Monthly Archives: June 2015

One Nation Under Who?

It’s really sophomoric how these pundits sit around grabbing straws out of the Old Testament to demonstrate how Christianity and the Bible support polygamy, slavery, and concubinage as support for the governments view of marriage. Ask yourself; what does the New Testament mean, and what did Jesus intend for our lives? And why are we justifying secular decisions with Christian principles?

Those folks who forge their doctrine on the Old Testament are often political “Cherry “Pickers”. They seek out statements out of verses to support their doctrinal principles. Often these statements and verses are taken out of context if you read the narrative completely. This was accepted at times so a preacher could make his point to a congregation, but as always the cows come home. So now it’s a tactic for all sides. There is no home field advantage.

It seems to me that to be a “Biblical Scholar” we have to read the bible putting our faith to the side. Like reading the directions to put together your latest IKEA purchase. Ill just remind you that the true craftsman starts with an ideal and a block of wood. He cuts, carves, and connects each piece with the ideal in mind, that’s why his products are called. “High End”!

By now you can see we’ve been sucked into a narrative that’s really irrelevant. Unless you’re on of the “Christian Nation” people. Jesus intended us to be one people respected of, and accountable to, each other. The “One People” never meant there wasn’t going to be others. So now it’s time to close ranks. Stand up for your faith, or stand up for your country. If you thought they were one in the same you were sadly mistaken. God Bless


I am a Nation!!!

I am screaming inside of me
Trapped in layers I can’t even see
Longing to shed life and be

I’ve conformed to these boundaries
Of make believe histories
That trap generations identities

I’ve lived in this house as a slave
To kids and a spouse who crave
My life and don’t see what I gave

Friends visit with gifts and a smile
While I sit back gurgling bile
At what they wanted all the while

So now the stranger is fresh air
To breath and talk without a care
And loneliness is a blank stare

I long to walk away from here
And start again somewhere
With nothing but me to care

You has become a lonely thought
Attached to everything I sought
In vain with what I’ve been caught

I can’t even muster goodbye
It’s either an attachment or lie
That I don’t even care to cry

We is a past that is tangled and dark
With beams of light to stark
For me to even find a remark

So now this point thought to be low
Is full of life and a wonderful glow
That shines on me long and slow

Nothing hanging over my head
Or false characters to shed
From the past I was led

I’m not American, married, or a lie
I reject a number or position to die
I am a nation


Their eyes hide behind scales
Seeing nothing but memories
Behind a flickering tongue
Tasting greed and opportunity

Blind becomes a temporary asset
Feigning confusion to strike
At the heat of the unaware
Wrapped up in the myth of sight.

Seeing isn’t knowing for victims
Of placid looks and perceived safety
Lying what appears to be dormant
Decay festers within all

It’s here the dance of ignorance
Blinds the seeing eyes of optimism
With the pulling nature of weakness
Which all survivors use as a tool


I’ve been collecting all of you like butterflies in the wind. Collecting your scent, your colors, and you movements; content to draw your antics on my soul.

Capturing your spirit is like drawing in smoke with my finger, each movement I make creates a new shape, familiar but fascinating.

As your moods undulate with the wind my pulse rises and thuds with amazement. Your lucid gaze never captures my adoring stare, you’re too busy being alive, but that’s the beauty of your continence.

I sit here bathed in your light following your every move. Amazed at how you have mastered the wind, how you’ve spread your wings at an angle to the sun that makes you shimmer, your hues cannot even be denied by moonbeams and myst.

A species like no other, a genus I’ve created within my heart using your breath. You flitter across my horizon taking my attention to soft places and sweet memories. Don’t let the storms deny you your place , because its within me you’re safe, and free to move around

Life and Times!!!

I struggle hourly to rise above family, community, career, nationality to sit at the top of the triangle with Maslow as a human self actualized; I am a person!

The boxes we are put in are so numerous it requires a daily inventory to hold onto who we are. Possibly our first big step is out of our family.

The characters that are projected on us by our parents and the myriad of relatives are nothing short of schizophrenic. A smile here, kind word there, all the while we hold ourselves in check till we can open the box and jump out with our hands in the air wiggling all around like we don’t have a care.

If this skin isn’t thick enough; we enter our community with myths and lies that form a straight jacket of characters that irritate the schizophrenic experience. Our friends, family, and teachers all know a different side of us. Our neighbors just observe this drama and shake their heads.

Then comes independence. A consolidation of characters form the new you as you step out onto the streets of independence. The job!!! The check!!! The beginning of the end of you. Now you’ve sold your independence back on a thirty year fixed rate of descent. Livin the phase life!!!

Your pride has been reduced to a flag, your worth a dollar, and your dreams return to a youthful longing for everything you’ve traded. Questions formed too late. The thin line between bravery and berserk drive you crazy. There’s too much to take to leave your life.

This construct within the “American Dream ” is neatly packaged in this developmental deal. It’s not until you no longer need the system, (or it doesn’t need you) that you realize too late freedom was the carrot and you were the ass pulling the cart for the bastard with the whip.

So here I sit outside the box sliding down the vertices like a slip and slide gone wild. The point of the exercise is lost in the struggle. Maybe it would all be easier if Maslow developed a more linear theory, why a triangular approach?

For now I am just gonna love in a more linear world where birth and death are at either end remembered or feared. I figure if I take this whole thing called life one step at a time I’m less likely to stumble and no one can direct my steps to their goal. I’m just free to live.


I visited an old friend today thinking about life and where he lay. My friend was a giant man, too big for a poem, too humble for an essay, and too real for a bi line. My friend was real and alive within my memories.

I wasn’t as good a friend as he. It came to him naturally. He called me to check in, I called him for advice. He invited me into his family, I visited with him when I could. He genuinely cared for me while I appreciated all his advice. He saved part of me and I admired all of him.

I miss him now instead of then
Now all I have is remember when. From explaining the construction application of the formula for a square to how to deal with displaced children; he always had a sound answer. Now the echoes of his sentiment reverberate through my life.

A friend is someone you don’t see for a while, then hear their voice and suddenly smile. I pass his resting place everyday and know that he has found his way. I’m a better man for knowing my friend and now I have a hand to lend.

He wasn’t a poem, an essay or bi line; he was something bigger, a friend of mine!

Not A Care In My Mind!!!

Thoughts turn to smoke as my ideas
play hide and seek with my mind. I’m not sure if its my mind playing tricks or my brain skipping a beat. Either way I long for a blank slate, I’m tired of this static illusion.

Focusing is like chasing chickens that got lose from their pen. Scattered brains frustrate my efforts to pick up a topic and go to work. It’s like trying to toss a smoke ring in a summer shower.

Why do I even have the desire to think, let alone write, when I can’t even make sense of my thoughts. Like its right on the tip of my mind, but again the thought escapes me. How many epiphanies have I lost to the dark place.

It’s like getting to work and realizing you have no power. You have the tools, the plan, and the ideas, but your thoughts aren’t connected. So you stare at power tools and start to dream of what folks did before electricity.

So I look for a hand saw and hammer; anythings better than accepting defeat. Something will spark and my efforts will be rewarded by the smell of freshly cut wood as I imagine a forest with the sweet smell of cedar.

Suddenly the original plan doesn’t seem as eclectic, too standardized. So now my ideas become art and the original thoughts meld with my dreams and I’m lost in creating something I can’t imagine yet, but desperately have to purge it from my brain.

This is not a safe place for everyone and I understand that. I too once needed guides and structures to maintain my balance. Now I need the feeling of falling to make me jump. My brain Is free and my feet skip along with my thoughts to new ideas that occupy my hands.

There is a second wind within cognition. Yes, there are those moments where the stitch in your side gives you pause, but the possibilities of “something” gives me the belief that something ahead could be great.

This is me throwing smoke rings in a summer shower. I know nothing will stick, but the fluid nature of smoke melting in the myst stimulates my brain to not care about what I’ve lost. I have to keep throwing smoke rings till one is high enough for the sun to shine through.

Then the day will appear and I’ll have to plug in my tools and give life to another idea. The destructive nature of a job! If I could think all day maybe I could chase away the rain and sit back blowing smoke rings and time like I didn’t care about the world outside my brain.