A long journey home

Persian Blog

 

I am not poor.

I am not weighed down.
I am not ugly, fat, inadequate.
Not good enough, not pure enough, not strong enough.

I am rich.
I am free.

I am free.

Photo – Persian Blog, Omid

-short, evocative poetry-

Published in: on May 25, 2017 at 01:44  Leave a Comment  
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Editing the bible

poem, religion

We’ve all seen them,

Womens circle knitting on,
Saturday,

Mens having breakfast to learn,
How to lead,

Ever been inside a church,
I mean inside?

You know the ones;
Don’t

Talk on the phone when you’re,
Writing notes,

Don’t come in late when right
Next door,

Over the shoulder of
The fat woman in green,

They are editing the bible at the behest of the priest!

Yellow dragons,
Farmhouse animals –

Beware the document groaning,
With the evidence of having been read.

Photo – ♦Fruit Of Hands

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on March 30, 2017 at 23:42  Leave a Comment  
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Living on a prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on March 21, 2017 at 13:03  Comments (1)  
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Midnight Gardener

jacob-y-angel-pelean

I hear God in cushion prints,
Leopard pants,

Ancestors,
We Forget;

What if it took place at midnight, would you

Stack hay and win,
Chicago with the broad shoulders,

Hunt mosquitos,
Midnight lover, the

Ebullient wrestler in a,
Pink Venetian mask,

Would you,
Be a brute,

Pretending the contender was not God,
Brisk breeze,

Be the one who,
Proof read the script,

Then promptly forgot,

Alzheimer,
And Jung?

Anger never works.

Photo – Jacob and Esau

-short evocative poetry-

Published in: on November 7, 2016 at 02:15  Leave a Comment  
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Street-walker

God and Folly

It is raining outside.

I am reminded that,
Rain has rhythm.

Rhythm has heart-beat,
A beat, a

Rat-a-tat-tat,

Every city has its gangsters, its’
Street corners, its

Unbelievers, every

Heart has its beat, and
Every beating heart, its’

God,

Where folly is a pink bear,
An African American,

A bionic car round the bend,
Sunlight at last,

Caught,
In the hair,
Of the joggers,

In the difference it makes to,

Walk with a friend,
For a mile or a minute,

Healing,
Not everywhere is fear.

♦photo♦ Laurieanichols Scenes from New York in January

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

Published in: on January 5, 2016 at 05:48  Leave a Comment  
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God is a touch-screen too.

rtx1gzco

He kills,

While we are touching everything else,
Touch-screens everywhere,

Apparently God kills,

In Catholic Garb,
Violet,

In Coptic yellow, in
Jewish robes,

God kills surreptitiously,

At sunset,
On bridges, through

Garrulous Muslims,

It is a mistake to believe that the only touch-screen around,
Is email.

God is a touch-screen.

We do not remember friends, we
Remember enemies,

We do not remember being appreciated, we
Remember being insulted.

Our thoughts on the environment create the environment and our thought,
Is momentarily polluted.

We want intelligent whales and emotional elephants yet we kill in God’s name, we

Poison one another and blame it on God, where
God is not the problem, we

Instead believe the sycophant –

Touch,
Screen.

 

♦picture♦ Brian Snyder, Reuters

-evocative short poetry-

 

 

 

 

Published in: on September 14, 2015 at 18:46  Leave a Comment  
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Meditation

image

Tie the thread to the farmer!
Marry the Bride to the Groom!
Arrange a wedding for five billion people,

We are approaching the end!

Road rage is the immediate,
And sudden reconfiguration of,
A prior expectation and we are doing well,

The old lady, the Guru and I,
We are making effort.

It is,
In this moment,
A crisis which kills on the streets of America, and

People are cruel.

Just off the ashen pavement, obsidian in the dark,
A boy is playing PlayStation, so –

Kurukshetra! Ping,
Lakshmi! Ping,
Mohammed! Buddha! Ping, ping.

The lady looks hypnotised,
I am cold,
And people are cruel.

They have left the Guru here and gone to bed,
Can you imagine that?

♦Picture♦ PJ Kaiser

– evocative, short poetry –
Published in: on August 13, 2015 at 15:51  Leave a Comment  
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I will come

vincentPatriciaWatword

“…and, I will come amongst you,
Cloaked in the rags of the sinner;

Thus shall ye all be judged.”

Painting: Vincent-Patricia Watwood

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on July 26, 2015 at 12:55  Leave a Comment  
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Mothership

image

You have to wake up

Democratic or not
Atheist or deciding

Male or female
You have to wake up.

You must.
By force.

No, this is not a question of belief
No, not one of freedom

You are free.
You have to wake up until

You die.

-evocative short poetry-

Picture: Mondolithic Studios

Published in: on July 22, 2015 at 11:08  Leave a Comment  
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Puja

image

And suddenly there is life;

Cross legged,
Bug eyed,
Oiled and massaged in the temple,

Groomed by a priest in,
Orange robes and,
Fat, fat

Ghee smeared on painted plywood,
Cheeks,

Frantic efforts to recall the past-times of
Gods,
Frolicking on Earth,

Right next to the toilet,
Near the paddocks,
In this life.

Planes punch through the,
Sky at the nearby airport,

More planes than it seems,
India has a right to;

And the man across from me,
Is fingering a grain of rice in his pocket,

Sweetened at the alter by the,
Guru’s tears,

and
smuggled through the airport check,

just so he can swallow it now,
as his flight number is called.

Photo – LotusSculpture

-evocative short poetry-

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 18:01  Leave a Comment  
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Sunday

short poetry religion race family confession sin laughter penanceThey say that Africans,
Will have to fight for a place on the bus,

So I am pulling out all the stops.

I am burning incense and,
Turning out closets,
-exorcising demons-

I am fumigating my life,
Throwing out old clothes and,
Trying to curry favour,

-surely children were not meant for the streets,
Nor nations meant for war-

I have found sack cloth and ash and,
I intend to,

Gouge flesh with home-made irons
Flagellate until I bleed sin,
All over the carpet.

There will be gnashing of teeth,
And great wailing,
-effort must be made-

I shall identify,
Church pews with nails and,
Kneel!

But the spotlight keeps missing me,
And I manage to elicit only,

Splendid chuckles from my nephew.

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 17:59  Leave a Comment  
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Keep me out of this one

keep-me-out-of-this-one

the lone yellow pebble bore witness
to the abduction that took place at midnight.

The man was bound and gagged and led away as
women wept.

Keep me out of this one.

Did you know that a bear needs twenty-seven,
Square miles of forest, to live?

Keep me out of this one.

The woman cut the balls off the man who raped her.
Keep me out of this one.

 

(more…)

Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 16:56  Leave a Comment  
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