My Roots
I love sorrow
because I feel connected
to my roots
when I feel it
and
I love my roots
because they are
my roots.
Dried Grass and Dead Trees
It can be hard, sometimes
When all around are suffering.
It makes me want to suffer.
It makes me want to give up.
It makes me feel like suffering
is the water to my fish.
But it’s not.
To feel badly about something
Simply identifies it for you,
something to look at.
It’s not necessary to then
suffer, because you feel bad,
to celebrate, encourage and enroll
others in feeling bad too.
Today in our culture
feeling badly is considered a virtue,
a necessity, a responsibility,
an expectation.
If you don’t feel badly today,
you are not considered human.
And so, this competition of feeling badly,
of making sure you feel the worst
of promoting your bad feelings
with the gusto and vigor and effectiveness
of Madison Avenue.
What a world.
What a time to be alive,
face to face with the true evil
(if there is such a thing, it is here)
and confront it directly, with love
and only love.
There are few warriors
but there are warriors
And our numbers grow as
first world suffering spreads
like a wild fire
and it will burn like a wild fire,
Hot and fast and it will raise
everything in it’s path
it will destroy everything on the surface
and we will be back to fundamentals
And reminded, for those who are left sane and alive,
of the joy of the world and of living,
Because suffering, like we do, is only
The dried grass and dead trees of life
And joy is the root.
Suffering the way we do is an indication of our health and our disease.
Life is correcting itself.
The meek will inherit the Earth.
Are you the meek?
Or are you dried grass and dead trees?
The Lord Of Crushing Flies
I don’t kill flies,
If I can help it.
But it’s hard,
To help it.
I think they exist, the flies
To test me
And the image I have of myself
Of a loving, caring, non violent man.
But when the fly lands on me
I’m Lord of The Flies
Savage and grinning destruction
Of life
Righteous destruction
I avenge the assault
On my comfort
And dare the worst of
God’s creatures
To come around me.
I am the Lord of Crushing
Flies.
That’s why I try to help it.
A little bit blue
Fall rain
And liquor
Smiling, I don’t know
Is beauty a mistake
The result of preference
I can’t get the girl
Because I don’t really want to
I’m a little bit blue.
It’s not the money
It the time
Or the absence of the rhyme
I’m good not knowing what
I should do
I’m a little bit blue
There’s no one here
Foggy windshield, radio, rain
There’s no one here
And I don’t mind
I’m writing from me to you
Will you read it, what will you say,
I’m a little bit blue.
What If You’re Wrong
Are you right, about your hate
Are you correct about your fear
Can you believe your certainty
And trust your indignation
Is your righteousness infallible
Or does it just feel that way.
Are you willing to bet the life
of your son
on the infallibility of your righteousness.
If not, what are you willing to do?
What are you willing to give up
Who are you willing to give up
What part of yourself are you willing to give up
For your hatred and fury
What are you willing to give up
Who are you willing to give up
For your fury and hatred.
And
What if you are wrong.
A little boy fishes
A little boy fishes
Through the tackle box
Small, new hands
Big, new mind
He cares for the tools
Because they intimidate him
And he watches
Because he wants to know
Tackle box and rod
“No fish tonight, dad”
And up he goes
It’s everything.
Fall In Vermont

There can be no fear of death
while driving through
quilted hills of red and rust
and orange, yellow
crisp air and apples
excite the senses
sublime is
tunnels of color
tornadacitos of leaves
like saying goodbye
never lay down
but just float
together
in yellow
like saying goodbye.
So What
We need to teach them to be kind
or teach them not to be distracted
to build their ego
Surrounded by victims
everywhere
and here
I can feel it, it’s in me
I don’t know it
but it’s here
Without a glimpse I want so much
without knowing how
with being taught to avoid
I avoid
and make excuses and point
my finger outward
at all the problems in the world
and when the world confronts me
I shrink
and bring up the pain
to avoid the pain of life
I wince
and stutter
and limp
and sigh
all because
I don’t want to cry
at the futility of trying
to control
what’s impossible
and worst of all,
I will bite
but best of all
so what.
Comedy
I stretch to understand
and while I don’t
I complain and feel badly for myself
I don’t realize I feel badly
I don’t realize I complain
Until I see it, written in front of me
By me.
So dramatic.
Like a little boy
Who wants the world to be different
but doesn’t know how to
change anything
and likes being taken care of.
This is good to see
Despite the shame and embarrassment
This is the way it is
until it isn’t.
So much comedy in trying for it to be different
the comedy is lost on me (at first)
but it’s comedy alright,
perfect irony
and comittment to fantasy
including being a very serious boy about things
and proclaiming
and being sure
and right
and good
and smart
Who knows if any of that is true
whether I act like it or not.
Such comedy.