Annie Burie

Poet or Ham

There is a war going on

There is a war going on

.

I wouldn’t care about that but

my brother is there

and I am wearing his army shirt

and it seems to me that I should

have something important to say

about it

.

But I don’t

.

This is his third tour of duty

.

Isn’t it marvelous that the word “duty” also

means shit?

.

The war bores the duty out of me

Is that important?

March 27, 2010 Posted by | Poetry, war poems | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Earth Patch

The backyard has sticks all over

and the neighbors are going

to start to talk about us not

caring about our lawn

.

We don’t.

.

We will plant

wildflowers back there

and let the whole thing

go naked and tangled

within its self

.

So when we go in our backyard

we’ll feel like we are going

somewhere we don’t belong

and wonder who we are stepping on

March 26, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Cycle of Might

There is a pile of old sticks and logs

in the backyard.  And there is a fuzzy rabbit

living under the pile.

.

The rabbit’s red eyes, shiny and wet

look at me, hold their pose -fear.

.

Excitedly I point the rabbit out to daughter

and when she sees the rabbit’s cuddly face she says,

“I am going kill the rabbit and we’ll eat it”

.

“I am not going to eat the bunny” I say.

And she says, “Well, I am still going to kill him.”

.

“We live in the city.  The bunny has nowhere to go.

It probably has little babies,” I say.

.

“So,” says daughter. “The rabbit can’t live here.

We’re going to have a garden.”

.

My daughter became my mother.

Her heart grew matter of fact and her body

the strength to get the bloody thing done

.

it seems like over night

She’s the woman

and I the little girl pleading

for the animal’s life

March 17, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Just another day in springtime

This morning while shitting I held onto a bucket

in which I did some puking

Now in the early afternoon I stare out onto the blue

sky

and the fever is gone.  I should be out raking or skipping

in the sun

but I got sidetracked

inside a poem

Beautiful Emerson,

you weren’t the first to know

that all is connected.

The redwood knew that long

before you, and before the redwood

the jellyfish knew

March 15, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Purpose

If this age is already passed

and the all keeps moving

creating and decaying

perhaps some light will

carry over or some light

has been passed down

.

In the start of the journey

the goal wasn’t clear.

It was divide and multiply

It started with one and there

is still just one.

.

This is you. This is me.

You cannot say where

it begins and ends

or if these words

are depictions of reality

.

These words, abrupt,  speak

nothing to the liquidity

of matter or existence.

There may be no meaning

or certainty.  There may be

no safe shelter, or warmth or savory.

.

You may be onto something

looking up to the night time

sky with a body limp with awe

and the brilliant desire to reach

out and divide in rhythm to the universe’s drum

.

We are parts made of parts and so on

We are wholes inside of wholes and so forth

These are things that are parts with us;

the polar bear and the sun

the human and the passenger pigeon

the rising crust and water

calcium and the rock

.

This is why you must understand

it is meaningless and to understand

that it is meaningless you must

understand life has a purpose

February 16, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

circle around me

death is everywhere

and I dream of war

but inside me a baby is

growing

and despite all the ends

now I am at a beginning

.

I have seven

more months

before this life will pull

Herself out

and for now

She is mine

all mine

and I don’t have to share

for a while

I thought bringing

another human

to life was

insane

6 billion plus

humans already here

taking up space

and equally destroying

each others’ children

chance at tranquility and balance

but something changed

maybe it was the silver of

the moon or watching the far away

galaxies rotate

or some selfish

greed inside me

that wants to

see a large family

circle around me

when I am old

or the evolution of my genes

to something new and beautiful

The flower mates. The honey bee

breeds.

Something archaic

inside of me for past

two years has said

have a baby

a fat little baby

to rock and love

to teach

and despite my intellectual

misgivings

my animal body won

you should see the way husband

smiles at me dreaming of

our love child

you are glowing

he says

you are beautiful he says

.

.

when I was a girl I didn’t want

babies

I wanted to be hobo

thumbing around the world

with a note book

and open eyes

now I am imaging a garden

and pies

and birthdays

and a new born suckling

on my fat breast

February 12, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

There is suffering all over the world

There is life

inside my stomach

that I imagine will stretch

into the future

and bring balance

to the universe

it is not worms

it’s a little divider

who will one day

look and act a lot

like you and me, big brain

this one is different;

She is mine

you can’t touch her

She is inside of me

She is my little fish

floating in tummy bowl

when the world meets her

her smile will enlighten

even the wise and coldhearted

will find awe in her rearranged dust

and supernova made amino acids

Even with all the suffering in the world,

depravity and heartache

crowding and pollution

a baby is still a wonderful addition

those perfect little parts

making themselves inside

my body

as I sip hot lemon water with honey

and imagine us in a future planting

tomatoes in our backyard garden

February 12, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

When There is Nothing Left to Die

When my grandfather died

I lost the ability to look to the future

Grandma went crazy with grief

She didn’t want us to bring her food

or anything.  Not even hugs. She shoed us away

like raccoons

The grief ripped her face

until her large eyes were the only thing

I could recognized

Her contorted mouth claimed,

she was fine with god and grandpa

in her house

Before he died

I’d spend the night

They’d give me sweets and watch me

dance to the introduction of the evening news

Since then, death has been near

to me

He talks and I listen

How he’s just doing his job

and he can’t wait until he retires

Worn and weary from his labor

he would like a holiday

But life is all over

and he will have no idle hour

A part of death hates massive graves

but there is sense that the more

that die now

the less he’ll have to do later

Sometimes the dead are lined

up on the road.  There is not enough

shovels to dig and hide the bodies

from onlookers

It is everywhere

There is nowhere to look

that there is not death

Even the carrot dies

and death goes to

the carrot’s

conical soul and pops it

I asked death when will he die

and he laughed so hard

I knew the answer

January 14, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Turkey

 

 

I like turkey

November 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Ammunition Factories Pay Good Wages

My country isn’t the best.

You have to work hard

to get a pair of pants.

You have to leave your

home and go it alone.

If you get sick or lose your job

no one will give a damn unless

it is an election year.

If you ask for help you’ll get

a bag of canned goods and told

to get a job.

Lots of people want to come here

and live the American dream.

Lots of people who live here

wish they knew what it was.

The military goes out and does things

that most of us never learn about

Until thirty years later or when

someone finds the bodies in the mass grave.

You don’t even want to know

what we’ve done in the name of freedom

and progress.  It’d make your stomach turn

All over the world there are jokes about

us only caring about money.

Its true.  We care about money.

Without it we are homeless

landless creeps starving and driven

to madness and we are incarcerated.

Without a job or some money

we can’t get our cancer treated

or sleep in peace. In my country

citizens kill hobos they catch

sleeping outside on park benches.

People all over think we

have it so good but really only

the wealthy and blood thirsty have

it real good here.  Its not for everyone

but it is better to be here than somewhere

that has something that our leaders

want because they’ll bomb your village

or rape your innocence.  They’ll kill

and then say it was an accident of one ours

They’ll tell us you are evil.

Then they will tell

us they’ll give us money if

we do our part for their war of more

and do the worst to you and your evil

And some of us do.

We are tricked by greed

We want a better life

We want to be heroes

We want money

We want to kill the wicked

We see war and death and blood

as a necessary foul.

Its how we feed our babies

My country is not the best

unless you are comfortable

working in the morally grey

November 24, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Unless We Went Insane

Dear Mother,

 

 

We don’t believe in your god.

We don’t now nor will we later

We never want to believe what you believe

and we can’t see how we could possibly

believe what you believe

unless we went insane

 

This is when we are suppose to apologize

Notice however we did not.

 

 

Sincerely,

your children

November 24, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Come here keys

The dishes are dirty and they are on the countertop.  Someone must do something about this.  I am too busy to rinse off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher and after all that put soap in it, and close it and then turn it on.

It is too much.  It a shackle around 30 minutes.   There are more important things for me to do.   I would very much like to address a much needed bath and bottle of Spanish wine.  As well, I have the important task of briefly looking at papers and then putting them in order of importance, and then finding a place to put the papers until they become irrelevant.

There are other serious problems.  The fact I can’t command my coffee cup to fill itself and come to my beckoning is very disturbing.  It is not the worst problem but it is a good indicator at how bad things really are.  No one I’ve talked to can order their coffee cup full.

Don’t think I’ve forgotten the bathroom.  Or caring for clothes and other fabrics.  It is almost too much to bear   – think about it.  How can I be expected to get any of this done while I am in the tub watching the soft flicker of candles as I listen to public radio’s jazz hour and reread “The Marching Drum”?

As a move toward solidarity and progress, we should seek to end these horrendous problems that infect billions of people with chronic suffering through these problems tedious continuality and lasting residue on their lives’ time.

No one should turn their eyes away from these atrocities that cripple time and force people into predictive patterns of humdrum behaviors.  No one should have to clean a toilet again!   Can you imagine a world where all tasks of maintenance  are performed automatically?  The windows clean themselves?

When objects do as they are commanded?  “Come here keys!”  could be heard all over the world.  We the American people need to be a good example for rest of the world and move forward to solve these problems of human life.  How much suffering should people be expected to endure?  All possible resources should be put into these problems. The inefficiency of these problems is costing us too heavy a price.   We are supposed to be happy with automated vacuum cleaners or airplanes or radios that don’t even work well?  I tell you now -these sloppy quick fixes are not enough.

November 23, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Is the belief in god a scientific claim?

When someone says that the belief in god is spiritual and cannot be tested by science, what are they actually saying?

Many people claim that belief in god is not based on physical evidence and is not a scientific claim and that it should not be treated as such.  They claim that god is not physical.  If god is not physical, then what is god?  If they say god is spiritual, I ask what is spiritual?

If god is not physical wouldn’t that mean that god doesn’t exist? If  something doesn’t have a physical impact or body then it does not exist.  If there is a god, then god would have a physical existence even if it were something like light or energy or waves. If god interacted in the natural environment there would be some scientific evidence for the existence of god. There is none to date, still the belief in the nonexistent is wide spread and many toss out physical evidence that contradicts their belief in something that  is nonexistent.

Often times religious people use the term spiritual experience to describe why they believe there is a god. They don’t refer to their feelings of awe or joy as human emotion and usually they don’t admit or realize that people of other faiths or those who lack faith have similar experiences.  People who believe also claim that god is a spirit and that they have a spirit.  If there is such a thing as a spirit, what is it and what are its physical properties?

The so called spiritual experience cannot be used as evidence of god the same way that hatred or anger or confusion cannot be used to prove or justify a belief in god. If there is a god the only way to tell is if there is one is by physical evidence.  The only way we would believe anything else is with physical evidence.

Now some say we take things on faith all the time but I ask what do we believe that we could not be proven with physical evidence?

Like the idea of someone having a brain or if they care about us.???

It would be very easy to check if someone had a brain.  We just have to open up their skull and peer inside.  The reason why we know people have brains is because that is exactly what people have done.

For matters of abstract ideas such as love it is possible to prove someone cares about you by the way they treat and interact with you..  If someone tortures you or abandons you,  you can assume they don’t care about you.  If on the other hand they take care of you and treat you with compassion and kindness you can assume  that they care about you.  There is certain amount of physical evidence that a person cares about you or doesn’t. The word love is a label of a physical response in terms of emotion and action.   How people responds to us and how they treat us determines how we think they feel about us.  So as the question of love’s existence it is easy to tell by physical evidence because love or the lack of love have clear physical reality to our persons, even though we may disagree about what it means to love because love is a term used to refer to things that happen in the natural world.

So what do we believe that does not rely on physical evidence or that could not be proven to certain probability by observing the natural world?  Faith is the belief in the nonexistent.  This is very clear. Why do people believe in things that are nonexistent or have no physical evidence?

What is god?  Is it a feeling like love? Or is god believed to be like us, a physical being in the universe, not a word to describe an emotion or actions or chemical reactions that happen in our brain and bodies.  It is easy to prove that people believe in god in the same way we can tell if someone loves us.  We may be wrong or be misguided but there are physical manifestations. However when people say that god is spiritual and not physical what they are really saying is that there is no physical manifestation of god, which is the same as saying god is nonexistent or there is no god.  Who could say that about emotion or clouds or chairs that have a physical reality and impact on the natural world without being labeled as out of it?

If there is a god, god must be physical in the same way an atom or a wave or a rock is.  To say otherwise is to say that god is nonexistent. So the existence of god is in the realm of science and evidence.  When we say there is no evidence for god or god’s existence cannot be proven, we are saying that god does not exist according to the evidence that we have so far.

I have heard it said that believers of god(s) and atheists don’t share common ground and therefore can’t debate but I think they do because both believe that god is nonexistent. One just realizes the implications of nonexistence and other does not.

November 6, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

You and I are ugly

You and I are ugly cowards

who cling to the rational and practical

bound by the social constraints

of our reality

and time and town and positioning

who will never live under the water

or have a son or grow old enough together

That is the reality. The dream I whisper

in your mouth is just a trick to keep

your head above my liquid body

October 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ask Questions

I think asking questions is a good thing to do even though it only leads to more questions. What could possibly be better? People want an answer to their death but the answer is not fulfilling to many people. How come we as a species haven’t come to grips with our death yet? Religion negates death, it says we don’t die but even a small child understands we die. The body decays. Our sense of self is a byproduct of mental functioning. It ends too. The heart stops beating. The brain is the same.   Can you honestly comprehend that one day you will no longer exist?

Why is important to think about death or to ask these questions?   I suppose it is not.  One could stay focused on life and not worry about death…. but no one does.  Besides our understanding of brain and conscious is growing.  Does anyone apply mystery or supernatural transcendence to the leg or arm or heart?   When our brain is fully understood, will that kill the soul in the mythical and mystical sense?  How will humans live with this new knowledge?  Will large groups of people just ignore it and keep with their beliefs even though much of the mystery they base their beliefs on is no longer mysterious?  Is this clear or a cure?

I have no problem with mysticism or spiritual beliefs because I understand they are invention of humanity, mainly the human brain to make sense of the unknown.  No one who knows about weather thinks the storm or winds are evil spirits.  Once a scientific explanation comes from physical evidence and experiments creating a myth is no longer necessary.  I think as a society we are preparing ourselves for this.  We understand that there is “probably” no god.  Does that mean we want it that way?  Probably No. We like the predictable and small.  A ball you can hold in your hand is easier to understand than a ball that you live on.  As humans we can only comprehend limited number of parts of a whole at the same before the pieces become the whole and we can no longer observe all the parts.

But as we make models and understand the physical world what is called god or mysterious is no longer logical.  God is not a fulfilling answer to how an atomic bomb works or how the brain works…

This is the hurdle. Can you stop your mind from creating delusions to answer the unknown?  Do you have that kind of mental control?  Do you have enough knowledge at your disposal to fill the mysterious with natural explanations?

As a child I started this questioning.  It has taken 29 years of reading and thinking for me to be able feel alright with uncertainty and death.  I don’t want to die but I can look at my death as a natural process and find a measure of peace and understanding that like the blue bird, the ape and crow I am a part of nature and bond to the limits of nature.  I have stared into the face of death  and my friends, I am now liberated.  I can feel overwhelmed by the beauty of life.  That is something that peoples of faith don’t understand.  The fact that I am alive with you is enough for me to feel joyous.  I am not afraid of death nor am I enticed by it.  I value life because it is fleeting and we only get one life.  I would not go to war or kill someone because I believe to take another’s life is one of the most immoral things a human can do.  I don’t like picking flowers or putting birds in cages either.

I hope these clumsy words help put the atheist in perspective for you and as well encourage others in the search for knowledge.  Learning is not easy or pain free but for me, and many others the nectar of enlightenment is worth blistering  the mind.

October 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

What is the meaning of life

what is the meaning of life

truth

what is the purpose of life

ham

What is the result of life

the color red

what is the meaning of life

pinpoints

what is the purpose of life

death

what is the result of life

birth

what is the meaning of life

chance vs survival

what is the purpose of life

stuffing it

what is the result of life

explaining decay to a dog

what is the meaning of life

what

what is the purpose of  life

sex

what is the result of life

murder

what is the meaning of life

love

what is the purpose of life

pain

what is the result of life

cabbage

what is the meaning of life

sight

what is the purpose of life

delusion

what is the result of life

creating a death system from scum

what is the meaning of life

water

what is the purpose of life

ignorance

what is the result of life

blue jeans

what is the meaning of life

creation

what is the purpose of life

washing dishes

what is the result of life

the waltz

what is the meaning of life

smearing poop on the empire’s bathroom wall

what is the purpose of life

energy exchange

what is the result of life

determinism

what is the meaning of life

scotch

what is the purpose of life

picadors

what is the result of life

a sharpened double-headed ax

October 23, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Let us begin at a place that everyone can agree

Let us begin at a place that everyone can agree.  There are too many poor people and too many wealthy people who do nothing to help the poor.  United States, for all its pomp and power is a nation of poor who are the backs that carry the wealth of the rich to their holding cellars.  Consumption, markets, fickle wants, ups and downs of demand and supply, the staggering affordable housing shortage, poor education, and lack of adequate health care are crippling my nation, my beautiful homeland, my resting place.  My mother is sick and the children are out in the cold at war with death’s promising door.

There are about 600,000 homeless people in U.S.A, that are counted for, and there are probably many more that have not been counted.  If a country with such wealth and resources, technology and potential cannot help its citizens, if in this great age of knowledge, there is no cure as of yet for poverty and instability, I must ask, is anyone looking for one?   If affordable housing is not available, where will the working poor live?  Or the sick?  Who are you working for?  What are you working for?  What are you living for?

Just in case no one ever told you, there is a better way.  Out, as far as you can perceive, the horizon of your hope and imagination, I ask you to sail the dangerous waters of the impossible, and tell me, what exactly can’t we do?

We have heard the old tales of competition and that the fittest survive, but the true tale of life and civilization, the bedrock of why we as species developed society, is cooperation.   The reason we have advanced is cooperation.  This is not some high in the sky bullshit.  This is truth; it is easier to carry a heavy load when you have help.

Freedom, potential, creativity, dreams and imagination, hard work, and fearless dedication to life, are the keys to the many locked problems that face us as the gardeners of earth.

Today I sit in a comfortable condo, off of the street and bitter cold drinking a hot cup of coffee.  There is food in my home, even a little beer and scotch.  There are plants and books and warm sweaters.  I have socks on my feet and I wear a gold ring on my finger.  Today, I am lucky and I am alive, and there are few who live better or have more joy.  I have pants, and underwear.  I have this machine that I write on that I can learn more than I can imagine.  I have music, piles of cds, files, records, and radios, and a tv.  I have everything that a woman could want.  I have tampons and nice fitting caps.  I have green tea and honey.  I have real maple syrup.  I have paints and canvas.  I have so much that sometimes, I don’t know what to do with it all.  Should I have tea or coffee?  Should I fold or hang my sweaters.  Should paint or write?  Should I listen to the public radio or Whitestripes?   Should I read the dictionary or world philosophy or physics?  Should I make a pumpkin pie or a pumpkin cake?  I am so well off that if the world could live as I there would be rejoicing and dancing and fucking, and peace, o, peace, would spread.  but of course, when I list off these things, they are not the same as a fat stack of money or a big house or a fancy car, or anything that my society considers to be wealth.  Its bunch shit.  Its bunch here today, gone tomorrow.  But what do you have that you take for granted?  Legs, arms, a full belly, medicine, a warm and secure place to live?

I know many think I am depressing or that this all negative, but for me it is the only way to exist.  I must be thankful and I must speak out, and I must bend my body to get the work done.   I have seen too much not to realize how truly wealthy I am.  Do I have needs that are yet to be met, yeah.  Do I have wants that may never be met, yeah.  Am I living an offensive life style on the labor and backs of others who suffer while I gain?  No.   Are you? And if you are, why?  If you are so damn smart and rich, successful and hard working, why don’t you help others?

October 14, 2009 Posted by | politics | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You’ve Seen Enough

So you’ve been on the road in your car for hours and the lightening is on both sides and you can see the bolt, and your daughter, who is still into stuffed snakes and dogs and cats shrieks in the back seat everytime the lightening flashes.   And then there is hail and realization that you don’t know if you are in the right lane or in more than one lane and there are thousands of cars behind you. Its Sunday night around bedtime, and so you wonder where are all the cars going to or from, as if you are the only who has anywhere worthwhile to come from.  You are not in a rush.  There is no time frame for you to plot, only a long way destination and the desire to put as much distance between you and roads and cars and lightening.  Your stomach hurts.  You haven’t had a quiet undisturbed bathroom visit for weeks.  You have been in a car for days -each day pulling further away from anything familiar.  This is right before the mountains. Mountains you will never climb and even driving through makes you nervous, aware of death and how it easy it will come to you.

You’ve seen enough to write a thousand stories, a thousand poems, a thousand paintings, and it’s rolling through your mind.  You don’t know who you are or your suppose purpose or if you are still on the right path. The road and the lights and the shadows of mountains grow larger, as the soft talking of daughter bounces off the interior of the car and traffic and wind noise. Where are you? Why did you think that a road trip could set some kind peace or meaning in you?  How does this help anyone, anything?  Then you realize something. For first time in your life you don’t give damn about what others need or want from you.  You come and travel because you can, because the road is there.  And this is the metaphor for your life. You are here because you can be like the stars being born or dying, the rotating planets of universe pushed by dark matter, pulled by gravity, highlighted by waves and electrons.  You say out loud, I have never believed in god, and saying this out loud, you are yourself. You are happy.  You are finally at the point where you will not a put mask on, and you will continue to live naked.  Of course you realize that this is where you are alone.  You cannot share this quiet wonder and joy.  There is no way to explain, no way to share it.  So, you hold your own heart and mind, and you love it.   Certainly there are others far or close who experiencing the same inner peace with existence and meaningless. But you don’t know them; you will never get inside their mind or behind their beautiful mask. That is what you come to grips with.  That is when you have changed yourself.  This is when you realize there is hope for the world. There is hope for life and it, although it will cease and decay, will be reborn.   The road is long between the west coast and east coast of north America and you cannot do it in one drive, so you pull up beside a motel, go in, and get a room, and despite being so tired, eyes that a few minutes ago couldn’t stay open, now are focused and awake.  The motel smells.  The TV is surreal.  You’ve forgotten about it somehow, and news, which you stay current in, seems fake. It is no longer important to you which laws are passed, or which war the president ends.  Only the mountains and badlands and roads and trees and prairie are real.  Only the beats of the hearts inside the motel room, readying for bed mean a thing to you.  You know what is like to be poor, to be rich, to somewhere in the middle. And tonight in a dank motel, another night in a town you’ve never slept in, you are at home.  Because even though everyone you love is not with, your daughter is and you’ve have gotten to know her in way that you have never gotten to know her, after 8 years, you see her as who she is.  And something about tomorrow is said, takes showers tonight, eat something, go to bed. But you are so happy. You want to talk the night off but you don’t. You don’t say anything you are feeling, you don’t try to make anyone understand.  You go outside and have a cig and a beer you smuggled in your bag, and smile.  Just smile, and it is a strange smile mixed with sadness and joy and human possibility, that you can’t share, that you will never share. But o if you could

October 2, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

When you are on a long road painting

MyPicture

October 2, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Another picture of red trees

California2009 222

rocky mountain national forest

Look past the first line of trees…. the red goes on and on and on….

the pine beetle is native to north america.  The experts say drought and warmer climate is leading to the spread…

they don’t mention fire. but to say that fire is a natural part of the forest (opens the cones and allows the seeds to come out).  Pine beetles fly to the tree.  Pine beetles usually eat the dead and older trees, or the remains of a tree after a fire but because of their population increase they are now eating young and healthy trees.  And spreading to other areas that used to not  be affected or target by the beetle.      I think the lack of fire is a problem though.

Because of life and money, we control the fires but this forest is a time bomb.  Even the green trees can be infested.

Fire will spread very quickly in a forest of dead trees, which may be the only way to impact the beetle. or not.  Perhaps fire will cause the pine beetle to travel on to another spot or tree.

September 24, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

check this out…

nasa stardust mission

http://stardust.jpl.nasa.gov/news/news115.html

free online courses from mit

http://ocw.mit.edu/OcwWeb/web/home/home/index.htm

September 18, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

working on a story

For the past few days I have been working on a story.  This is not the first story I’ve written but by far, it most outrageous and longest piece that I have attempted.  I will not be posting it on here.  It is a long way for being done or resembling anything coherent or readable, but my friends, I’m having a fun time.  It is science fiction.  It is an adventure story.  It will not be too weird.  When I have it sorted out, I may post parts of it, but I hope it will grew too big to put on a blog.

Already the characters are coming alive.  They are budding more characters.  I often times write a story and then realize somewhere in the process, that is going nowhere.  This is one is different. I already have thirty pages, and the plot is getting more complex and so, even if it does come out as total trash, it will be the longest trash I have written to date.  I can tell now that it will be at least 100 pages of trash.  And if I want it to be good, it will have to be a bit longer. Of course, I am trying too much for one story maybe. But perhaps it will grow to more than one story.  I am not sure yet. But I am excited.  I’ve been bouncing ideas off husband and one of my brothers, and both have given great feedback, and have said, that it sounds like a good story.  Lots of times my story ideas are boring. Like I am going to write a story about dog that eats bones. That is not a good plot.  A dog eating bones. Ha. Laughable.

My goal in writing poetry and flash fiction has always been to learn to write a decent line, a decent sentence. Then it was to write a group of sentences that were decent.  I wasn’t sure I was ready to move on, and I certainly won’t stop writing shorter pieces but with the advice of my family, I have decided to move on to a bigger project.  Will it work out?  I don’t know.  Will it be worth the effort?  Yes, maybe. Is anything?

So if you have written long stories or novels successfully, please feel obligated to give me advice that I will no doubt ignore, and wish later that I had followed (hehe).   What are some of the things you learned during your writing process?  How many of you worry about the word count?  How many words should make up a chapter?  What is the best way to stay motivated and excited?  When should you let someone else read the story?  When your done or halfway done, or as you progress?  What about editing and shifting?  Do you do it as you go along or do you plough through the whole story and go back?

Should you let yourself write the ending as it comes or do you plan it out before you start writing?  How much information does the reader really need?   Does reader need to know how, say a space ship works, or just that it does?

Of course, I have my own process, and it’s going smoothly now but I’d love to learn how others accomplished the same goal. So if you have the time, throw some words this way.

September 18, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Why are the trees red?

rocky mountain national park

rocky mountain national park

Damn those beetles

September 16, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Think of Your Mother’s Heart

You little miss, should not lie

especially to your mom about being

sick because it breaks her heart

and makes her pace.  It is bad for mommy to pace

Her hair starts to stick up in the front of her head

from her hands pulling upward on her hair

The neighbors can see mommy through the window

punching her leg to stop the fuzzy panic in her brain

It is messy and disturbing for all of us to witness

It caused a humming bird to fly into the window

and your poor mother had to pick up the dead

little thing and put it in the garbage

She had to sallow her puke down and

recite lines from Our Town.

When you were a little tiny babe

you were sick and your mother

held you down as the doctors

and nurses put needles and ivs

in your body.  You were like

a trapped elephant with a tiger

in its belly.

Your mother, without faith

or knowing what was wrong

stood so strong, trembling within

screaming within,  wearing her

solid and brave mask

demanding and ordering

the rush of incompetence

moving around you and her.

She had to accept death, she had to accept

that she was powerless to save you

Each time you went into the hospital

she had to become a stoic Buddha

Do you know what that does to a woman

Your mother when she first had you

was but a child herself, dumb

and wild and on a hero’s path

She abandon her passport and toys

and silver cup that had been given

to her by the ancestor’s

She was disowned.  She was cut apart

She was a promising figure, a whisper

in circles, a goddess of beauty

with a powerful grip

your mom with her funny little

voices and facial expressions

with her songs and rhymes

is not that girl but an old woman

who has made it her goal

to give her life to you

Don’t lie to her

It may kill her

before you have run

out of uses for her

September 15, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Sand in Hand

On the shore of a northern sea

in November some day ago

I grabbed a handful of sand

and rubbed it in my palms

and watched it fall to the ground

Sliding and tumbling- the sand smooth

but gritty, reflecting beige and yellow and white

I put my hand out and said, feel this

and the shadow next to me stepped back

and said, what

.

.

What I really meant to say was

Hug me smooth, Henry

September 15, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It was cold outside

It was cold outside. It was windy and wet

or it was snowing, ten feet, since the day before

or it was hot and sunny; a freak surprise of warmth

or I can’t remember that part

You were wearing green pants rolled up just below your knees

I carried my journal and didn’t write in it once

We leaned into each other, hands around

each other’s shoulders, sitting on a rock

Do you remember what we promised?

Me neither. It was probably something mundane

or impossible, like buying chickens to celebrate

when we finally made it

Do you think the dogwalkers

thought we were merpeople?

September 15, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Homeward

There is a place for me

Its not in there with the dirty dishes

or on the white carpet next to the thunder stain.

Its not the box of pictures flashing

faster than I can perceive

Its there though, cold and blue

September 15, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Very bad

I believe that people are born gay, and there is nothing deviant or abnormal about it. I believe that we born asking questions but are taught not to. I believe that faith, although comforting for some has killed too many. I believe humanity will one day embrace enlightenment. I believe that the faithful are not the only ones who experience moments when they feel connected to the universe. I believe in life, diversity, equality, and justice for all. I believe cookies are better than potatoes and for inner peace one must accept their ignorance and the uncertainty of life and death.

I believe that all humans are foolish, and yes, animals.   I believe that people at a very young age are brainwashed and that is why they have religious beliefs.  I think humans, as a whole need to get over their death wish.  I think more people need to enjoy their life and give more to those who have less.

I believe that gay people should be able to marry.  I think abortion should stay legal. I think the world would be a better place without religion.  I think religion teaches people to accept ideas or systems of beliefs, even when the physical evidence clearly proves it wrong.  I think most people sometime in their life have doubted their faith and I wish more would do so.

War offends me.  High heel shoes offend me.   I think people who wear make-up would look a lot better without it.  I think whole grain bread is awesome.  I think basil is tasty with tomatoes.  When I look through a telescope at night time sky, I tear up a little.

My favorite writers are  Mckenzie,  Hummel, Bukowski, Adrienne Rich, Steven Wallace, Emily Dickenson, Oscar Wilde, Brian Turner, Poeticgrin, Syliva Plath, Chekov, Miller, Twain, Emerson, henry david thoreau, charles dickens,Kurt Vonnegut, Daniel Clowes,Frank Herbert, Robert Jordan, Peter Farb, John Milton, Joseph Conrad, Tom Robbins, Eliah Anderson, William S Burroughs, Siegfried Sasson, Steve Martin, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg  David Budbill, Roo Borson, Wolfe,  John Kennedy Tool, H.G. Wells, Langston Hughes, D. H Lawrence, Galway Kinnell, Herman Melville, Lisel Mueller, O’Hara, Anne Sexton, William Carlos Williams, Ferlinghetti,   and many, many, many more.   I loved Billy Holidays Biography.  Moby Dick is one of my all time favorite books.  Crime and punishment is still awesome and Shakespeare is still the master.

I like writing that is absurd and political and biting and well crafted. I like writing that breaks rules or follows rules or makes up new rules.  I like a good story or a sad one, or one that doesn’t have a purpose.  I like writing that doesn’t  take it self serious or takes its self too serious.  I have never read something that is all bad, just very bad

September 15, 2009 Posted by | Annie's heros, Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Chin UP

It is very hard for me

not to bend my head

at the dinners when people pray

to their vicious gods of antiquity

but I keep my back straight and chin up and out

Out of cultural pressure

I used to bend to the old authority

and pretend that I could logically

taste the purity that will anoint

the human condition in the phase

after this one

Now I keep my eyes open and the apology off my face

September 14, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Mutters and an Atmosphere

I’ve just finished a painting that will be the cover of the chapbook, Bring Your Own Cup….maybe…

Painting is not my strong suit.  I try very hard and take my time but everything I paint comes out a little weird.  The paintings look cool and are colorful –that should count for something.

There is an elephant that can paint a better elephant than me.

This is not a big deal.  I enjoy painting.  I can say a lot more with a painting than I can say with poetry or a story.  I can put what is in my mind on the canvas and there is no confusion.   I like confusion. I do but painting is more expressive of the mental images.  I like how the mind creates meaning with light and form.  Different colors set different moods.  If I could I would paint more but paints and canvas are expensive. Besides I broke my best brush.

Do you paint?  Are you good?  Why is that the talented don’t paint and creeps like myself paint?  Ok. I know a lot of great painters who paint but my favorite painters don’t paint enough.  They have jobs and lives and budgets, and well, they could make money selling their paintings.  All of my paintings are for sale.  You can buy them. Warning –they cost an arm and a leg.

They are not very good.   If you like twisted worlds of imagination, you will like them.  If you want to look at a painting, my paintings are for you.

You and I are not alike.  Our bodies and brains are lived in.  I’ve damaged mine.  You might ask how, and I might answer with a cough or ask you if you’ve ever made an atmosphere.  You will want to talk about your favorite TV show and I will discuss science and art and poetry.  I’ll play Thelonious Monks and you will say, this is weird or say you really don’t like jazz.

You’ll want me to notice your new shoes and I will talk about the obscenities of a long dead bard.   This will lead both of us down a path of desire.   I’ll desire someone who is more knowledgeable and you will want someone who is not a weirdo.

Time.  What is it exactly?  Space, what does it feel like?   Distance, why don’t you run to catch up?

Ultimately I’ll want to be a lone.   I will go into my office and finger my addiction.  I will write and read and try to comprehend what it meant for Kepler and me, to imagine.  You will watch TV and later, call your best to talk about it.

I will pace up and down the hall, muttering to myself.  I will call my soundboard, and he will belittle me and remind me how pointless my existence is.

Money is stupid.  It is convenient.  It is everywhere.  It causes the waste of natural recourses.  Spend more money, space explorers.  Earth is overcrowded.    How much money do we spend on discovering new ways to kill?   Some people can’t wait to die.  I can wait.  No, really you can cut in front of me.  I don’t care. all of you can go before me.  I have a lot on my mind.  It will take a long of time for me to sort it out.

The more space and time fabric between me and the predicable, the better.  Play the banjo or beat the drum.   Don’t run with scissors

Ever since I started painting my mind has been changing.  It is hard to put in words… Perhaps I’ll paint a poem about it.  What would that look like?  Does your brain try to build it?

Bees are not native to North America.  I love honey and the first person in 1500 something that brought those honey factories to good old u.s.a.  Do you realize that there is this beetle killing your trees?   In my past life I was a tree.  I was never an elephant, sadly. Who are these enslavedthinkers that are barking religion and confusing the masses?  It is hard enough to live.  I am a freethinker.  No one pays me to do it.  Are you afraid yet?

Radiation is a big deal. We need to build a thing you can climb into  and go ten thousand miles per hour and protect living life. How do you make an atmosphere?   Take your time, I’m never going to mars anyway.  Mars is boring.  I want to go to Andromeda

Children are stupid.  They are lazy and they are imaginative.  They don’t care about homework.  They don’t care about safety.  As a parent, you will probably ask yourself, if your child will make it to adult and if they do, what will become of them.  You’ll try very hard to teach them all you know but they won’t give a damn until you die because then they won’t be able to ask you the same questions over and over again to argue with you why you are wrong.   If they stop arguing with you then they have probably learned to accept your inferiority. It is a struggle to survive.  Have you ever got mad?  What did you do with your madness?

I burnt all my old writings.  I lit them on fire and watched them burn. It was pointless act.  I should have known better than to take matters into my hands.

I hate games.  I hate football.   Not that games are all the same or all bad.  I hate them because people use them as way to entertain themselves without thinking anything complex or new.  People want to always be entertained with simple and predictable ways.  Take riddles or ethic problems.  Children love them.  They are good for children. Adults love them too because they are simple.  They, like games have preset rules. You can comprehend them.  You can hold the whole thought in your mind with ease.  You don’t have to take notes.  football is complex. It may be the most complex game.  Watching a complex game is not the same as playing one or designing one and the game despite its ability to entertain you will not make you immortal or help you save your trees from the beetles or get honey in a jar.  It is a soap opera. You are attracted to the emotional elements.  Fan. Fanatic. A fantasist’s way to spend a day.  Fuck.  There is no way in hell I’d go back in time.  There is no way I’d pass up going on to the future.  Unless it was mars and I had no way to return.  I’m not saying I would come back.  I’m saying I’d want the option.  If you get in a boat and sail to a new land mass, when you set out and explore, your boat is waiting for you.  It will ride the waves for you. You don’t need a special suit for that.  The future, who knows what kind of suit you’ll have to wear.  One thing I am sure about though, it will not be biker leather.  That is just the way things are.  It will never be a world where everyone, even those who don’t ride motorcycles wear black leather.  Leather is old technology.  There are better fabric choices now.  What everyone in the future dressed in football attire?  I’d want to come back and slip on a pair of flops and cords.   Are you paying attention?    Wake back up,        please?

September 14, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings, Poetry, politics | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

finished Bring Your Own Cup Painting

MyPicture

September 12, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings | , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bring Your Own Cup Painting -work in progress

bring your own cup

September 4, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Oldest Blend

The breeze of  this august

day is moving the hairs on my body

giving slight tingling sensations

The chimes ding and the tree is forced to

rub it’s leaves together and bend it’s branches

The cars are quieter than yesterday

The swallows are still swooping about

and I am still thinking about Henry’s diagnosis

I need a cigarette and a mocha java now

I have to get up and go inside to get

’em.   There is something horribly wrong

with that

Henry is in there dying and I don’t

know what to reassure him about

August 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Pizza Puzzle

In the half dead world I call now there are
crazy makers and orchids shooting up
in the line of houses on top of each other
nestled and convenient their lifestyles
hum and swash and vibrate the context
of human movements.

The light of the sun hits the countertop
and breakfast crumbs. The world of now
is busy and murders for rest and contentment
forever bound by labor and new stimuli
the dragon mind scorches wisdom and reality
forever listening to the internal mad left hemisphere
the muttering and mumbling rabbit of darkness
who suffers the task of solace or evolution

The brain triggers before we are aware
Slowly the cells let us in or confuse
us anyway they fit, working the immortal
puzzle, beating and mastering distances
while we are lolled by the jibber of patterns
and piss poor explanations

Your idea of self is a projection
So give love and peace or go
plant peach trees human
frail and afraid and pushed
to break expectations

You are apart of a world you do not
understand. What truth can you
empty? What great task can you master?
So many gods and spirits you speak
for in your twisted little grab for power
or meaning. What scab of a purpose
do you pin on? What lie do you
lay and fornicate on? The buttons
of drive and energy or smiling or hitting
are chemical and electric
and alive. Damn it fool
you are alive. Go fly a kite

or make it with a brunette

August 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I Turned Twenty-nine

I turned twenty-nine.

Twenty-eight wasn’t so bad, really.

I wasn’t a walking one-liner

but after the cake has

crusted and the blue dishes are stacked

onto top of the counter –

I swallowed the coarse

reality that the eye inside

is not going to change -just this body

she must make do with.

So I started to workout

because I am weak and fatting

and want to be forever

with flexible hamstrings

and strong fists.   Take that pie

August 24, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Summer pastels

summer

August 21, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pink and Plump

The sun is on my face

and there is a cigarette in my hand

There are the typical worries and frustrations

in the background but I force the mind

to shut the uck up

There is nothing more important

than sitting and feeling at peace

This is my new way-my secret diet

The trumpet plays spaghetti and breadsticks

This cup is a sad diversion to the heartache

of being jobless and barefoot

in the last month of summer

But I have a bottle of scotch and a canister

of tobacco and I wont let the approaching winter

stop me from tapping my toe in rhythm with the lunch

hour traffic

The piano plays meatloaf and mashed potatoes

I need something else to do

Ever hold fat out of pity?

August 21, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sing no songs for me

Here in this castle of cells I live an ordinary

life of a human who is meaningless

in the grand scheme of the universe

I came to life, not from a virgin

but out of a woman who had other

children first.  There was no star

foretelling that I would be great

or gifted or bring eternal peace.

Born on the floor in a swamp

in the everglades, in a hovel my mother

delivered me and although I struggled

early on I rose to awful prominence

and attained silk lined pants and gold

in my fish tank but when I die a few

people may mourn or really feel bad

but the impact I had envisioned

-the wild and adventurous heron’s life

I had schemed up ended and slid away

without a splash of consciousness

The dimpled fabric where my rotting

corpse will lie will be the only monument

of my ordinary existence

The leftovers of life- blood, bone, and flesh

are better than imaginary glory

Sing no songs for me

August 7, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My Brain

My brain is the size of a grapefruit

spilt in half each hemisphere

connects through my spinal cord

to my trillions of body parts

There are more connections in my brain

then there are atoms in the universe

Even with all my cells I still smell

the shit right after I step in it

July 25, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Coffee and his shop

I used to live next to

the coffee master and his shop

He was older and smiled

at me in a way that should

have made me feel uncomfortable

One time, oh I think it was a little after

eleven a young man in expensive jeans came

in and ordered coffee with gobs of sweet and fat

and the coffee master said,

“You don’t really like coffee –do ya”

I laughed so damn hard

I nosed some of my coffee

The coffee master looked at me

the way he looks sometimes

at young women and then went back

to his roasting and muttering

perfection

And for some reason

when I get real down and lonely

I go to a coffee shop and anytime someone

asks for some gobs

I expect to hear – You don’t really like coffee

-do ya

but  its some yippy shit–some

jack ball behind the counter

who doesn’t like coffee

either –just a job

to pay the porn bill

and so the coffee tastes like

straw and stale almonds

pressed in puddle water

-served in a wide mouth cup

on dinky little saucer

and I’m the one saying,

“You don’t really like coffee -do ya”

as I leave before I can be asked

if I want a free refill

July 14, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Daughter And I In Red

Daughter and I walked through the red woods

I told her to be silent and listen to the music

of the forest

and she did

Then she looked at me and smiled and laughed

In the shade of thousand plus year old trees

I taught her everything I knew

that was important

July 14, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

New Love

Even when it hurts to love

I still do.  That is new

I used to get mad and say eat shit

noodle but now I can’t help but see

the gray hairs on your head

and the wrinkled blanket

in your blue eyes

You probably won’t outlive me

Have the last beer -I’ll walk for more

July 13, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Road trip in U.S.A -work in progress

Road trip in U.S.A

so I am back from

the  road trip across u.s.a

The journey was worth it.

We road on I-90 first

We rode to South Dakota.

We saw Mt. Rushmore

and we saw Crazy Horse

We saw the Badlands

and we saw wall drug

and we saw interstate 90

and elk and prairie dogs

and we saw Yellowstone

the buffalo  and moose and their babies and black bear

and we saw more mountains

the Grand Tetons

– and Idaho- creators of the moon -the lava beds

and we looked and looked

We saw hot San Jose and

saw Santa Cruz dip into the ocean

and Yosemite and the sea lions

in San Francisco and china town

golden gate bridge and we saw the red woods-

And we saw the salt desert and the salt lake

We watched the Neveda desert turn green and then white

and into Utah -we saw Utah turn green

with lush mountains and valleys and rocks turn red

we saw big bones incased rock in dinosaur national park

We saw the Rocky Mountains and alpine tundra

and we saw the mountains turn into rolling hills into the prairie

and then we were home

And we had mountains inside of us and highways and rivers and waterfalls

and deserts and the ocean and red dead trees of the Rockies

waiting for a fire and we hurt as the road led us on in our country

we traveled in a mini van

there were too many of us

we got bored of mountains

baby buffalo playing and frolicking

together.   what could we say

but wow -my goodness

and there were times we wanted to be home

and times we didn’t want the road to end

and times we felt we were the luckiest of idiots

that got to explore u.s.a

even though we ate fast food most of the way

July 10, 2009 Posted by | painting, paintings, Poetry | , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

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.

July 10, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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.

June 9, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Random Niceties

It is nice to know

there are humans still on planet

earth even though they

are destroying it

Picture 126

The fact they are here

and can destroy it

is fun dada poetry

June 8, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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

June 3, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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.”

June 2, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

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.

June 2, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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.

May 28, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment