Posts Tagged With: death

Surrender to the Mystery

It’s hard when you live away from your home

Not the home where you’ve grown

But the one your heart knows

The places we’re born, some remain until death


But I know I will travel ‘til I find my rest

Expand all limits ‘til the final test

I don’t wanna catch the thing that I know lyin’

So I’ll chase that old dragon ‘til the end of crimes

For it’s not what you get at the end of your line

Nor the bait or the hooks or the length of the time


Most men know a relief from their defeat

And the bittersweet peace at the end of a feast

But that hunger will awake with the crow & the sun

As sure a some black hole is calling for everyone


Now I watch & wait & let the world come to me

I’ve got rot in my teeth and an ache in my knees

I ain’t crazy ‘cus I live with what I cannot see

And it takes all that I’ve got just to live peacefully


Beyond yesterday’s answer lies a deeper mystery

A body doesn’t have to move in order to be free

I surrender to the mystery so I can be free

I’ll surrender to the mystery so I can be free

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Green Mountain, Grey Mountain

Sparrows & jays eat scraps of seed, competing for little. 
So much space to contemplate, gazing through the chilly blue expanse, ducking & curling around fiery autumn hills.

Between birches & berry brambles, a voice calls & comforts me, 

pulling homeward and bound to nowhere. 

I’d like to sit here all day and count leaves.

Family trees, friend trees, lover trees, enemy trees,falling bodies enrich fallow gardens.

Icy winds rip through, 

leaves everything bare;

Nothing stands past death.
Smiling near while some are far,

Gladly talking, taking time to notice 

one another.

If I missed you, I miss you, 

We’ll use a leaf as a tissue.
Sappy as the sweet shit that flows through maple trees, 

cool as a spring trickle 

whispering soft & serene, 

selling us peace at the cost of time.

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Funeral Caricatures

Though they may have been short-lived,
it seems we often glamorize our beloved deceased
and romanticize their lives.
I’ve known a few,
painted as angels in the grave,
who were prolific purveyors of drama and pain while living.
From the cradle, it must be plain to see
they aren’t all that different from you or me.
Remember the good times,
forget the bad times.
Death makes saints out of sinners
and martyrs out of tyrants.
Abusive lovers, unfaithful friends
we cast this aside and love them unconditionally
so easily in their absence.
Though our hands are calloused and scarred,
the grudges we held melt into mourning
as we paint a rose-petaled heartfelt picture
from the charcoal of who once was.
We make such beautiful caricatures.
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“In case no one told you today, you are a marvellous piece of the universe and this planet needs you on it.” -Some NewAgey Meme

“Needs” is a bit of a strong word… but you get the sentiment.
As a speck of dust on some park block of the universe,
I acknowledge being here,
co-dependently arisen.
bench and sitter share opposite ends of the same moment
as bum & bottle are one
panhandlers trade jokes for smokes
currency is punchline
man holding newspaper
sipping free trade coffee
eyes gaze on printed words.

words invented by man and for man
paper is milled down south
coffee is carried from overseas
the evolution of plants in our hands;
whose instructions do we receive to carry this on?
from plant? from man? who’s the boss here?
the subtle nature of collaborative chemistry
overlapping, interpenetrating
caffeine sparks the brain,
communicating molecules
stimulating desire
most countries who export it
can’t afford to drink it;
coffee & desire
If we can’t find reason to give thanks,
we can find reason to give love
‘cus life is painful enough without sharing some healing
if you could alleviate the troubles of a stranger,
knowing it wouldn’t save you,
would you?
clinging to agony begets more blood
not all bliss
and not all pain,
We are GI Joes & Barbie Dolls
left out in the rain
soon the kids’ll come home
strap bottle rockets to our backs
say “reach for the sky”
and fire us toward the sun
I am smiling ‘cus I know
this wild universe takes care of its own
*little bang*
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losing life to petty things

life is lost over petty things
an argument at the bar
a knife in the ribs,
steel toes scatter bits of scalp and skull
across liquor-stained linoleum

petty human-conceived things,
like pride and respect
derange and rearrange us

life appears so cheap
until cancer diagnostics come back
and the bill is so steep;
maybe that’s the fiscal cliff
we’ve heard so much about

I’d fall off
if they push me
oh to fall away,

dangling from the edge
I’ve gone there once
and I’ll sure go again

I’ve seen the guy in the mirror
watching who it hurts

We burned an eternity to learn
Hell is not a place you go;
it’s a place
you haven’t left yet



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Trap Poem #1

Jingle… jingle… jingle
I hear the jailhouse keys swinging from her hips,
sassy black lady officer saunters slowly past the door of our pod.
It sounds like she’s about to stop and open the door.
We all get ready to greet her like a bunch of dogs left at home too long…
but she doesn’t stop
so we resume doing the same nothing we’ve been doing all weekend.

Prisoner of the War on Drugs
you get a number & some paperwork,
they get a badge & a gun.
Which side you on man?
Run the jail from the inside
run the block from the outside
run the trap til the springs snap back
you either a roach, meat, some time, or a rat.

blah blah blah blah play spades & watch tv
gimme pen & ink.
whatchu got to write anyway,
tryin’ to impress someone?
Allow me to…
express maself now…

trap nation!!!
This whole fucking country is a freedom trap,
everything I wanna do is illegal,
I see the good within the bad within the good within the raw
within the meat that’s still alive, bleeding and horny,
tap the veins with a “fuck me” face
let me get up in Lady Liberty’s guts
so I can see what she’s been hiding beneath those robes all these years,
is it Baby Jesus or is just a pile of tax returns and indictments?
Let me touch your torch, girl,
we’ll burn this jail down

Man, the IRS & the FDA have been 69ing in the closet,
working on some fiscal tantric union
smelling like dirty underwear, bad chemistry, broken finances.
There’s weird shit in these grits,
bologna & cheese sandwiches,
salt peter in the pudding?
too many commercials on daytime television
now I can’t hold an attention span
so I read 3 books: a western, a drama, and a fairy tale
the American Dream unfolds & overlaps
while I’m flipping through jailhouse programming,
watching my soap dramas disappear in hot water
flies buzz after this moldy bread,
I’ve been walking in circles around the pod
chanting mantras to protect the mind I never had.
“Fuck it, you a free man”,
sez the tv and radio but I just don’t know how to believe that.

Lonely in my bunk
I telepathically text the lovely ladies I see
behind closed eyes & doors,
I caress them like wind on leaves
in the open,
I tell them how beautiful they are
while I wish
I could eviscerate myself
with love;
I try to do it constantly.
Call it selfish-will
but I want to give myself away
‘cus I think it’s the only way
to commit suicide
in a healthy & constructive manor.
Die in love; all I’ve been wanting to do
with this lifetime
learning to die well

where’s the love here?

I see these guards watching me.
Oh pirates yes they rob I.
Oh pirates, yes I rob them.
Oh pirates, yes I’m a peaceful one
but I know what blood tastes like
and I’ll have yours
if you try me.

Call this a misguided musing of another lost stargazer,
can’t seem to find the orbit right now
so I just amble through all this space
debris and all
navigating with my best intentions
paving the highway to samsara
with invisible asphault
maybe I just want attention;
why do I write and share?
I needed no intentions,
my life is the prayer!
Who likes & who cares?
No mind, no matter
I’m having a discourse
with myself

Man, I hear that guard again,
sooner or later
they’re gonna open the heavy metal sliding door
and tell me I made bail.
Or maybe not, maybe I’ll sit here and rot; HA!
they’ll have to try a little harder to keep me down,
‘cus if you really wanna know the truth
I can see through this whole pile of shit
while I sit right down on the floor
chant ‘til I escape the real prison door:
this man-made body,
this culturally-engineered mind,
these fucking clothes made of plastic and pesticide cotton,
they’re just a front.
Look in my eyes and see right through
no threats here
but you can bust me upside the head
if you don’t like what you see,
I don’t have any use for courage or fear

I’m waiting here
and I’ll be here waiting
‘til the locks rust off the doors
and I can kick my way out to see sunshine before I exhale
all this pent-up energy I’ve been holding between my eyes and shoulders
for too many lifetimes, god damn!

The chaplain can wipe his ass with my rap sheet for all I care.
God lives in this house, too
and if you don’t like it
you can shack up with some other devil.
I’m a dancing corpse with a rope around my neck
I avert my gaze, I see nothing
while I hear the shakedown man
pooping out lines of suboxone, weed, and tobacco
making money gets shitty sometimes

Somebody get me to the psych ward.
I hear they have better drugs there.

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Burn Me Now

This life wants a poem, the kind that will fly
seen somewhere printed on starry parchment skies
“the ride is never enough!”, Jon lies & cries
desiring a cast of who, what, where, and why

feeling bored & lonely, accosted by no one,
the blues sound good & the drama is fun
it creates a sense of time spinning by the sun,
when all he wants to know is, “when can I be done?”

I attach & detach, transforming through time
a few lines to indulge, enjoyed like cheap wine
when the movie is over, the tape has to rewind
so I roll the credits to see who plays you & I

falling like leaves, this & that go
things dissolve, dispersed to & fro
the curtain is ashes; there is no show
after all is said, who is left to know?

the whole of life is blooming just as a flower
but poor Jon is wilting, he’s dead by the hour!
So weep not for me, for me is a coward
and always cheer for I, because I am power.

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Fear of Heights

Some are afraid of the fall,
a few feel swayed by the wind,
the rest are terrified of their wild mind
and its insane ideas,
don’t jump!
it’s not worth it!
life is futile,
gravity consumes all!)

I remember when I was 13
I was scared and anxious to get on the third story roof
of our family home in progress
but Dad the Carpenter told me
that if I wanted a roof over my head
I’d need to suck it up
and help him put the nails in

So I did, nearly hyperventilating
worried sick with visions of death-
losing my footing and sliding over the edge
tumbling down and snapping limbs,
breaking teeth upon a bed of stones,
crying in agony, cursing the Gods and my father
my neck broken, my back shattered,
my whole body in paralysis
me, left as a vegetable
on life support
and Mom would nod her head
as the Doc pulls the plug on me
and they ship me to the morgue
where I get locked up in some pine box
for all the rest of eternity

It all seems so quaint now;
these morbid fantasies
courtesy of a high-strung combination:
one neurotic mother
one off-the-handle father
and one sensitive son
who absorbed these angers and fears
and learned to transmute them
on paper
on trails
on hospital beds
from the seat of the soul
I’ve forgiven them
and myself

and with that, there comes a reminder
of a void
between the possibility of what can happen
and what does happen.
in this space we forge fate
stealing our delivery
unto the great beyond,

we find meaning within the abyss
when we are one with it,
we let our war cry sound,
screaming into the deadpan alleys
beckoning painful bellows from the hollows of our soul,
beseeching the great mystery
waiting for an echo to bring an answer:
only when we immerse ourselves in fear,
and accept it as part of our being
can we understand the hidden meaning of feeling

The bold, the brave, the accomplished, and the mad
have no further use for personal fear.
If they fall, they’ll fly.
When they hit bottom,
they are granted a final freedom
as the wind whips their woes away
the weeping willow wails a forgetful ballad called

void abides
bliss remains

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Ride the Ticket

There’s a rough patch
of scar tissue
on the inside
of my left elbow

when it gets cold
the blood flows slow
I feel pins and needles

sharp titanium
still in me
the sting that never left

it’s been a while
since I’ve pulled blood
through that dirty old barrel

it seems like yesterday
I bought ten 1cc’s
and stole a q-tip
from the pharmacy

there’s dope around
the corner
all you have to do is ask

but I’m too tired
and too broke
for a bad habit

it never feels
as good
when you’re well

So I sit and wait
and if I grow old
I’ll have arthritis
as my veins collapse

telling my grandchildren,
“don’t do what I did!”
and hopefully they won’t

but if they do,
it will kill them either way
for once the hook is in
it’s a simple matter.

until your ticket comes
to pull everything away

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