Dripping Karma

There will be no blogs.
People will be lucky to write on a log.
Maybe etch their initials with a pocket knife.
Look at each other under the burning sky.

Or try and find comfort in each other in the by and by.
Everyday waking up and looking for food.
Avoiding predators as much as you can amuse.
Make it a game maybe and you might win.
The bears are the monsters and you are too thin.

empty vessel
dripping karma
from nothing
filling up

What do I have to give?
What have I seen that is of worth.
What have I heard that is something my lips should birth.
To repeat again to you.

When I don’t feel anything anymore.
It is as if everything I have fought for is gone.
Inside of me I am full of blackened hope.
Outside I am surrounded by a bad joke.

What can I do?
I’m tired of bitching.
I’m tired of snitching.
I’m tired of itching.

I am seizing up inside.
And then my angels walk in.
They are my children.
They turn this chaos into reason.

That I might live to see them grow.
That they might live to let me know
That love is the reason for this.
Sitting on the edge of the abyss.

Florida Cried

The sky is black as it has rained tar balls
the size of soft balls, for weeks.


Crude oil within
The air we breathe.
Cancer has a friend.

No more fishing.
No more swimming.
No more tourists.
No more living.

The economy has died.
Florida has cried.

And we continue to live as if this will not begin.
We do not speak of the possible or knock on wood if you do.
The most massive oil spill in history does not need a band-aid
as if it is just a boo-boo.

Let us speak of the possible.
Let us speak of this tragedy
As if it is really happening.

The Great Illusion

I saw an old friend today I have not seen in thirteen years.
I mentioned his name a week ago and today he appeared.
He had not changed at all it seemed and was still thin.
He told me how he has been living for years now in my dear Brooklyn.

I just moved here two days earlier for a new job.
He just came South two days ago to visit his mom.
I told him how I was speaking about him with our mutual friend.
How I drove a minivan now and am married with two kids.

We were in a pizzeria on the beach and it was extremely hot.
We were amazed at this rare meeting we both got.
We parted ways and I walked away in a mental fog.
Was this just a coincidence we would dislodge?

Maybe this is a glitch in the operating system we all fear?
That if you speak their names it all becomes more clear.
Maybe his life and mine have been connected the entire time?
That we have always been walking together in another paradigm.

In another life I might have been his brother or roommate.
In another life we might have been enemies for heaven’s sake.
It is becoming more clear that everyone we meet in life is for a reason?
Maybe no matter what choices we make time is an illusion?

Boycott This

Trickle down and around this economy is not sound, when foolish mistakes are made on account of a penny. On account of million dollar bonuses that do not go to my town. She had an Indian accent. I first called her to inquire about their affiliation. Was the storage facility we rented part of a BP gas station? Online we saw no clue. We rented a space for all our belongings to be stored so they would not become unglued. We drove all day in our U-haul wondering what the BP initials our storage reservation print out did mean. Was this the same BP that did cause the Gulf Coast oil spill? Continue reading

A Soldier's Oath

A soldier holds up his hand.
An oath he thinks his family demands.
He promises his life for something noble.
Something more than the simple life he lives.
The simple life that his ego will not soon forgive.
Some are given cash bonuses.
Some want to learn a trade or get a degree.
Most can’t get a good job on the outside to truly feel free.

They are led to believe that their lives are meaningless.
That without serving their country they will not have stories to tell.
That all men must have their war and their hell.
That killing is a birthright of all men.
That without those stories you have not been.

The movies and commercials show a man who is changed.
Not a man who sees death and becomes deranged.
There are no heros on a battlefield.
Most were innocent before being taught to kill.
Now having to live with the murder or damage done.
Realizing that they were pawns in a game that is never won.

Mothers and fathers lose their children to this ongoing lie.
That their children’s service could be their last goodbye.
And then they get the call that their child is gone.
Now they must live forever with the death of their daughter or son.

Blame Yourself

You can blame me if you so desire.
I caused the oil spill with my growing fires.
I caused the oil spill with my growing greed.
I caused the oil spill with my endless stomach to feed.

I needed everything this planet had to offer me.
I needed instant gratification so I would feel free.
I needed plastic containers for my food to nuke.
I need fast cars to drive so I could get to work and puke.

From the night we went out and binged drank at the big game.
From the reality show we watched as I desired more fame.
I needed the big house to cool and heat all night and day.
I needed all those plastic toys so my kids did not go outside and play.

I needed all that fast food I could ingest when I was too lazy to cook.
I needed to throw away all that styrofoam that we took.
I needed a new smart phone every upgrade.
I needed the best buy so I would not lose much pay.

I imported my hunger across the ocean to your land.
I sold my way of life to others in desert sands.
I am everywhere now and you are me as well.
If you don’t live like me, you soon will I do tell.

Adbusters.org chooses The Red Pill

The Globatron poem “Red Pill or Blue Pill” is currently (5-21-10) featured on the home page of Adbusters.org.
Adbusters has been my favorite magazine for nearly my entire adult life.  Often it’s hard to read.
Often it’s hard to look at.  It is more often than not a mirror of Western civilization and closely
reflects the zeitgeist.

It is always thought provoking.

View on Adbusters.org.

Beautiful Trees

Many say I drift.  I am more here than you realize as you look into my eyes.  If drifting is living in another year then I am guilty as charged. The road stretches before us both as you drive. This disease takes so many into their graves, the road unpaved. Some are hit quick and for some it drags on. But I don’t know I have it so what is wrong? I am with you when you pull me back. I am remembering the times when I was young and strong. Dancing with you as they played our favorite song.

I see the oceans I’ve sailed and the homes I’ve built. I see my children running around at our feet. I see the great career and great friends we did build and meet. I see this all as we drive down this endless road. Today I am home with my mother and the fire is burning warm. Tomorrow I could be at war helping my sailors ride the storm. The next day I might be in our old church before it burned down. I will be greeting our church family without a sound.

I say abruptly, “Those sure are some beautiful trees… You should take that right.” But I think we are in a different city so it’s alright.  I can still see the beautiful oak trees and the moss from our home’s view. I am reliving the moment I returned from the Pacific, stepping off the train to see you.  So for now, please hold my hand and just let me be.

The rest was gravy…

I am traveling down the highway with my family. On the way to a funeral, we find ourselves speaking about the trees on each side and the traffic that flows. Small talk keeps folks from facing the truth. That death is knocking at your door and we all are searching for something more.  I hope for more.

Just this moment riding down the highway we are talking about more trees. And fences as far as the eye can see. A cow or two. And a funeral ahead. A steel casket of a man I haven’t seen in years. A man I never knew for fear. He was struck down by the disease that takes you back to your crib. He died in a fetal position I hear. Not knowing his wife’s name before his life veered. Can you give me a bottle of water because my mouth has gone dry?  The sunlight stings my eyes coming through the window.

The mirrored monitor reflects my pudgy body buckled in. Safe in this 75mph spin.  New cars on the road flying by. It’s 2010 and it is not easy to keep up. A new Lexus here or there. Amazing what they do to slow their years. The little old lady from Pasadena doesn’t drive very far. Her car has low mileage and yet she still looks around and compares.

The engineering in all the roads is truly amazing and such. Seems like the last time we came through here there was more construction. I forget the storm. After Katrina. The summer they came one right after another. About two summers ago. The trees have all grown back now for sho. Sometimes I think the trees are more alive than us as they slowly move. Are they watching us and wondering what we do? In such a hurry to go from one point to see a another view. In such a hurry to earn a living and become someone new. So people can write a few lines in the paper for you. He was a kind man. A husband and father of two. He did everything he could do.

The rest was gravy.

A Love Letter

you so easily put us together and split us apart. we so often think of you as you affect our hearts. we question your sister, hate and we ask for another. we speak of the prophets and cherish the wisdom they have spoken. we always embrace you as the answer when we are broken. you make me judge others because there is no one like my love. do the stars know you up there high above? do electrons gravitate from you or hate? am i attracted to this planet because of you or fate? do i not float because the earth knows your scent? for questioning you must i now repent?

so many deaths and wars are caused because of you as we fight over a flag, religion or a different view. i think of the children you never met. i think of the homeless who knew you and who you forget. i think of the words we use to describe you, but we never question your power. many say you are the answer to the issues from which we cower. that we should only believe in you and the answers will come. that we should only use you and never succumb.

you are the tool from which all hate comes. candy hearts we give and corny letters we write. donating money to others because of your light. you are a chemical reaction in our brains that makes us fools. never do we sit down to think what this reaction pulls. the worst of us you so often create. where you live, there is always your sister hate. where you live, so many do not relate.