poetry

The Cowboy

The cowboy’s life is sometimes a hard one. He stays up night worrying about the days.

And when the light comes over the horizon he promises himself to mend his ways.

And the years roll by like the highway beneath him and he knows he’s been trying to hide.

Hide from the truth that life is mistreating and it’ll beat you down until you cry.

He’s been taught that crying is wrong and he’s been told to lie is a sin.

He believes that there’s someone somewhere who will on day understand just where he’s been.

The cowboy knows that time is sacred and he knows that life is short.

The cowboy feels each heart that’s broken and he cries a tear.

So if your a cowboy that tired of fighting and you feel that life has let you down.

Find a road that leads you somewhere and wait for the good to come back around.

Because life’s not fair for the cowboy but life doesn’t care who you are.

Life goes on for the cowboy, but he never knows just how far.

Poems From a Recent Future #4

There must be experts in this field of dreams

That ponder answers and though it seems

They guess and imagine all that they know.

Forward, not backward, they will always go.

And though the way is oft filled full of weeds

And darkness hides their curious needs

They slowly cut a path so clear,

Bringing them ever and so importantly near.

The light they seek from darkness grows.

And stupid is from those that know.

To make a dollar is the only way

To eat and drink and sleep, they say.

But art and music and science, sound

Not by answers to questions found

But by questions asked and questions formed

The strange and curious, and not the norm.

Some Times

Sometimes in the early morning I’ll wake up. I won’t get up, but just lie there with my eyes open and watch as thoughts pass by the inside of my eyes. Sometimes they float and sometimes they fly. The early morning is a grey time when colors are subdued, they don’t get in the way of the world, they don’t cover up the truth, the reality. They accentuate the world in a way that is blinding. The morning gets its time to live if just a little. It lives and stretches its wings and we lay in our beds or sit in our chairs and think.

Different places have different things to say. Listening takes time and patience. Sometimes I think that some places are shy, they don’t want to interrupt, they don’t want to get in the way and they have to be coerced, coaxed lightly. Be gentle with new places no matter where they are, no matter what they are. They don’t always have a choice. There’s those places that are talkative. They talk about nothing and go on about everything. We all know the type. We all know that they are nervous inside, they are afraid. We just don’t know what. Other places are those quiet places, sometimes out in the open and sometimes in the corners of our eyes as we pass by.

There was an old tree the other day and it had a palm tree growing out of its trunk. A big one. I felt it was lonely, standing in a field. I walked up to it and lay my hand on it. The vines had grown alongside and it had shoots coming up around it. It knew that it was a thing of the past, a thing that had once stood among many. But now it stood and held a palm tree in between its limbs. Sometimes such things just seem normal. There is no explanation. It’s just how things are and there is nothing else to do.

I saw the sadness in her eyes as she left. She wanted something and didn’t know what. She wanted to stay, but she had to go. Sometimes we just have to let time pass and look out the window as the world passes us by. We get what we want just to find out that it is not what we wanted in the first place. Then, we are back to zero. The bags packed we pretended like it was nothing.

But sometimes we know.

When

When we get money out of politics.

When we become involved and not apathetic.

When we stand up to comfort in the name of justice.

When we care enough to change.

When we face the truth and give up faith.

When we mean what we say.

When we treat the weakest of us with respect.

When we turn our fear into courage.

When we say “enough is enough” and act upon our words.

When we no longer suffer fools.

When we define progress differently.

When we truly educate the public.

When we read.

When we do these things we will no longer search for meaningless things.

 

 

 

The Importance of History

The history of humanity often reads like a continuous war, an unending barrage of violence and trepidation; even when things are good.  To make matters worse, much of historical human violence seems based on fear and greed rather than the battle against those very real villains that have existed and continue to exist today.

And it is difficult to remember that we have made progress;  things are better even though when one looks out the window of their mind they see the continued stupidity, the gargantuan greed, and blindness towards the true evils of the world.

Things are getting better; history shows us that it is.

The importance of history is not only to remind us not to repeat it, but also to teach us what we need to do in order to continually progress against the true villains of humanity: greed and ignorance towards all life on earth.

When we remember, just a few decades ago, how things were we can then say to ourselves that we have progressed even in the torrent of continued barricades.  It is difficult to do so, but we must, yes, we must keep the faith that we can do better and that there are those that will do better.

Things are getting better; history shows us that it is.

The Spirit of Work

Cup of coffee in hand and looking out over the fields, it is difficult to muster the motivation to give up the fire and go out to work.  But, as always, there is work.  This is not bad thing, it is just that the grey mornings and rainy weather have a tendency to dampen the spirit of working.

That spirit to work, that drive to do something, something meaningful defines who we are.  Work is neither a right or a bane.  Rather, it is that intentional act to give meaning.  We do not have a right to work, we must simply work in order to have rights.  Work is not a heavy load to bear with a dreary mind, work is what we do no matter our attitude towards it.

There is always work, and work can always wait.  But why?  Why make the meaning in our lives wait for sunny days or better dispositions?  For those who do not understand the spirit of work, we are too busy.  For those who misunderstand the spirit of work, we are not busy enough.

And so the coffee finished and a final log put on the fire, I don the overalls and you (perhaps) don a suit and we both work in the spirit of making meaning in our lives one minute at a time.

MISTAKES, MISGIVINGS, AND MOTIVATIONS: IV

face roadmap

Leaving; there was no where.  Looking; there was no road.  The silence of the forest and the whisper of the wind off of the ocean; the mists off the mountain tops and the death of the desert’s heat; the man had been many places and was still looking.

Still, looking.  “I am still looking….”, thought the man, “still looking for my home.”  The past in his pocket and the future on his mind he stilled his weary thoughts and lifted the weight once again of what would have to be done.  The difficult task ahead, that he knew all too well, was once again upon him.

“This is life.”, he said to himself as we walked along noticing all of the people who had there own pockets and pasts, their own illusions and dreams, their own weights to bear.  And it showed in their faces and in their eyes.  It showed in how they walked away and to, how they moved and sauntered; how they sat and slept as he past them by.

“Mirror’s everywhere.”, he thought.  “Mirror’s everywhere.”

The Sun Goes Down

A new place; a new beginning. Pulling the old, familiar tools out again I go to work. Things are the same, but yet (as people always seem to say) they are the same. The smells that make up a home coat this house, but they are unfamiliar as they always are. At first, not knowing where to begin, I begin; and the day goes. The sun comes up.

I throw old memories down the staircase knowing that at one time they were important. They aren’t mine, but I feel for them nevertheless. Almost as if time as stopped I pause at a few, looking at them and understanding that there is a time for everything and an end to everything as well. The house is full of these memories; some are good, and some are just…memories.

The wood stove warms up the place and it comes to life. The house was never dead as some that I have known were near. It is a heavy feeling to work in a near-dead house. This one is tired, it is worn out but friendly. Silent, but thankful. Years go by in an hour. Days go by in a minute. I put another slice of wood in the stove and the cinammon smell of dried oak and pine fill the room.

The house is patient with me as I go about my chores. I leave for while to start a tractor, to make plans, to pick up wood, to have coffee, but I come back and start again. Each time I walk into the house the musty smell of smoke, incense, wood and beer fill my nose. It is not a bad smell, not a good smell; it is the smell of years of life, of existence, of survival, of talks and fights.  It is not my life, but somehow it is all of our lives. Human life is messy and the house as experienced all that people can give it.

And now, like me, it begins a new adventure. I almost see it smile as a close the door as the sun goes slowly down behind the trees.

MISTAKES, MISGIVINGS, AND MOTIVATIONS: III

face roadmap

As he realized, there was no explanation and searching for answers to the puzzle that the past posed, he found none.  With the past in his pocket, there was only the unknown, the future left to pack.  And as he folded and flipped the future a new realization dawned: it was not his own.

“The future is not ours…”, he thought out loud.  “The future belongs to no one; it is, in fact, nothing.”  As the thought settled in his head he reached for another piece to pack and found that there was always something to put into his bag, into his pocket to become the tear-soaked past.

“Something out of nothing is the truth; finally!  The Truth!!”

And what of meaning and these dangerous days of wonder and worry.  There will come more mistakes and more misgivings, but of what?  And about what?  If the future is truly nothing, than we are left with the pocket full of past and the present that we cannot notice.  Are we truly slaves to the limits of time or are we burdened with the freedom of space?

Philosophical nonsense made meaningless by poetry and prose, by literature and leitmotifs.  And as these thoughts ran through his head, the responsibilities that he had once believed he had had continued to create something that was never his.  Picking up his empty bag and feeling the weight in his pocket, he turned to go.

We’re In the Monkey Cage -Jerry Seinfeld

SMART PHONES CAUSING SEPARATION FROM FAMILY AND SOCIAL ...

Yes folks, the zoo is open.  Spending our time eyeing strangers over the rims of our iPhones with speculative if not skeptical eyes.  And if that is not enough the cameras, on the phones and on every corner, will do it for us.  Stay on the path and don’t feed the animals.
The glass walls are cleaned every once in a while and no one seems to know who the zookeepers are.  Nevertheless, the food keeps coming and the cages are cleaned; we are happy and content…so they say.  And the next installment is just down the way.
Far back in our memories we seem to remember a different way of living;  I remember when everyone went out to shop, and I’m told that at some point you had to grow your own food.  These narratives of neverland must be mythical.  We’re told what to buy.  Take a left by the palm tree and notice the Orangatangs.
Don’t mind the forlorn looks on the faces; they’re happy as clams.  Just remind them with a peanut how good they’ve got it!  The four walls?  That’s just for safety, both theirs and yours.  Look at their funny butts; let’s post that! And for our next visit we can just catch them if you look hard enough: the majestic cats of the jungle.  I promise they’re in there!  And if you’ll follow me, I’ve got just the place for you.