what’s the part about freedom…

what's the part about freedom

i saw
the brown bag prophet
picking up lunch
at one of those
mobile
diner places
and
was surprised
to see him
paying
with
a credit card
i politely
inquired why
since
on a number
of occasions
he’d expressed
that
capitalism
was the great evil
oh he said
i never deal
in cash
you see
the police
can
legally steal your money
if they suspect
you
have
may have
or
haven’t
committed a crime
it’s called
civil asset forfeiture
and
personally
i’d rather make
a
voluntary
donation
to
the police
retirement fund

welcome to the new living church…

welcome to the new living church

on sundays
she spoke
in tongues
shaking
adjacent pews
with her
full framed figure
flailing
in all directions
like
a california earthquake
often
catching
the first pew
first-timers
surprised
and
scurrying
for
their cellphones
to solicit
medical assistance
but
she
always
maintained
enough control
to keep
at least
one eye
on the new
young handsome pastor
and
one hand free
for
the occasional
repositioning
of her
newly purchased
sunday-go-to-meeting
feathered
red
hat

an ancient discipline…

an ancient discipline

aunt bea
warmly smiled
as i discussed
a recent
management workshop
on
centering
to maintain
personal life balance
she listen attentively
to my summary
and then
took
a deep breath
and
said
personally
i find
the warmth of love
to be
the counter-balance
to life’s chaos
a true
personal love
i can’t convey it
in those clinical terms
you just used
but
the feeling’s
like
a lover’s flesh
pressed against yours
as the new day begins
that moment
that floods your soul
with all
the inner peace
possible
meditating
on that moment
throughout the day
shields the soul
from thorny
events
and
people

bent blades of steel…

bent steel blades

every
now and then
i find
an old
unbaked brick
as
i turn up
the earth
with
my harrow
i
suspect
most find
such
items
to be a bother
when clearing
a field
but
i wonder
about those
who built
their homes
upon these lands
before
i was born
what
hardships
did they
endured
and
whose child’s unmarked grave
lies
beneath my feet
did they come
to this land
to be free
from
hate mongers
those
purveyors
of
only their god
the
peddlers
of holy books
written by men
whose sole purpose
was
to control
the lives
of others
through
blind obedience
to a holy shroud
of
ignorance
was such
ignorance
the trumpeting
of
rams’ horns
making
these
walls
fall down
leaving only
this brick
and then
i
wonder
do i
hear
in
my own time
the trumpets
of
hate
and
ignorance
moving around
the walls
of
what i thought
was
an impenetrable
humanity

connection error #1- love could not be verified…

connection error #1...

there will be
no need
for
last-minute
apologies
nor
promises
to
keep in touch
death
will raise
its index finger
and
silence
your words
they
will
go
unheard
as did
my words
asking
for a moment
of
your time
now
you wait
in line
to view
the final remains
of
dreams
and
expectations
so
neatly framed
with
white pillows
and
metallic bronze