“I will not forgive them, for they know what they do.” – God


16 lying words – George W. Bush

“The British Government has learned that
Saddam Hussein recently sought significant
quantities of uranium from Africa.”

15 truth words – Ari Fleischer

“These 16 words should never have been included
in the text written for the President.”

Bush revenge: Outing of Valerie Plame

Result: Endless War


get over it


clamor of annuls
signifying dying
answering questions
with questions
do you wonder
might you ponder
why they broke away?
side by side
their stories ride
both false and true
no final resolution
a blink in time
only young gods
are amused
the old ones
sort p’s and q’s

wherefore art thou?
order or chaos?
how could him/her
do her/him that’a way?
first comes cry
then comes sigh


one gave love to
unlikely receiver who
passed it on
and one
some time spell later
felt a moment of joy
over seemingly
nothing at all.

that we survive is the miracle


Who wants to marry a millionaire?
no gold diggers need apply – ya sure.
Jesus died for our sins
so we wouldn’t have to – not.
If we only think good
only good things will happen –
like kiss my foot.

even biblical honor was
only washing the feet.
Good Goddess Gertie!
Kenny missing a G.

she pops a pill of relief
a temp from madness
inside and out
makes the world go away
for a few hours…k

is it morning yet?
or how in heaven’s earth
did they think to create
blue flowers?
o dear daughter, dear daughter
did i yes do something right?

sweet survivor of tons
of grief immeasurable
hand holding heart in place
i reclaim
our symbol of love
from nonsense pledges
of country, flag
any yeah
boy scouts

in this final hour of anywhere
we will re enter our garden
as a bird might
as a flower’s right
when they call our name
we will remember
the miracle of

a leg a’sea


i’m a bad person
who sometimes does something good
it’s impossible
to be a good person
who never does anything bad
it drives one crazy to think so
or worse – self loathing

what’s good for the goose
not good for the hen house

junk yard dogs are not born mean
change the environment
change the man
woman or child

dead or alive
true selves

the old lady pauses at her keyboard
young dog greets her politely
daughter behind the door smiles
broadly proud of her protege
someone had disposed of

torn tender by the shreds of life
grieving when a flower dies
joyously a new bud blooms
she will pick up the sticks
when i go home
bounce the ball
hop the scotch
tear down the walls
of separation


asexual misnomer


hard to live for those who claim it
easy for those who had not to aim
gracefully or not at all
Little Ms. Curmudgeon
(we’re not all men)
world too noisey
for silent comptemplation?
after ashes have all been sifted
look again
until the quiet comes
almost past
the screaming masses
and the explods many
building within
young ones quickly learning
safe havens
ears to hear
eyes to see
brains to weigh pro and con

it has been a very good year river friend
our linguist has been released
from brotherly consternation

very good work my poet friend
now among your poet peers
blessed am i
to have knew you then

“have knew”?
what is that dear Oxford friend?

i’m sunk in the middle again
not cement at least this time
humor is
a special friend.

good bye old friend
of course we all must leave sometime
as we all must grieve sometime

no one here to say you can not
light a candle in middle daylight…
somewhere it’s midnight
will ten more thousand little children
starve again this August month
near ending?

how do you address an angel
so very busy doing angel things
maybe i guess, with silence

one tiny shred of peace
we will make it thru
another night


i sing nothing nothing nothing


trees and daffodils,
poet’s heaven, not,
poet’s hell, yes.

will i earn myself a peek
if i describe it?


how about
if/when revisiting hell
the knowing of heaven
makes all
not knowing
poet’s hell

i like to believe it is the meeting
of very old poet friends
and then what says she

you’ll never see clearly
the other side
but you can get close
and you can come back
more aware

who knows what i’m reaching for
i see a big full moon in the sky
a reflection of my globe
lamp that looks more like a pumpkin

de Buddha asks me for whom do i write
for myself
and i’ll print
for my Finder tomorrow

we’ll have a good laugh
and brotherhood
from sea to shining s.

“Ah, Charlie, I only break my own heart.”


Oh Ursula and saints galore
in universal love
how short we zenly fall
not loving when we are loving
talking, not walking,
thanks and praises
giving so much
of so few
to so many.
can one loving man/lady save a village?
is there a village where all can be saved?
it truly is hard, John
to imagine a world with no conflict
first comes shock
then comes awe
how do we overcome the fear of shock?
we can ponder fear as future shock
and deny the hell that surrounds us…

i need to pause now and pray
we have enough saints
to help us
back to where we once belonged.



how then
shall we proceed
or not at all
all adding up
miss steps

missing adulation
not missing
one way praise
other way boring
both better off
forking the path

or monkey shines
i know not which
only know rivers flow
we’re caught in snags
of our own making

“I” the rock
tumbles to pebbles
down the stream
down the river
becoming gems
of oceans’ sands

did she kiss his hand
did he wash her feet
do they live in Never Land
where south flows north
where north flows south
and equators equalize

not to fret little dew drops
so far from river flowing
first rays of sun
will show us the gem
we are to become
at story’s end.

it’s only to not about


the pain of a student
is the pain of the teacher
symbolized by robes, hats
with tassels
all together
they shift from right to left
of student and teacher.

is this true for the guru?
i do not know but i wonder
having only met a few
and never one who called
him/herself a guru.

there once was a piano man
who fell onto one knee laughing
Gethsemane postured
responding to his hosts

i am still in hell
with some saving grace
a little bit-o-gold
in years declining.

nor how much do i know
how far we have advanced
from predator and prey

slaughtered blood is our own
in human species feeling

so diverse non human species
each with the drive for survival
seys who humans are also diverse?

cause it’s easier to see some other as other
and non related?

pain, pain, pain, pain
or, say,
fear of pain
we’ve all been here before
with mirrors of reflection
let go of the guilt
and feel the shame
creating one less step
out of this hell
humanly created.

“Shake hands with all of your neighbors,
and kiss your sister Kate,
you’re as welcome back as the flowers of May,”
dear ya all, ya everyone.

the “superior” race


“if you don’t know your roots
you can’t know who you are”

or the birth of the Superiority Complex:

my blood is better than your blood
my team is ” ” ” team
my dad is richer than your dad
my gal is prettier than your gal
my religion is better than your religion
my race is better than your race.

if you insist
know your roots
they are good to measure where you came from
to where you are now

shall we split
or co exist in
as humankind?

mankind vs women folk?
we all got bridges to build.

anyone got window polish?

anyone be here now?