- Tokens and handshakes to cut off the tongue.
- Pull out the ladder and destroy the rungs.
- Lock up the lectern and turn off the mic.
- Whitewash the bubbles and keep the guys tight.
- Speak to the forest but no chirp or hum.
- Expel the water and vanish wisdom.
- Hoist up the arrow and ignore the cross.
- Tread on the garments, and burn out the dross.
- Churn out the dictates from duplicate mold:
- Pages of zircon and parrots of gold.
- Lips made of zipper and teeth made of lead.
- Long live the silence and ignore the dead.
Buried Treasure
- Treasure hidden deep within the fog, so thick and young.
- Guided by the music sweet of moistened lip and tongue,
- Beckoning with whispered pleas, alluring tender heart.
- Frosty palms and weakened knees no longer could depart.
- Lo, an emerald box is found amidst the mountain base.
- Call and search entwined and bound, the emerald box replaced
- By a box of fleshy lust unlocked with wooden key.
- Empty contents to entrust, transcend reality.
- It became apparent quick the treasure would elude.
- It was deep ’neath layers thick, much needed to extrude.
- Rich it flows and courses in the veins that eyes can’t see,
- Far below the porcelain and the mahogany.
- Golden footings, cornerstones; silver lights ahead;
- Diamond rooting, long since grown; ruby strength embed.
- Forged by flame of grief and pain, molded by joy and peace;
- Purified through loss and gain—its worth to never cease.
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Clean again
- Standing in my grave, grey clouds all around.
- Life of signs and keys, with me in the ground.
- Shiver in the cold, blinded by the dark;
- Silenced voice and soul; empty, lifeless heart.
- Then I feel a drop fall upon my brow,
- Second, and a third—downpour on me now.
- Rain washes away caked-on grief and pain;
- As the raindrops cease, I’m made clean again.
- Ling’ring on the air, scent of wash-ed earth;
- Blossoms from the trees, fruit before their birth:
- Drifting through my lungs, richen every breath,
- Cleanse inside my soul; life replacing death.
- Mighty came the tongues rushing through the trees,
- Whirling ’round me now, mitigating breeze.
- Wind whips through my hair, wicks away the rain,
- Wraps my body whole, comforts and ordains.
- Sun upon my face, close my eyes to bask.
- Burning, tingling rays melt away the mask.
- Dipped in flaming pow’r. Dove perched on my heart.
- Wave goodbye to end, turn around to start.
Listen to me read my poem and explain its symbolism:
A Mother’s Touch
- I walked with my first daughter midst life and knowledge grown
- To teach her truth and wisdom and lessons never known.
- I watched with anxious hoping as she took her first bite,
- Then under blade aflaming, I said my last goodbye.
- I sat there with the handmaid to calm her troubled heart,
- Allay her casted thinking, her fears to all depart.
- She could not see nor hear me; I reached inside her soul.
- For soon she’d hold my baby, and we would share a role.
- He stood in nurtured waters; I waited up above.
- By Grace, entombed and risen, and I sent down a dove.
- With still, small voice of whisper, I solemnly decreed:
- This is my son beloved, in whom I am well pleased.
- I beckoned from the pages to come into the grove
- The singing and the buzzing, his knees to them they drove.
- Within the fire column, I hovered as the sun.
- “Dear Joseph—My Beloved; hear counsel from my son.”
Listen to me read this poem and explain the symbolism and imagery:
Liminality
- Whispering of trees
- Chattering of leaves
- Wandering of breeze
- Portending of freeze
- Lengthening of sleeves
- Darkening of eves
- Dwindling of weeds
- Burrowing of seeds
- Orange so deep
- Fireplace keep
- Blustery sweep
- Frost and chill creep
- Blistering weep
- Harvested reap
- Quieted peep
- Yawning to sleep
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I went to college in 1997. I didn’t want to go to school.
In high school, I wanted to become a lawyer. I enjoyed debating, and I thought I’d be good at it. Later on, I thought becoming a doctor would be a good choice, specifically an obstetrician, helping babies come into the world.
But somewhere between 18 and 21, I changed my mind. Going to school for 10–12 years didn’t appeal to me. Heck, for some reason, I wasn’t even interested in an undergrad degree. I had these pie-in-the-sky dreams of starting at the bottom of some company, working my way up the corporate ladder, and eventually owning the company. I could become rich without going to school.
A Mother There
- The cool, gentle breeze, my tousling your hair.
- The silence of night, my calming your cares.
- The bubbling of brooks, my chuckling laugh.
- The falling of rain, my giving you bath.
- The crashing of surf, my humming to rest.
- The soft fallen snow, my dear heart expressed.
- The mountains so grand, my strength in defense.
- The rainbow so clear, my diverse love blend.
- The colours of dawn, my courage so brave.
- The swaying of boughs, my comforting wave.
- The thunder so strong, my clap in delight.
- The stars of black sky, my protective might.
- The warmth of the sun, my kiss on your brow.
- The sound of the leaves, my whispered sure vow:
- That though you forget, my child so dear,
- All these remind you that mother is here.
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Golden Falls
- The bellowed roar of golden falls has since become a drop
- That echoes through the empty cave that once filled to the top,
- Then rainbows pierced the cavern walls and drained the lake near dry.
- And now the houred drip can’t fill the empty storeys high.
- But through the holes left in the wall, a butterfly did come,
- And then a crow, and then a bee, and then a growing hum.
- Just seconds pass until the cave is filled with vibrant life.
- Now flocks of butterflies fill up the space where water rifed,
- And hymns of countless flying crows are roaring through the cave,
- While swarms of sweetly smelling bees soar black and yellow waves.
- The sun sends rays of pink and red and fiery orange, too,
- Straight through the holy apertures where wing and talon flew.
- The soul ablaze with sounds and sights of nature unrestrained,
- Baptized with light from sun and moon and twinkling stars unchained.
- Where once the golden lake had stood, the dusty words had fed,
- Is filling up with welcomed sounds of shining life instead.
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Swapping Chains
- Break your iron shackles; replace with broken keys.
- Have a taste of freedom, but never really free.
- Bathed with flaming water didn’t bleach your skin.
- Cursed with myth and scripture, philosophies of men.
- Take your dimes and dollars to build the halls so grand
- ’Cross the traded ocean, but never in your land.
- No ticket for the mountain, no fig leaves for your waist,
- No oil for your forehead, no tokened hands embraced,
- No families forever, no broken bread or wine,
- No pastor, priest, or elder, and no empowered climb,
- No tongues or hands of healing, no prophecy or dreams,
- No chance for highest glory until the white man deems.
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Well, sort of.
Roughly three years ago, I publicly announced that I had become vegetarian. I had become a pacifist, and not eating meat as a way to avoid killing animals seemed a logical extension of that.
As I progressed in my understanding of anarchist and communist philosophy, I started to also critique the meat industry from an anti-capitalist perspective.
But I’ve changed my mind.