten years I’ve been convinced that

there is no such thing as love and I have been

certain that love is the only answer

In the last ten years I gave birth to a healthy child

and I have rushed it to the emergency room, afraid of death and powerless

In last ten years I have made best friends

and lost them in moves and pettiness

In the last ten years I have gained spirituality

and lost it to uncertainty

In the last ten years I’ve been  an activist and marched

and shouted and I have been apathetic and still and silent

In the last ten I have owned a home and been homeless

In the last ten years I have seen the birth of new loved ones

and buried loved ones in the dirt

In the last ten years I have found a town and a home, a sense community

and a peace with the land and I have been a stranger in an unfamiliar town,

restless and alone

In the last ten years I have learned more than I ever imagined possible

and I have become dumb, knowing nothing –ignorant and easy confused

In the last ten years I have been confident in who I was

and I have lost my sense of self

In the last ten years I thought of you often and I have forgotten your name.

Sorry i have not been on blog land

I’ve been busy.  I finished the three generations book of poems.  Now it is in the editing process.  Why are margins so easy to mess up? Where do mistakes come from?

I had guests visit.  I visited family.  I laid on my couch and watched the swallows

on the balcony.  One was very fat and sat still. The other swallow was skinny and kept

cleaning feathers.  I worked on my painting a little.  I thought about growing up.  how I am grown up and if my younger self would meet me, say at a coffee shop, she’d think me

a fab – rad old woman.  I came to the idea that sometimes we have to let our parents down to let our self out.  I admitted to my mother that I don’t believe in God. She looked at me in a strange disappointment.  It was a little weird.

It is raining today.  I am planning to travel my country in few weeks.  I will write about you if I meet you.  I will write about the weather and the people and the roads. I love roads.  I love maps.  Anytime I see a road or a map I want to follow its lines and see where it takes.  I open to learn.

The world is different, than it was twenty-eight years ago.  In twenty-eight years what will the world look like? Who is predicting doom and sadness?  I predict science and travel and energy and art.

if it matters I have a hamad suit

Hey Henry, how’s the job?

O the world is laid off and swine

flu is choking the neighbors my Henry.

My Henry never answers

or shows himself

and so I learned in the search to find him

he is imaginary. He is a  lie so old and used to

answer anything that takes time or thought

to discover. He has many other names like

god or father. If he ever existed he is dead

now and will be forever. Mourn if you must.

I am still here writing profane poems

and soon, very soon –give or take

a hundred years- I will

be a master of the lies or truth.

In the end it will not matter

Someone has mowed the grass for the first

time since last summer and wars are being lost or

won like they were three thousand years ago

and before at the tip of a sharpened stone in the hands of ancestors

My how evolution moves on in its constant revolutions

Now the weapons are atomic with drones to drop them

Far as anyone can tell since the universe specked

in existence it has never ceased in its low vibration

of magnets and cells in an infinite or finite search

for the perpetual molecules arranged by

chance or breath or equitation

As a hair on a big toe or the graphite in a pencil

or a coffee bean roasted and chewed

to test the flavor – All is complex and fleeting

asinine ellipses of fractal portions and all goes

out and in mastering distances with beats

we are told our human mind cannot comprehend.

My life is simple.  It is a monk’s life

without hard labor or the confines of  sacred

knowledge. I am able to pluck a dove’s feathers

or reinvent the telescope without the fear

of rushing stones or the old rope neck

I can say there is no god or I am god or god is a donkey

without the fear of cigarette burns on my fuzzy vagina

my war is a private black-hole where insanity

is the only causality and tranquility the ripe

reward of the endless suck and plunder

How dumb of my kind to strive and contort

with sacred muscle and the holy bomb

when the gentle universe obeys

breath and imagination as an excited

lover hopeful to breed experience and diversity

for as long it wills

Such a shame that the all

cannot flip a switch to light a

flame or lift a handle for something pure

as I can without the weight of eternal kneeling

or ghastly superstition

I wish to put my hands on you

if it matters I have a hamad suit.

We can at least sing songs together

Please don’t cough on me

my lawn mower lover

I do not have any clover tea

but I can boil water to cauterize

the hemorrhage of your uncertainty

or soothe your fear with rising steam

as some did for the father in childbirth

not so long ago.

When the woman was hemorrhaging to death

they dumped boiling water on her to save her

life and scar her.  It is a risk to gamble

with me but perhaps we will use rationality

and modern science as I do in baking pie

and writing poetry or killing bacteria

Doubt is just the beginning

of healing insanity -thank

history for reason.

Thank evolution for me

There is no yucky religion

to confuse my mind and make

me want death

Please Doubt

Many intelligent people feel the need to lie to themselves or others about a belief in a god.  They are fearful because they have been told since they were children there was a magical being who would take care of their needs. It is a natural response to have some pain in the realization that there is not a god like that, at least there is no rational or evidence for a belief in a god,  especially the way the holy books tells.  This is the first step of enlightenment. Some cannot handle the truth.  It is lonely.  Not believing in a god is not about being sinful.  All you perverts who think you need the fear of damnation to do to others as you would have them to do you are disturbed. I don’t need the bible or any other book of faith to tell me not to torture or rape or kill.  Be responsible for your own actions and do good because you can. I don’t want to abuse people and I don’t want people to abuse me.  I don’t cheat on husband because I don’t want husband to cheat on me.  I do not want to get the ickies or the itch or give them as an anniversary  present.

To admit you don’t have the answers and start trying to solve the mystery instead of believing nonsense is easy in your mind but it is hard to do in front of a crowd of people with chickens they will kill you with.

Don’t tell me your nonsense beliefs and expect me to believe them.  Just because you don’t have all the answers doesn’t mean you can pick a random idea and say that it is true.  I can no longer fake it or go along with your stupidity.  I think you are stupid if you believe in a holy book.  I love you but I think you are choosing to be stupid.

If I told you god speaks to me through a special rock, would you believe it or would you want some proof?  What if I had a bunch poems and stories to backup my claim, would that be enough proof for you? What if I said you have to have  faith that I have secret sacred knowledge… Would you believe me?  Some of you would I suppose but most would rightly call bs and walk away. You would expect me to prove that I received the information from god… wouldn’t you?  Well, I would and do expect proof –physical proof.  ( believe that there are great mysteries and many unknowns that have answers that humankind has yet to figure out. )

What if I told you I was god?  You’d want me to prove it.  What would convince you that I am god? What if a bunch people said they saw me fly and turn a rock into a song?  What if they were willing to die instead of saying that they are lying or that I tricked them….What if I tricked them, would that ever popup in your mind and at what point and how would you ignore the doubt?

What if I put a special magical bark in boiling water and told you to drink it and said a blessing and it took away your lower back pain? And when you asked how you were healed I told you I am god and I healed you.  Would that convince you?   What if I had old books that said god would come and be a woman with holy bark, and I showed these books to you? What if I had millions of devote believers in me?

Would that convince you?  And what if I did convince you, would you teach your children about me?  Would you fear me? What if I told you unless you do what I want you to do you’ll go to horrible place after you die where you eternally eat your own ass unless you believe what I say and do as I command????

What if I told you to torture anyone who does not believe in me until they confess faith?  Would you do it for your Annie god?  What if I told you that there is an evil rat-man that lives in center of the sun and I told you he will eat you forever if you don’t beat your husband or cut off the tip of your son’s penis…

What if I said I only choose to show my power to certain people who I deem worthy and that I can read the minds of people and I know who is worthy, and told you not to question because you are too stupid to understand my great mysterious power.  What if I told you anyone who eats tomatoes is sinning against me and that the tomato is dirty and should not be eaten.  And later scientist found out the tomatoes can cause stomach ulcers. Would that prove that you should be faithful to me?

What if I told you all men must cover their whole body in plastic to protect them from other women who may touch or look at them and men being weak would not be able to defend themselves and men are suppose to be obedient to women, and you must kill a man who is not?    What if I told you to throw chickens at any man who refused to wear the plastic suit until he died.

What if I told you I was born from a virgin eagle. Or I was born from a holy woman who was never touched by a man.  Or I always existed.   Would you believe me?  But I have the books.  And people who say they saw me heal by crushing eggshells and putting them in the person’s pocket. They said they saw me fly and swoop.  I turned a rock into a song.  Would you say prove it, do it now?   What if I put egg shells in your pocket and your cough went away?

Would you believe that I healed you with my god powers?  What if I told you I would come back  for you but I had to go away and make a place for you on mars where you could live forever with me as long as you believed in me and did what I said?

What if  I died and a bunch of people said they saw me fly up to the sky and soar to mars. Would you believe them?  What if they told you that I came to them in a dream and said that I would come back when a big wave washes up 20 dead dolphins, when the people of the land could talk with each other across thousands of miles with their minds, when all people spoke the same language and when war was in the heart of every woman and that it would be soon, very soon

and that no one would know when I would come back except me and the rocks, and that you are to be ready for me and if your are not you will meet the rat-man….

What if a hundred years went by?  and than 500, a 1000, 2000?  How would you change the meaning of “I’ll come back soon, very soon” to fit the fact that I had not returned.

What if there had been thousands of dolphins that washed up on shore, and a few times twenty together.  What if a new technology came out and made it capable for people to talk with one another with a chip inside their brain?  Would you go out to the street and scream Annie god will soon return?  If it said in my book that when all the rabbits die, I will return.  Would you kill rabbits to make me come sooner?

What if there was only one copy of my book and you had to write it down or remember it and then write it down.  What if different parts of my books said different things or forgot important aspects?  What would happen to my holy commands or poems, would they be altered?  What if they were altered and people could prove it? What if they found old versions of my book that had different passages and different meanings?   Which would you believe? When would you stop taking my commands literal and start to put your own meaning to them?

What if it was translated into different languages that did not have the same words, or words that meant the same thing.   Would you believe it?  Would you hold onto it and pray to me?   What if my book was full abstractions and magic and contradictions?

Why don’t you believe in Zeus or scientology or Jesus or the magical Teapot who pours hot water for anyone who asks?  Why don’t you believe in Aliens that come down to earth to probe people’s asses or people who can levitate or astrologers or the great wolf father or the mother turtle or the holy cabbage or that Buddha was god?

What would make you believe that belief in me was the right one and that others were wrong?  Because I told you?  because you read it in an old book?  Because your parents told you or a holy woman or man told you?  Because it made you feel special and loved? Would you believe in me just because it made you feel good to pray and worship me or to think you would go to mars and everyone who ever mistreated you and didn’t believe in me would go to center of the sun for eternity?  Would you wage war if it was in my commands to do so just to feel my love?

Would you give my church money or goods if the old books said I wanted you to?  Would you elect a leader just because she said she believed in me?  Would you kill people who said I wasn’t god if the book told you to?  How far would you follow the wrong star home?  How far would you follow the star at all, what if science proved some of things my book claimed were true -were wrong?  How would you try to make the facts fit  or make up reasons why it so.  How long would you go on cutting off the tips of penises and making men wear plastic suits? When would it be ok to eat  tomatoes again or use critical thought?  If someone believed this stuff would you consider that person brainwashed? Foolish? When they fainted and shouted when listening to my priestesses and my rock songs, would you say they are in a trance?   How long would you claim what you didn’t know or understand was god, the great annie? How long would you believe in lies before you began to listen to your doubt and reason and logic?  How long would it take you to wipe away the fear of uncertainty and try to figure out the truth?  When would you decide enough is enough and you will not be forced or tricked into believing in something that does not make sense. When would you say, why do other people believe in other gods if there is only one, why would It be based on chance that I was born in an annie home or nation?

Why would Annie god help me find my keys but allow millions of children to starve to death?When would you awake from your make-believe fantasy and go about difficult task of discovering truth?  When would you have the confidence to scream, there is no Annie god?  Would you die for truth or if the other believers came to kill you would you tell them you believed in Annie god even though you didn’t?

How long would you hide the truth from others?  When would you come out of the closet and say damn it, I am not lying anymore?  I am not faking belief.  What if they told you were evil because you didn’t believe in me?  That there was something wrong with you and you were being tricked by the evil rat.

That you must cut off the tips of penises or else you are evil. What if you thought that cutting off the tips of penises was wrong?  Would you still do it?  What if other people said they agreed with you?

What if thousands of people agreed with you, millions?  When would you have the courage to search for truth and kill, annie the god?   When would you stop praying to me and go about taking care of yourself and making the world a better place because you only get one chance at life, one fleeting moment to love and live and learn?

How would you evolve?    I challenge you people of faith, instead praying to a god or following a holy book, to solve problems without asking for a god’s help.  Stand with your body and mind, and do good and do what is right based on what you would have others to do or for you.  I challenge you to find your keys without prayer or to face hardship as human without the belief of a magical being.  I challenge you to ponder and act as though there is no afterlife.  I challenge you to respect life and our planet for its beauty and diversity.

What do you think is moral?  How should you be treated? What would be the biological processes that brought you to life?   Would your life really be worthless without a belief in god?  Would you go about killing or raping or having sex with everyone you could if you didn’t believe in god?  Really? Would you want equality and justice for all?  If there is no god, how would that change the way you interact with the nature or other humans?    Would you accept a starving child or torture or war?   Would you share your food?  Would you sing songs?  Would you laugh or love?  Would you seek the truth?

Many people have abandoned the faith, the belief in something that cannot be proven and found themselves as humans capable of doing the right thing and taking reasonability for their actions.  And now, they are free to search for truth and are learning to control their bodies and their own destiny.   They can love, laugh and sing in freedom and champion respect for life.  They desire peace and abundance deep in their minds and in their living bodies.  They still have feelings of empathy.   They crave justice and life. They have become enlightened.  They are no longer in the dark ages and they feel fine.  Do you have the mental power to rid yourself of delusion and fear?  If so, speak up.  Be clear in your demand for truth and evidence, fact and repeatable experiments.   Use critical thought.  Ask questions.  Do not apologize for doubting religious claims or for being an atheist.   The burden of proof is not on you.

Mother Land

 

 

I saw you at the tavern, broken fingernails

with smeared lipstick

drinking whiskey sours. Smoking and debating

the old days with tights and mini shorts.

My orphaned hand handed you an ashtray

in the din of pool balls rolling into pockets,

jukebox tunes of be be bop and in the ghetto

In the howl and haggle of drunks

I recited your song about the home I’ve never known

 

 I saw you in the water

throwing seaweed and clumps of sand

wearing your atomic bikini

I saw a warrior rise out of you

 covered with blood, your rosy cheeks

Allow my clay hands to guide you

to peace my lady liberty I shouted

into the break of waves and wind

 

I saw you at the shopping mall

with bags of over consumption

around your wrists.

 You looked like a movie

fusion bomb

so primed and made up

so explosive and unaware of magic 

your ankles in heels -strong and clicking.

Your thin legs from a man’s painting.

I reached to smack the bags from your wrist

but you walked on knicked and pretending wealth

 

You where in the coffee house with

eyeliner and a corset t-shirt exposing

your watermelons –laughing and bowing

to the attention of the slick dicks

defining your worth you allowed them write

 down their clever puns about your

shadow lips on your tailbone

I wrapped my coat around you but when

I stepped away you let it fall and winked

at me with an eyeful of desire and control

watercolors are hard

i’ll play my flute for you

I decided to build

I decided to build a tower in the valley

in my off hours. This is why.

The sun hits the grass in the afternoon. All morning

there is shade and at the hot part of the day the sun

comes to the valley. It is hot. Then you wish for some shade.

In the morning it is cold. Then I wish for some sun

There is an hour in the day where it is perfect.

We take lunch then. It is nice to drink

a bottle of white wine and share

a chunk of cheese and Hungarian salami

with the gentle breeze moving our hair and vests about.

Little birds pecking at the ground. Tweeting.

On special occasions we have raspberry torte.

Yesterday it was too windy so we sat at the library and drank milk.

I read two books of poems and you read the sports section.

We didn’t realize the day was over until the lights flickered

Then we noticed the sunset over the parking lot.

Across the street the fading light reflected

off the sewage overflow pond.

Somehow we summoned our senses and went

into our white car and drove the couple

blocks home. On the way home there were three

teenage girls walking and talking and smiling

I flinched at that stupid and happy thing that walked them.

Relieved of and fond of youth I thought there was something to be

said of growing old and fearful.

I drove 30 miles per hour and slowly turned

into the drive and into the garage. There was folk

on the radio. I was reluctant to shutoff the car.

You got out right away and went into our residence.

There is white everywhere in our place.

the counters, the cabinets,

the carpet and the tile, and walls and ceilings

the furniture, the paintings, the bedding.

I spent half the night cleaning.

The horrid crack between

the fridge and the counter is clean.

The red stain on the carpet

underneath our loveseat is gone.

The old clothes that were too small are a quilt.

My feet hurt. The dryer lint is empty.

The bed is made with clean sheets.

I hung up your button ups.

Then I locked the door and went to bed.

I don’t know where you were. I think

you were playing poker or reading numbers.

I slept like a big baby and in the morning you gently

woke me with kisses on my face and brought me

breakfast in bed –cream of wheat with coconut.

When I got out of bed in the morning

the air in room was cold compared

to the bed and then and there

I decided to build a tower

so the morning sun could reach us

and the tower could shade us in the hot

part of the day. I figure after I am done

the whole day will be perfect

-not just lunch.

If the wind knocks it down

so what-

Plus we’ll be able to get out

of this valley and see the horizon

A Kid Who Turned

In the city there is a kid who turned 500 and nobody remembered her birthday or sent her a belated greeting or waved when she walked down the street after her dinner of corndogs and celery sticks. The old man with the huge mustache who sits on the café table nursing black tea stared through her. The dog with the lady in spandex ran with her head up but looked slightly to the left without nodding or smiling or barking. The kid had an extra dollar fifty so she bought herself a yellow balloon and one lollypop. Then she road her scooter to the cemetery and coasted through the sprinklers. At dusk she skipped stones on the pond and counted four baby ducks. Later at night she bathed in chocolate pudding and braided her hair with licorice and went to sleep on her cotton candy blanket under the stars in the backyard of her peppermint city. The last great maple syrup bottle sang all night with such great longing and cracking the kid wished to be grown at last so she could become a scholar and wear silk and dig up a cure for smallness and her stupidity. But in the morning she was still a kid and so she went about her pop drinking and jump roping and tried to ignore the folding sigh of hopelessness

Roots Of Perception -Work in progress

A Person Thinks -A Person Looks Sad

 

People aren’t used to seeing a person sitting and thinking.

That makes a person look sad. Really a person is just thinking

about biscuits.  There are so many different kinds of biscuits

a person would have a hard time deciding on what kind of biscuit

they would like but if a person had some sausage gravy

then that person would want a flaky biscuit.  

Sometimes a person needs a biscuit -just a plain biscuit

The Hypnotic Spilt of Consciousness into Reason and Religion; Staring Henry the Imaginary Uplifting and the Drunken We-Wasted on His Faith –Sobering; Or There Is A Hole In The Boat

         

Other animals seem to have a better grip on life than We.  We have no grips on anything but Our porters from Comstock Michigan. The deep dark gun pickles are swinging inside Our watermelons. Like all animals We must mature over the urge to do the die dance and learn to be lovers of livers. We are not the happy plastic containers We pretend to be.  We are really hungry and angry about it. Not even a unicorn asks to buy us wine or a cat purrs for our hands to praise her. Give us some of your wet food pussy.  Blame the war or the shortage of beer, dragons, miracles or drugs or cheeseburgers.  It has gotten to point where We tell Ourselves We will live forever and then laugh -relieved that We won’t. We usually try to keep these tossed salads to Ourselves. Usually We lie about the ham, future, gods, peace and trick Ourselves into taking another slurp of life bullion but tonight We listen to Pick Trake’s muddled voice and We know why he stopped the fantasy. We have no reason to sing lies either. “Smoked my last..” Even the sun will die.  We wonder if it has the choice to go early… Why doesn’t it just end the shining tomorrow? Why can’t it be an example of free choice?  Perhaps if We had a better upbringing We’d smile a little whiter- white as snow.  We don’t see straight.  The scotch – so this is what 18 years of glen tastes like. The reason why We plant that happy bullshit is because We need to hear it every Monday.  Sometimes many times a Monday and there is no one to water us so We must muster what We can. Tonight there is nothing that comes to mind that can take away the rising axes –forgive us of critical thought.  Another sip of porter.  Thank history for porter. Losing ones warm blanket sucks.  Realizing you’ll never get it back is a blood bath. More hot blood please. Our best friend is drinking himself under the table. He is so bad at drinking. No pacing. His beer is all gone and We still have two bottles left. Sorry sucker. Please be more conscious next Blank Blank. Damn you Blank.  You make us sit here and watch you sober up.  Lets get real.  We are pros at keeping a thing going past the point when it should stop going.  Hold on. We need a smoke. We’d like a mushroom loaf –honey please. That shit is bitter and makes us want to up up on Our tongue tongue. O.  Go get more beer beer already. Please don’t tell Henry We miss him. It is hard to let go of the fanatic. We don’t want him to know that We are drunk and talking about him again.  He gets so faked surprised that We are still holding his braid for ransom or proof.  He gets off at us.  He never saw us this sober. Fuck Henry. Fuck you Henry.  We ate better crab from a tree. Mother blank bank seashell dog ma.  There is a little person who lives next door.  We say our life is difficult as vacuum repairwomen but she has a toddler that is the same size as her.  Holy dicks, We don’t know where she has the hope to keep swallowing lies. We think that’s when We’d drive a car into a springtime river. “Fuck I am too little die,” We can hear her scream now at the last minute. That’s a good lesson. You don’t know how much you want to die until you live in faith. We uncover the beds’ bugs.  We like to lie with people about sex.  Yeah We have sex. O yeah all night guilty baby. Right now We’d rather listen to someone play guitar and scream Holy Cabbage. That’s fucked. We are emotional failures.  Junkies for songs. Anoint us.  We wish the psalm trees were true or plausible.  Things could be great meatballs. We’d have a clear path to the shade of Hades and get that son of bitch without responsibility. Nancy!  But insanity is the only thing religions promises… Death means heaven, the holy book whispers but We know better.  We know it promises holy chickens chicken pecks.  Just like life but at least in reality We can grab a porter or Glen, Our good tasting 18-year-old scotch. Our heaven -he’ll be the crystal pool and the spring of life. That fucking apple is full of illogical worms. You eat it. Fuck trance pie Good damn it. Half of what We say is meaningful. The other part is mumbled riddle ridicule clues. Mudder ludder. Who is that pissing on the window? Come here and give us the holy beeersssss. We need a holy smokie. Another holy token. Want to light one? We have wet matches. Fuck you Henry.  We are keeping the braid. We don’t have it with us.  We gave it to a head doctor.  She’s gonna make it so you can hold your liquor.  Stupid fucking -chive -We were gonna eat that. Damn you Henry, why you piss on Our chive plant?  We were gonna feed the kids with it and now you gone and poisoned it.  We have no more patience for you and your imaginary uplifting pissing religions. There is a hole in the boat. Reason does us better –We’ve drank Ourselves sober and We are patching the hole with material matter. 

 

 

 

 

  

I Expect

 

I expect that very shortly

you will turn your direction

inward and ask yourself

some very poignant questions

that will lead you to change

your view of yourself and

how you behave in the world

You want to be a good and so

in a little bit you’ll stop

your foolishness and stand

confident in a peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Or not

Begin Again

 

 

It is spring.  I dream of the forest mother

the deep and lost lake grandmother

 

 

I’m lost in the city daughter

broken by the roads and hands

that I hold or hold me

 

it is beginning again

inside of me

the flood of life and hope

 

I hope for an egg sandwich

I hope for new shoes

I hope for hands strong

enough to pick you up

 

 

my mother, my grandmother

my daughter

 

I am alone in the universe

I am free in the world

I am rebelling one small

poem at a time

I am redefining

where I fit.

 I am

making room for you

 

 

 

I will hold you when your

body rocks with seizures

when you are too weak to make

it to the bathroom

when you are too weak

to pull the weeds from the garden

I will defend you

in this land of male deities

who see you as a market they can

dress and bend and infest

 

 I fight for your will

A Book Of Poems

I know she is out there

knifing limpid lines and for her

I take a moment to hurt

harder than I do when

I usually hurt for someone

 

I have written this dear poet

before –begging her to live

but last night she died again

I fell asleep with her corpse

on my face  

 

When I woke she was not in bed

Looking out the window

unto the still condos  she

stood without a shirt

Exposed her back and her scars

from other wars

 

I picked her up and placed

her back on my face

so I could hear

her heartbeat and enhance

the static of this universe

I challenge you to live in your skin

I challenge you to live in your skin

 

To live today as tomorrow the sun will explode

To live love and energy and passion for your own heart

To let yourself feel what you feel and to be what you are to be

Do not let them kill you

 

Reach and grab and make the world your world

 

Follow me when I call out

Freedom will not die in you

 

Do not let them limit you

Do not let them define you

Do not listen to their bullshit 

 

 You are god

 

You are a rainbow of opportunity

You are promise of a future

 

Your art -your work is badly needed

 

When I call out to you, come and race before

me. Demand your potential -your possibility

 

Live as today is your last day to fuck or breathe

or march for peace

 

Share this last meal with me

Share this last song

This embrace -embrace

 

Live and see how different -how magical your

mundane stupid body can feel

The Pretty People

they are tv anchor ready –polished

white teeth- hair perfect

their skin smooth and youthful

their hairs plucked-shaved

their luscious fabrics

ironed and clean

I see them in shops, at the school

and at the parties –even in the sawdust taverns

these pressed people

make it look effortless

to have beautiful shoulders and heads

they have gold watches and silk under things

it is wild the way they look

so thoughtful of their appearance

and the world that must look at them

Who the fugg do you think

they are fooling?

what are they after?

don’t they work?

don’t they have quickies before going out

don’t they smoke or drink coffee

don’t they paint or play in the dirt?

don’t they eat cheeseburgers with both hands?

don’t they drink hot chocolate

or get eager with cookies?

don’t they have joyous fits

or break-dance or kick up?

Is everyone I see coming

from a job interview?

Nobody Warned You

How normal and well rounded
your loneliness would grow
or how you would be alone
and not even realize it most
of the time

-going about
your errands as you hate
the mudder dugger world

Hate the sparrows or the newborn
blades or the dead fish on bottom of the ocean
or cherry blossoms or the red leaves of fall
You’re not the first one. Hatred is the normal
tool used to solace disgust, pain or loneliness.

O feel your anger to hell and back around
the corner -up the hill hate the gray squirrel
or the fat smoker if it helps.

I don’t give a fly flip
just get out of my parking space
you raving lunatic

You’d be alone even if you
loved the universe. Even if you could
love your self -a hand job is still a hand job
genius

update on annieepoetry

update on anniee

We’ll Do What Big Business Did To Canada’s Air

 

 

I am starting a smokers club. All smokers are invited

to join.  We are going to go in front of the capitol and blow

smoke at everyone.  We are going to walk around and blow

smoke at people. It is going to be our hobby, our purpose.

 

We will stink the whole square up and if they complain

we will ban the bible or milk or mothballs.  We will smoke

outside, our big pipes and cigars puffing, our little cigarettes

smoldering in the Midwestern polluted air.  

 

We will smoke outdoors and then go indoors and stand

very close to anyone who turns their nose up at us

We”ll stand right next to them breathing and cupping

our sweet butt smell at them. We’ll cough and spit black goo

out of our mouths -out of control we’ll get I promise 

Lots Of People Have Hobbies

Lots of people have hobbies

you know -knitting, drinking tea,

playing sports or cards

 

Scrap booking, collecting automobiles

-stuff like that.

Things to occupy their off hours

 

Smoking is my hobby

 

I smoke

I smoke. I do not smoke in my house. 

I have a cat.  I do not think my cat

needs to inhale my cigarette smoke. 

I accept and respect animals that do not smoke.

 

I understand smoking is bad

for my health( and Dixie’s too). 

It is dumb, like eating a cheeseburger

or eating pound of tuna in front a cat. 

 

It is bad for me like diet pop. 

It is bad for me like driving cars. 

It is bad for me like war.

 

I never saw a Governor

trying to ban war though

-so maybe smoking is worse 

 

How many people died from WAR?

There is not a clear answer.  

People know how many people

died from car crashes or cigarette smoke

but they do not know how many people died from war.

 

When I use the word war I am referring to all war

related deaths, including genocide and democide.

I am including all acts of violence by groups

of persons against other persons.

 

I consider torture an act of war.  

I consider slavery an act of war. 

I believe starving people is an act of war.

That is my idea of war.

 

How many people have the drones killed?  

How many people died in the Iraq war?

How many  people died from war since 1909?

In one year, on the planet earth, how people have died from war?

 

These are questions that are on my mind.    

I want to ban war.  That is my goal. Let me ban war.

 War is not a choice for most people that find themselves in war.

 One day there is peace and the next there is war.  

 

War is out of most peoples control.  I am against that.  

I am for freedom and choice. I am for peace.

I’d Like To Place An Order For 2000 Drones

I’d like to place an order for

2000 drones please

May I get them this afternoon

 on same day delivery? 

I’ll pay extra

-I’m very eager to get my drones

and start the murderous

rampage of my future

 

 

You’ll not take my

tomatoes without a drone

farmer brown 

I Don’t Trust These Good Guys

I don’t trust these good guys

 

They have drones -I don’t

Its competition

 

They’ll rape me with

their drones

I have to have drones

to send out before their

drones’ get me.

 

This is the game

I have to kill before I am killed

The other big brains want to kill me

So I am going to kill them 

 

 

The Drones Are Getting Better

the drones are getting better

someday they will be so good

you will only have to push one

button (instead of 17)

to send the missile down

on top of someone’s fat head

 

The drones are headed for

better maneuver times

 

So many positives the drones have

they will kill the whole world

and not lose a good guy 

Anyone Could Have A Drone

 

Anyone could have

 a drone and hang out in my

corn field -waiting for me to plant 

-waiting and then gun

my dumb ass down. 

 

They could send them in

the strawberry patch and demand

 strict obedience 

 

And even I the great land owner

would lie down in the dirt and grovel 

and die

It Is Easy To Imagine A Thousand Drones Flying

It is easy to imagine a thousand drones flying in

on your wedding day dropping flowers,

streamers, confetti, balloons and missiles

To you and your new life, go out and multiply

the drones need target practice and more hands

to push their beautiful buttons.

 

It’s the new soldier, home by dinner

The lifeless wreck that kills the entire village.

 

The ultimate sandwich – blood sausage

There Are Drones In My Cereal Box

There are drones in my cereal box. 

They are in my coffee beans.

There are drones in the dryer. 

The drones are everywhere

taking pictures, sending the pictures back

to the nerds who are playing the drone games

 

There are drones in the nighttime sky

and in the bright morning blue –hovering

in plain sight so that all the town folk could see them

if they just looked.  What goes bump in the night?

 

It’s the drones and they are pretty and shiny and save lives.

They are digging in my cabbage and bending the tops

of the pine trees and they kill people

lots of people -the drones don’t care who

but the nerds, well they have orders.

Soup Kitchen

 

 

You will never  hear me

say things are fine

in the kitchen

 

I will always dream of a better

bread or a taller cake

 

Damn it –All the butter is rancid

Piss Off High Things

I woke up from a dream about you 

-the one that I keep having

that I never tell anyone

about (Selene doesn’t count).

What is the point to speak a dream

to a fat hoarder human

 

Who’ll never guzzle inside

my brain or in my lungs or my…. 

It’s a shame, though

It was rather risky with all

the grabbing and swishing

and the way your eyes

became the ocean -well

 

Sometimes I think, like you I have

Helio’s hands but then that

old and hurtful  Mnemosyne comes

back and I realize

 

You, you are dead Henry

like my brother Jesus, you are dead. 

Is there a heaven for poets? 

Not that I need to go anywhere

but it seems a waste -all

this effort- if it doesn’t piss off

Shakespeare or Blake or Uranus

or you, Henry

Auto De Fe For The Strong And Silent Type out loud

Quarks inside the Atom

I tried to paint your picture

but it came out looking

like a forest and then I said,

look at the forest and then, the rock

kids said, what a weird little forest.

And I said, well of course it is,

you didn’t think I’d love

anything big or normal.

For hells bells I wouldn’t. 

I like your quarks the way they are

 

I Am Everything Without You

I am everything without you

 but being a minimalist

I want nothing and nothing is what I have

 when you are walking by my side

 

The red leaves with the mold

smell and the soft soil under

our feet is the most important thing

we have ever shared

 

and the blue sky that hangs

highs above is all I ask

if this and you are to last

don’t give me spanish silver or flash

frozen cherries but release your simple

sigh of the world and its madness

with your hand open for mine

Auto De Fe For The Strong And Silent Type

I spent a life trying to explain why

my vagina didn’t make me worthless

but my heart never got it.

I tried to prove I was as accomplished as any man

who ever played but when I played my song

with the composure of  god

they said in surprised tones,

you’re pretty good for a girl.

 

I tried to show I was strong and brave

as any dick so I became a soldier

but when they brought

the dead citizens in trucks -balls of water gathered at

my eyelids and my body covered itself in

cold sweat bumps and vomit puddled my mouth.

 

I tried to say I was as well spoken

 as any  preaching stick but when the mob

came with the jeers and cheers,

 I stumbled over my words, missed the step up

tore my white suit, and exposed my sexual organs 

Embarrassed I covered myself and gagged my mouth

 with my heart’s black cloth

 

From my womb generations

have slipped out and raised

their fists in the morning light. 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

I wanted to prove I was as self-reliant

as any ball sack but when I moved

 into the woods and grew my own food

and butchered my bull

they dragged me out from under my quilt and

built a funeral pyre  and tied me in the center of it.

They pilled the logs I had chopped for winter on top

 of me  in perfect order to guide

the flames  up my calves

to my thighs, and finally my eyeballs boiled.

 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

 

So filled with lust and awe

they bound me with my Sunday apron strings

Hammered forks into my wrists and ankles,

banged me against the table 

and crucified me inside the kitchen

 

With my pruning knife

they gut me and hung my entrails

on the line, to dry out in the sun

and later stuffed with sausage.

 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

 

I spent billions of lives trying to example why

my vaginas didn’t make me worthless

but all of my hearts never got it so with the rage

of a thousand supernovas and the blood thirst

of  humankind I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

I murdered with their fervent lip prayers

in my ears and left an ocean of nuts and dicks.

I flooded the entire earth with spilt semen,

and called what I did, good and holy, leaving the

wombs and breasts to rule over

the lowly sticks and lumps

who are now and forever

forced to  grovel for their menstrual blood blessings

 

Excuse me but thats what happens when

Wisdom is dismissed 

In a little bit

In a little bit I am going to get dressed.

I’ll put on my best clean pants and my best button up.

Drink a waterfall and make a bathtub of green tea.

 

In a little bit, I’ll clean my ears and brush

my ego and go out into the forest to pick icicles again

but right now I’m gonna sit here and eat a heart sandwich

Brain Pose

Rose Roots For Brains

      

 

Henry has roses in his ears. 

I saw them when he leaned

forward to pick up my blue

diamond coat

 

Do you think he loves anyone

but me, do you

 

Henry has amethyst for eyes

blessed by moonlight they are

very shiny and cut in perfect angles

to reflect why, last week, at his wink

the stinky leeks sang  with the morel mushrooms

until he kissed their cheeks and ate them. 

 

Henry has trees for legs.   Big old growth trees

and he can make them into saplings or any another

house size he pleases.  All the worms of

the forest know him by his stump

and thud but I know him for his secret

pink rose buds

When songs can be song again

please sing this one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peace

Your Chronic Shoes

Your shoes were chronically

too small. You were the last

one to eat.  That is why you stole

some scrap of paper

some pen or pencil and wrote

words down in secret.

 

You wrote  words down because

you had no one to talk to.

No one to trust or to understand

and so with careful -half truths

you attempted the impossible –

 

All you had is that voice.

Your voice.  Your god 

so you wrote your own lullabies. 

You wrote your own bedtime stories. 

You wrote your own obituary

alone and confused. Stupid 

you did not play games.

You survived

The Wart Root

The wart root master said not to write

love poems but he can fuck

a dog, my purple pearl

 

My springy spring

        my cedar sprig

You are as fair as veal

Sweet and succulent

as rice pudding

       You are worth a wasted effort

        or to be black listed

if this poem gets

to your private

music selection

or a button pushed in

 

I’ll writhe my twisted

nips at you and hopefully

my penis tree

I’ll lyric

you and your merlot

to tip and pitch a me

You went downtown into Madison

 

 

 

 

You went downtown into Madison. 

The sun was out and it was spring.

 Like  a tourist you looked

with your mouth open.

 

The young, the old, the families,

the hobos and Jobs, the mix of ethnic blood,

all strolling on a Sunday together. 

 

The smell of rotten things defrosting,

 popcorn and coffee,

shit and soap and barley made

your nose bleed and throat sore.  

 

A fat man, with a white t-shirt

stained and too small, played the saxophone

in three note intervals  -one two three repeatedly he

played for tips or free

 

A young man dressed as skater played

the banjo with picks and slides on his fingers

and up from music he looked  you in the eyes

and you both were silent

strangers aware of each other’s need. 

You gave him a dollar and he played louder

 

  A man in a leather jacket walked and sang,

you stopped and listened to him pass,

so soft and pure his voice was

you prayed for the universe

on his behalf

 

The people in their blue jeans and dyed hair

jostled and joked, walked on,  alive

with sweatshirts and stocking caps. 

these people,  so loud, so self-aware

in their conversation games and their destination,

did not see the shadows of buildings and people mix,

did not see the homeless beg, and the hand drop

did not see the lady in fur or the ragged hippy

 chick with twigs in her hair

 or the running young woman dressed in red,

with thick thighs and a slow bouncing chin. 

 

The people didn’t notice the puke or hunger or the dead

walking or the strange and old isolation of the many

but noticed the sun was out and it was spring

like kids, smiling together in the mud puddle –relieved

to be rid of boots

 

 

You Can’t Paint

You can’t paint with a pencil

you find in the alley

sofa or on the backs of used

envelopes from unpaid bills

or on napkins from a gas station.

You need color.

Someone must give it to you.

Everyone You Know

 

Everyone you know will die 

which is not important

but when you think of all the hardship

and focus on a face

 you have an urge to shake

your fist at the beautiful blue and puffed

up water clouds

 

Here is a lesson. 

Don’t slit your throat. 

She’ll hate you for it. 

When the world stops

grinding out your tongue

go paint or grow flowers. 

 

Pour out the malt liquor