There’s so much noise in the world, I need the quiet, to distill it into poetry.
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A cell is the unit of life,
a cell can be filled with fancy numbers in excel’s accounting,
but we can’t account for the strife,
in children dying and their numbers mounting.
Seven hundred fifty seven precious children’s lives,
waiting in hell to get to freedom or heaven,
if this lesson lived isn’t survived.
So we will be bound and gagged,
to represent the deadline lagged,
ninety four minutes freshly tagged,
so that another little body isn’t bagged.
She may not have even been in a cell at the time.
But the hell she could never tell before the cell,
plus the well of memories from the cell,
well, it was just too much.
The towel thrown in, the wrung bell and such.
We want to s/cell everything in this country,
with a ‘c’ and a ‘s’,
the same things we’ve always tossed
at this uncontrollable mess.
Two of the three in our
Stars and Stripes trinity;
the third and missing is death.
All hail the almighty dollar,
and if it can’t be bought, fought,
bombed, or rom~combed,
then it should be dropped and locked up
on the spot, because it might keep
me or the powers that be
from getting a lot, when the getting is good,
and hot.
This girl. This child. This image bearer of God.
This world, not so meek and mild,
wild and bright-eyed,
laughs at the fractures in our bod.
This world sees our gangs and their struggles for power,
It sees our governments and their perpetual shifts,
it sees the heart of man ready, willing, and able to devour,
but struggling to leave its youth a pathway to the truth,
or good and sustainable gifts.
This world sees us strain to uplift,
but tear down without breaking stride.
It sees our extreme emotions shift,
and the perpetual waves signifying white pride.
This world aims to see where we should aim,
As Brendan C. says, the opposite of a gun
is wherever you point it,
I cannot tell you her first, middle, or last name,
or that of a special advocate who was appointed.
The headline came and went leaving us spent looking to blame,
whoever for the simple now being disjointed.
It’s as if we’re waiting in line to sub in to this wicked game,
while continuously weeping, hoping to be anointed.
Mothers down on their knees in the streets,
no shoes on their feet, feeling incomplete,
crying out to the author of all life above.
The answer, so simple and sweet,
in today’s world, an astounding feat,
the answer my friends, is to love.
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The Biggest Little City was host to the Wizarding World of the Reno Aces on Friday night. Even though the home team didn’t walk away with the win, there was magic in the air. Go Aces! Go Harry Potter! Go Reno!
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You wake up one morning feeling a sense of clarity. That clarity may be with regards to personal path, relationship, occupation, or worldwide issue. That clarity may be in regards to the minutia of life and all of its varied nuances. However you come to the answers that have plagued us, be grateful that you’ve arrived. One person’s arrival is another’s launching off point. One person’s demise may be another’s legacy to carry or be carried by. These symbols before us were not meant to be worshipped in themselves as idols, but rather seen as signposts that point us, along the way, to deeper fundamental underlying aspects of truth, and principles of connection between everything.
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You are focused on the thorns in your side, while there is a richness in the journey before you, opening your mind to the entire world wide, begging it to show how it adores you.
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The plumes are looking for new rooms to inhabit, while the flames are taking names and laughing well. If, in your search for hope, you find it, I hope you grab it, for one can never tell. Wisdom will persist, and justice will avail, sadness is only missed, when we’re busy chasing our tail. Love will remain and sustain, while mercy may have its bounds. Seeking sparked grace like the grail, and the likeness of common grounds.
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(Jeremiah 10:13)
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We sit each morning, filled with life and energy for the rest of our day. We hit each mark, heed each warning, and try not to fall to sway. By the end we’ve forgotten our ambition, our goals, our zest, and our passion, but not our grit. For, by the end, all we wish is to crawl inside a hole, and lie down, die, or just sit.
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We give what we want,
we get what we need,
we reap what we sew,
we are what we bleed.
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We’re so busy with the transactions, we don’t find time to read the briefs. We’re acknowledging the factions, but not recognizing reliefs. We’re looking to squabble over fractions, and ridicule the rising reefs. Do beliefs create actions, or do actions create beliefs?
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SIDEWAYS EIGHT PROJECTS 