Inappropriate Humor For Real People

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Donor’s Day

I was there for the moment
The Eros of
Sweaty hands
And dirty words

Before the angels
Came for the daughters of men
When
There was still but pure nectar rivers
And

Sweet harmonies
Did clothe me
With a certain radiance

After that moment
Dashed was I
Relegated to ambiguity
To a lost desert and
Unspoken scorn

The heart does choke on days like this one

The day another reminder
That we fought in the trenches
And on the beaches
But to save our lives
Surrendered to defeat
Surrendered to rifles aimed

To have only known that we’d poison
The very loves
That could have been
Better had they rested
With just my plotted marker

Kindreds

In a green spring garden
Full of dew and the mists of God
In the gift of dreaming
Through the great Om’s rainbow
Of distant travels sought
The company of tulips awakening

And under the blue star night
The lull of the mouth harp share
The warmth
When kindreds meet

Figuring It Out

Days – A Poem

 

Some days

I disappear completely

Like a Wednesday night Sauvignon

Or a Thursday night cuddle

I hide within my fox hole;

Subsisting on bitter berries and saltine sandwiches

The war is still raging on

I can hear it

Can I?

 ~

Those days

I feel a deep loneliness

One that I would fight

If I knew where the beachheads were

And what time to show up

But instead I sharpen my knife until it dulls

And I sleep away the needs

Of my birthright

 ~

Many days

Are like puzzle pieces

That get forever lost

Sucked up by the vacuum

Eaten by the mouse

 ~

Life goes on with or without me

And some days I am brave

And I journey with life

For a time…

 ~

But some days

Those days

Many days

I’m hidden within myself

Bartering for a miracle

Begging for a dream

Morality From Your Inner Buddha

Morality From Your Inner Buddha

 

It seems that a lot of our culture is divided into black and white opinions regarding morality.  Morals seem to be a stress point for people of all creeds.  Most people give up in exasperation and end up saying, “I am a good person, I don’t need to be told what to do.”

 

In my blog today I want to say that such a statement isn’t fair off from the truth — though I will interpret it in a different way.  You don’t need to be told what to do because you have innate wisdom within you.  You have your own inner Buddha!

 

The precepts of virtue within Buddhism are helpful reassurances and a loose guide to developing your own system of morality.

 

The first level of virtue is called non-harming / limiting harm.  It really means, that as far as is within your power, you won’t harm another sentient being.

 

1.  Don’t kill

2.  Don’t steal

3.  Don’t speak untruthfully

4.  Don’t use sex in a way that harms another

5.  Don’t do things that decrease your awakening and awareness (drugs)

 

So the first level is to limit harm.  There is a true story of a monastery that was infested with roaches and the roaches were in the food and it was really out of control.  The monks asked their teacher if they could possibly kill the roaches.  The teacher smiled and said, “I’m not going to tell you.”  What is meant by this is that these are guidelines and there may be exceptions to the rules.  No black and whites!

 

The next level is to develop compassion for other sentient beings.

1.  Not killing becomes actions that save others, actions that promote life

2.  Not stealing becomes being generous and charitable

3.  Not speaking untruthfully becomes speaking things that nourish another’s soul

4.  Not harming with sex becomes valuing Eros and intimacy in a sacred way

 

The last point on virtue is that we need to do things that nourish our own Spirit and connect us to our inner Buddha.

 

I hope you learned something from this brief post on Buddhist morals and virtue.  I hope you’ll seek the Tao and Dharma within yourself and within the world in which we live.

 

Namaste

The First and Last Bullet for Mr. Usaki

Napalm from the sky

Burns trees

Never to become books

Tragic

~

Families conspire

What to do with the old and sick?

They will only slow us down

 ~

An old man sits at his three story high window watching

Broken back

Drinks the last of his chardonnay

and smokes a final cigarette

 ~

Enough of this revolving door revolution

Enough of MY suffering

No one is coming to save me

 I just can’t keep giving a damn

~

Years of wishing

Praying –

For a soft pillow dream

From which he would not wake up

Unanswered

 ~

Years of pain stacking on pain

Pain on pain

Like layers of cheap paint on walls

Oh so heavy

And claustrophobic

~

Now a tidy end

Today was the day

He bought his first bullet for the gun

 ~

“Finally”

He thought

“The end…”

Dream Chasing

Stop chasing down dreams

With red faced resentment and aching hearted disappoints

Catch your breath and stand tall
Gain a footing to call your own

View the valley from the mountain’s peak

Close your eyes and
Feel your hair dancing in the breeze

Courageous, Beautiful, Worthy

The wind comes and for the first time
Let the dreams
Chase you

Isolato Goes to Town

 

 

A dry white wine

Such a treat for this isolato

 ~

Venturing out into the rainy season

I brought wood for fires in the night

 ~

The forest was a kind place

Of kind spirits and mischievous lore

In grace

Many a dream

I had there

 ~

Traversing swamplands

Let angels shine a light

Where there is thick fog

If I should tangle in devil roots

I might be pulled under

 ~

Coming to an emerald clear

Stone walls and iron age

 ~

Greetings I give to the world

To those who might listen

But once I shall appear

With many years apart

 ~

Perhaps a new quill

Perhaps some fresh parchment

 ~

But the revelations

Those are what to sell

 ~

In whose hands

I do not know

But in faith I’m guided

 ~

Back through the swamp

To where

I do not know

~

Dreams await me

Bedroom Monster

the lunker sat in his place

in your closet, in your room

the hour of midnight gave him his name

being a negro he was camouflaged

to the white wash of suburban decor

and in the darkness

sitting idly

you might only see the blink

of the white and red

of his eyes

~

he subsisted on the nectar of young girl’s wishes

the sweet fairies they invited

he would trap like moths

and eat until his blood

was laced with cane sugar froth

~

he watched you sleep and

reached into your dreams

but he never moved

nor molested a soul

~

midnight just was

and for a purpose unknown

until the day of the bells

he shall remain