It is quite the dilemma

On the one hand

you mind your own business better than any

Within your northern tundra

your grass grows most potent

your sugar the sweetest

energizing you to carve your way across

your endless miles of ice and emptiness

on those paper thin blades

you smell good

are quiet

never the bully, hardly the meddler

and you are so damn polite

On the other hand

you chose us as your neighbor

(or perhaps it was forced upon you as well)

and we all know what type of parents we have

you offer a cup, they claim it all

you share a resource, they stab a spigot in you

even when you do nothing

they infest you with their righteousness

It is not entirely your fault

this dilemma,

your stepmother has been in bed

with our creepy Uncle Sam

since Lucifer squatted in our eastern river

(a gift from your other parents)

and tainted our water

with delusional ecclesiastical rectitude

Oh, Canada,

quite the dilemma

so

on behalf of my sober brothers and sisters

I apologize

You never quite made sense to us

but you never deserved our recalcitrance, eh?

So, Live On…

Many of us admire and need

your rational sanity

in these obtuse americas

af

(written with pen on paper)

Thank You…

I think it all of the time

even though the sounds don’t usually escape

I see you struggle uphill, still

after a lifetime of climbing mountains

and though we are of the same blood,

I am helpless to assist

I want you to know that I see your fight

You need to know the inspiration I draw from it

I survive because you have

and you are immortal as a result

I dance now as a silhouette of your selflessness;

Every nuance an expression of my love

savoring the great effort because

it means you and I coexist still

So, here is a gesture

a simple one, true

humbly offering

a daughter’s gratuity to always hold with you…

af

(written with pen on paper)

Just when I’d given up hope

there was you

I understood what I accepted

Grew strong from what I needed to sacrifice

then there was you

Lying scared, alone

Staring into the blankness of the future

like a strange wormhole I can sense

but appears only as a wavy reflection of now

Wondering if I should begin counting down

the last breathes I might have

and in walked you

It is a difficult thing for a person to accept

that life is not supposed to be perfect;

realizing the struggles never end

But, like fingers dragging through the wet sand

slowing the hourglass of my life,

it is rich, hearty

full of flavor all of the senses become overwhelmed with…

I am gratified, now, always

knowing there is some hope, still

because there is you…

af

(written with pen & paper)

A nice older woman in Spain

was once asked,

“If your dream was to walk the pilgrimage,

why have you never?”

To which she replied,

“When I was young, I was too busy.

Now that I am old, I am too tired.”

Too often,

the dream held by a child

becomes a lost box of treasure

from the journeys between the

cities of life’s quests;

That subtle lifelong purpose

is easily forgotten

unwisely replaced by the many temporal dreams

that the collective energy

insists is necessary to define worth.

This all happens at such a young age

many people never are aware

their original purpose even existed.

When an agitator crosses paths with this

young misguided wanderer

(or “disciplined, hard-working pursuer of goals”)

the collision of force is as deeply concentrated

as a wall of tornadoes

forcing a tsunami back to sea

the conclusion of this unbearable marriage

is often too predictable

as one so absolutely self-assured of their path

will often admonish the omens of life

and continue down the dark paths of stubbornness

rather than claw through the hostile jungles

which require of the self

silence and instinct

in order to hear the shrieks

of that particular life’s true destiny;

The purpose of that soul’s existence.

The enlightened instigator will most always

continue on down their own path,

as this rare individual who is aware

ceases to notice the lost pieces of the mob

because I know

goals completed

dreams accomplished

that those old souls are my omens

now too tired to begin living the life originally intended.

My pilgrimage begins…

af

(written with pen on paper)

You realize you are responsible for this?

Whenever I explain this new life to a stranger or friend

you are the one, I exclaim, who was insane enough

to throw the tank of gasoline on the smoldering sticks

I had tried to ignite for years

Everyone mocked me

gave me too many reasons, valid as they may be,

why it can’t work, won’t work, shouldn’t work

and all you said was,

“Brilliant!!!”

The definition of a friend has been difficult for me to describe lately

as the more I have stood by those I have cared about

the more I realized that I have not had anyone standing by me

I am a proud one, a despiser of pity,

but lonely all the same

holding to the belief that

a friend is family with different blood

There is deep humility in my gratitude

because I understand how it is all too easy to take advantage

in a world where people receive so much yet still

find nothing inside to give

We are but a pale blue dot in an endless universe

and perhaps what I am doing,

this pilgrimage I am undertaking,

has no purpose and will accomplish nothing…

At least I am creating rather than destroying

trying, still, to give more than I receive

This journey is not mine alone

as you have emerged as a brother

walking beside me, validating my madness with yours

You are as much responsible for

every word

every poem

every person thought of

and every bit of everything

that is a result of

that is created within

this lonely, crazy artist’s life

You gave me this dollar

as a gift for myself,

to let my mind wander

I pay it forward to you

my friend

who is responsible for giving me a purpose

af

(written with pen on paper)

I was taught that my worth is

equal to my test scores

(I was afraid of being worthless

so I got straight A’s)

Then it was insisted that the

quantity of those in my life

equaled the quality of it

(I made sure to be polite,

accept, give and not to question)

» Read the rest of this entry «

Evil Does Not Exist!

Sorry, I cannot explain it now

but evil,

driven by spirits and forces

determined to drink blood

and burn flesh forever

is a mythology to aid the acceptance

of an easy solution

to understanding

and curing

the maladies of the human world;

an excuse to disregard the real causes;

a tool perfected over eons

to control a vulnerable, unforgiving mind

Shit happens, as the philosophy goes

but please remember

the authority behind the atrocity

is not the devil

is not the product of evil

it is the human will

it is a reaction

from the raw animal nature

that has also contributed to the human evolution

As I said,

I cannot explain it now,

but evil

plain and simple

does

not

exist

-af

(written with pen on paper)