Category Archives: Philosophy
Thin toilet tissue:
The reformed Sinner, self-proclaimed by an edict,
in confession only the devil could read out loud.
sometimes they try too hard to clean things up…
they end up putting their fingers through the paper,
cleaning the wrong ass. 🙂
None of us are heroes when you come back home.
Whether from conflict overseas, educational institution and training or just getting off the street.
We do what we are supposed to do.
We become that place that sent us out…though some of us might have felt we were being kicked out 😦
but, we come back with a better understanding,
for a better home, that changes the world by sending out more “non-heroes”.
All activity deserves respect. Creativity deserves distinction.
With so many complaints and maladies
and nothing you can do about them
you might as well redeem your soul
for a fix in advance.
Of course not,
get off your ass and on your feet 🙂
I have been an up-and-coming disappointment for some,
and then there were others.
Perhaps they were just working on their smile.
No one is expected.
I’m not leaving.
the day is mine.
Now I too, must decide
what to do.
walk or ride?
Taking complicated words to create an understanding that is sophisticated and simple
is not as fun, or as limiting, as taking simple words to a level of sophistication through universal understanding. However, regardless of the words, it is the intent to be understood through the eyes of imagination.
There is always enough peanut butter for another sandwich in that empty jar. Don’t throw it away just yet. 🙂
In all my experimentation with alcohol I have found no useful benefit. Even the euphoria is condescending to the human character. It poisons experience into catastrophic moments that become stillborn forever
The Merchant and the Gypsy
Oh my God, open my heart so I can see
So that my mind can soul the truth, I know.
Let me resonate the Love that chimes the light
into life and silences darkness by showing me the moon.
I have no lamb to sacrifice nor special gift to wrap.
Let dusk welcome me with the fruits of my day
Let me sleep at Your feet knowing You
and who I am; inseparable through Love.
Awaken me from the shelter of my self
with the vibration that transcends’ my own sound
abundantly impoverished in these words.
A merchant and a Gypsy came dancing through euphoria.
Skipping, banging cymbals thumped and jingled
to the beating of a racing heart.
They skittered here and there,
forwards and backwards,
sliding sideways and all about.
The gypsy with ringing bells
from dangling strings of magic beads
had clipped on her hip, in a loop on her belt,
on a well-stretched tambourine.
The merchant moved with confidence,
assurance in his gait;
with a smile so well advertised,
it overlapped distinction
of a very familiar face.
silencing the bells, with permission of the Gypsy
he displayed a wooden pony, which “he had to sell.”
“Rode through heaven and hell; to promises of fulfillment!”
for this moments “Special”.
Winking with sincerity and honesty,
stroking the slightly scorched metallic paint.
with the sweep of his hand and a nod to the Gypsy
came a thumping sound and the resuming of the bells.
Clouding dandelion puffs, pumpkins, and snowballs,
not to mention the “no vacancy sign” in my head,
popped the Gypsy in my face
but at a distant with quite a lot of space.
One arm outstretched rattling her un-clipped tambourine,
painted face playfully disguising her many races
of father, mother, birch, oak, eagle, dove, worm,
flashing images of gala fantasies,
in unimagined mysteries of blended colors
rode the quivering wake of her tambourine.
Mind painted galleries stretched from history
and pulled from the future to the present.
Music, pottery, healing herbs,
seeds, grain, sand, and necessities;
all found in the scratches
beneath the merchants’, shiny thing.
Starting from her toes to her nose she shook and rattled
erasing the image on her tambourine.
Things started falling out of her pockets
Treasures found on her path; those discarded and forgotten.
fallen through the holes in my pockets.
She was willing to exchange, with me,
these common things;
for things hoarded from the merchant,
not knowing, that I still keep.
He, the merchant, still quite involved,
knowing the value of my inventory,
smiling, completely disagreed to oversee.
There they were!
Their campfire was as bright as the moon that framed them.
I watch the sparks of their fire being poked,
blinking with bright sparkle into a glowing sky;
lifting light from gold to silver to ember and back into dark.
In an eyelid blink
bowing in such graceful arks,
the merchant and the gypsy, exited with my mind.
As the curtain of decision and indecision lowered
I saw the wick of infinity
in the hands of my soul’s standing applause.
The Night Before Breakfast: An Chapter III Pine Cone Diaries