Poem: An Island

After a decade of thought
and experience
I am forced to admit
that we need community.

It is the reason
that inmates are afraid
of solitary confinement.
Why there are AA meetings
and hacker clubs.

"No man is an island"-
I never really believed that
until today.

Alone, I am sad.
No phone, no computer,
a stranger in a strange place,
I sit next to an old, black, man
with a guitar.
He offers to share a cigarrette
with me
which I accept greedily.
Not because I am out of tobacco,
but because my need to share
with another human being
is so strong,
so tangible,
that I am ready to burst into tears.
My burden seems so heavy.

I see now why I have been
spending so much time
on the computer lately.
So much time reading
and writing;
Blotting out the lonliness.

All this on the verge
of my departure to a foreign land.
Where I will be farther from those
I know and love
and where perhaps
I'll have even less in common
than with those around me.

Of course I am scared.
Terrified, even.
Only a fool would not be.

But I feel this inner urging,
from I know not where,
telling me;
This is the only way to go.
in common

Poem: What I'd Like

Hello, I'd like a small coffee please.
"What kind of roast do you want?"
I don't care.
"Hot or Cold?"
Hot.
"For here or to go?"
I don't care.
"Do you want milk or cream?"
If I want some,
I'll put it in myself.
"Do you want room for cream?"
If I want room,
I'll pour some coffee out.
"Is this cash or credit?"
If you'd have told me the price,
you would have found out.
"Ar you having a nice day?"
None of your business.

Hello I'd like a
small
hot
coffee
to go
I'm paying cash
hold the questions.

Poem: Me

Ah, Me!
I laugh at myself!
Sitting in peace
with a full stomach
under a tree
with money in the bank
and me:
Dwelling on my pain.

The pain which I am
not currently feeling.
The pain which has always been
my greatest foe.

How silly I am
to dwell on that
ugly stick!

When it comes
I will deal with it.
But for now
I must laugh
at myself.
Overdramatic,
morose,
grasping at any straw
that gives me an
excuse
for self-pity.

How good now is
when compared to others.
Other people
and other moments.
I'd better start
appreciating it soon
because before I know it
the pain will be back
and then I will have
no choice
but to laugh.

Poem: Pain #3

Pain is cunning
it cannot be seen
like electricity
you can only tell it's there
by it's action;
grimaces, cries,
groans and moans.

There is no way to prove
how much you hurt
invisible
it exists
only for you

Your body can hurt
your feelings can hurt
your pride can hurt you too.

Like a unifying principle
of nature
ever-present
in every living being.

Surely pain
is a part of God?

Poem: Pain #2

I'll choose some pain
rather than numb
in hopes
to feel more truly.

Take deep breaths
and little rests
and make sure
thoughts are holy

For every day
is not the same
though the mind
may say so

And move through life
a humble being
for Love
is my God's say-so.

Poem: The Ordo Templi Orientis (OTO)

As a child
I spent time
with the OTO;
A "Great Magickal Society
of Occultists."

Oh, how I must have rankled them.
In being the youngest
adjunct by far
a light was cast
on their own immaturity.

I thought them so wise
then
with lofty aims and goals.

But now that I am grown
I see them
in a different light.
Their petty nefariousness
shines to me now
I even see malice
disguised as good tidings
and possibly
Evil
which word I use
not lightly.

Maturity can be a noose
made of light and love.
Every aware
of traps and snares
and schemes
from up above.

Poem: Cunning Pain

Pain is hard to see,
in the beautiful.

Would I rather be ugly
and pain free?
It's hard to say.

Working with others
in worse state than me
I forget about my pain
for a moment.

Cunning how that works.

Poem: Poenix, Arizona

Another day in hell.
Arizona is a third world country.
Complete with crowded buses
screaming babies
crime
and death from the heat.

I've never seen
an uglier part of America.
I don't know if it's the times
or if it has always been this way.
But it doesn't really matter.
I can't now imagine
a worse place.

Mexico can be bad.
It's a better bad, though,
because there is no pretense
of being good.

I smile to know
I am leaving.
And no matter what happens
in my next port
it will seem
like heaven
when I remember the city
of Phoenix.

Poem: Freedom

Flying into the
wide open future
little plans
or means.
Exciting, hopeful
fearful, good
better than
the same old thing.

What will happen?
Time will tell
this I know;
That Chance
is swell.

So raise the flag
and soar the sails
let loose the Anchor
and never let go
of Freedom!

Poem: Medical Issues

I have
Medical Issues
which keep me from being free
chained to
pills, doctors
and Pain.
my life feels
not my own.
When will I be
free in the world?

To travel unhindered
my dearest wish.

I remember the days
of my health.
I wandered far, yes
but not far enough
I fear.

Why, dear Lord,
and I hindered?

Poem: To Be Loved

I do not need to
"have them."
To look is
lovely
enough.

What difference
between
squeezing a breast
and having one
pressed against you
in affection?

"Ownership" is a
Curse
of our world
illusion
where things
"must be our own."

To be loved
and to love

for me
this is
enough.

Poem: Ghost Feelings

This feeling comes over
like a ghost
in a graveyard
Sadness
at the freyed ends
of a rope
the battle is over
no use
in trying to change
the past strategy

The moment is now
and it is all
that should concern me

God is with me
in the now
all I need
is here

Though sometimes there is
Sadness
it passes like the night
and the sun
rises
again.

Poem: Crazy Home Over

As soon as you stop
taking the abuse
they have no use for you.

Locking me out
she is a prisoner
in her own home.

I should have seen it coming,
but perhaps I have learned now.

She took everything she wanted
and threw the rest
out the door.

Where will I go from here?
On to my future,
with God as my guide.

I will not stoop
to this level
of hers.

No anger, resentment, or hate.

There are just a few things
she's stolen
which I still want.

But if I cannot get them,
life will go on.

Doe she think
that by keeping my things
I may one day come back?

No one knows
the Mind of Insanity.

Poem: She

And she was all of the
abusive people
I have ever known;
Screaming and ranting
like a baby.
She said
every dirty thing
she could
finally ending with
"I'll bet you think you're hot shit,
don't you"
as I walked out the door.

She had said it all before,
yet somehow it didn't hurt me
this time.
I just felt sorry fopr her.

If I wasn't there
she screamed at the local shildren.
If they weren't there
her cats got the brundt.

Suddenly I wasn't hurt
or angry.
I didn't feel sorry for myself;
"that I had been abused so."
I just felt sorry for her;
that poor, ill woman,
filled with rage,
only for herself,
perpetually venting,
at the world.

Anger wants to beget
anger.
To make the fire grow.

Hers had found
no fuel in me.
Leaving her to bare
her burden
alone.

Poem: Girlie Games

Girlie games
and squirley games
dareing you now
admit your shame
left and right
and back again
this games key
you just can't win

So laugh it off
and take a breath
admit they're cute
and pass their test

Poem: Not My Problem

So she's a flake;
it's not my problem.
So things get put off;
it's not my problem.

The flaws of others,
in relation to me,
are not my problem.

My problem is living
and enjoying,
every moment,
of every day,
to the fullest extent possible.

Not spinning my
wheels
in useless frustration.
Taking their burdens
into my heart
and festering in pain
over things
I can do nothing
about.

My problem is myself.

And the Answer
is
to
Breathe.

Poem: Content

Affection
without sex
is like
an ice cream sundae
sprinkled with rose petals
warmth and intimacy
glee and caring
with no fear
of repercussion
or complication.

Two children
rolling and giggling
in the grass
content to breath
content to play
content
to Love.

Poem: Cuddly Me

I think I'll stop
having sex
for a while
and start up
with the cuddling.

Put away the penis
start using my hands
in innocent acts
of comfort.

I'll hung one and all
give massages too
with bodies on bodies
I'll never be blue.

To love with my heart
no longer my groin
to be like a kitten
will make my life fine.

Poem: Where?

I have no part
in this sick person's rage.
So why does it hurt
when directed at me?
Where is my fortress
of Self and God
to protect me from
the flaws of others?

Poem: Mirrors

Pouting and pounding
and full of self-loathing.
It's everyone's fault
but her own.
If you try to get close,
she'll hate you for it.
For we are mirrors
of each other
and she can't bare
to see
herself.

Poem: Hate Him

She's just like the man
she claims to hate
though she doesn't see it.

Pointing her finger
at all that is her
and cursing
her very own flaws.

Why do we hate
those parts of ourselves
which we see
in others?

Is there nothing
I can do
to help this
hate-filled person
treat me kindly?

Poem: What Purpose?

The angry, sad
person
who shares my space
directing her
dis-ease at me
gives me cause to
run away
I know not
what else to do.

Talking does not help,
if they do not want to talk.
Action does not help,
if they only ask for more.
Silence does not help,
if they scream anyways.
Oh God,
What is my purpose here?

Poem: The Ordeals

The Ordeals are not written
you'll be lucky if you
know what they are
when they come
if you do not pass one
it will come again
in another form
and again
until you have mastered it
then will come the next
and so on
and so on
yea, even unto perfection
yea, even unto
perfection.

Poem: Port-O-Pottie

Four walls
and a seat
a moment alone
with no one
to yell
or stare
I wish I could
stay forever
despite the smell
always walking
except when resting
always people
often yelling
so much anger
directed at me
what did I do
but try to be free

Poem: God's Army

The Devil will try
every trick that it can
my son
to throw you off My Path.
The walk of faith
does not start east
but as your faith grows
so does My Strength
in your life-
let Me in.
Yet with every growth
in faith
so much harder
does the Devil try
for he does not want
My Army of light
to grow stronger.
So let all your problems
fall from your shoulders
and know that
I am with you always
Comforting
and Protecting you
with all the Love
of Existence.

Poem: Cops

Fucking Cops!
Little plastic Men
Fake superior
Better-than-Us
Men
Stupid, probing
tricky Men
hate you
Fucking Cop
sauntering in your
Cowboy
Tool-belt
smile and
shit-eating
acting like a friend
until
BAM!
I'm down
and fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
for your cooperation
you Fucking Cops
know nothing
tiny-dicked
sadistic
Nazi
Fucks!
Go play with yourselves
imagine
you are a
Big Bad Wolf
and all us little
Citizens
are sheep
Fuck your
false
painted-on
superiority.
I am myself.
And I don't need
your fucking
"Protection."