I am the Light, I am the Way

A DASH OF BRAHMANISM
The Self was at peace till It spoke the word "I"
Which severed Its tie with the earth and the sky
        And each of those things
        From which each of us springs
Because Us versus Them is an odious lie


COCKNEY HINDUISM
There once was a warning to watch out for Maya
The myth of a gulf between man and messiah
        Which sets you apart
        From the singular heart
Resulting in visions of fear and desire


LORD OF OBSTACLES
There once was a pachyderm guru Ganesh
A god with a trunk and a thick burly flesh
        His best known maneuver
        As hurdle remover
Is opening doorways to help you refresh

Granola in the News

DENALI NATIONAL PARK, Alaska - Two young backpackers rationed peanut butter sandwiches and granola bars, growing hungrier as they wandered for six days in the dense vegetation of Denali National Park, they said Thursday.

Erica Nelson and Abby Flantz were down to their last granola bar Wednesday, the day they were rescued. Trekking through the remote park, they regularly clicked on their cell phone until they finally found reception that led to their rescue.

Ode on an Australopithecine

THEN AND NOW (June 18, 2008)

In the era of cavemen, they died so much younger
From deadly diseases and hardships and hunger
But now we’ve got doctors with potions and pills
Disease only kills them who can’t pay their bills

These life-support systems can fuel us for ages
Trapped in our bodies like spirits in cages
Worshipping science and losing our essence
The flesh it remains, where the soul has no presence

Feeding our life force by shopping for shoes
Ice cream and Oprah to stave off the blues
Out-of-work shamans they beg on the corner
The blesséd at heart might just hand one a quarter

The radio spokesman he rambles and preaches
On that which our parents neglected to teach us
Deriving our sense in pursuit of a dollar
Numb to the fact that we’re living in squalor

Clinging to life and the trappings of matter
Determined to see our investments grow fatter
Forgetting the quest of hero in transit
Ignoring the treasure, for who understands it?

Garçon, there's a fly in my granola

EXCERPT FROM AN EPITAPH (6-17-08)
We got lost on the way to the funeral
I thought we were supposed to follow the road straight there
But I stopped at the BP to pay the piper and change my shoes
The state highway turned into a rural route
And we ended up behind a barn without a map
The funeral started without us
He died without waiting for us, so why not
They were playing this great song from Super Tramp on the radio anyway

POSTCARD FROM THE ASYLUM
There’s a big old house with a big empty room
And my dad’s alone down the street
Because I ordered him to leave
And then I got mad at my grandma
The 94-year-old woman goes through Kleenex®
Faster than I go through Triscuits®

Granola Grudge

FREEDOM FORECLOSURES (6-12-08)

I once was a hippy, but my, how we’ve grown
For wars, hot and cold, they are all that I’ve known
In truth, I don’t know, exactly what peace is
George’s small head should be blown into pieces

Non-violence, I thought, was the way to succeed
But compassion’s been lost in the shadows of greed
I refuse to reward profiteering with kindness
When all they deserve is lymphoma and blindness

There’s no higher crime than to steal an election
My actions and words both demand insurrection
I want them all hanged, and know there’s a reason
A capital outrage, committing high treason

I’ve misplaced my moxie to live and let live
The masters of war I can never forgive
Observing their terror, I’m so disconcerted
If I had my way, I’d have Cheney murdered

Oiling his pockets and greasing his palms
Choking our pipelines and building more bombs
But freedom ain’t free, just look at the cost
The thousands of families whose homes have been lost

Promising change, new contenders take sway
I’d like to believe every word that they say
Promises, promises, help us stand taller
A little more change will add up to a dollar

pancakes of destruction

Pancake Pandemic 6/01/08

The pancake of poop has been flipped all too often
What’s left of the buckwheat is starting to soften
Take back the batter, this batch has gone south
Keep every morsel away from your mouth
The edges are black and the center is hard
Both sides of the pancake are equally charred
Send all your syrup right back to Vermont
This ain’t the breakfast that you and I want
Over-cooked flapjacks are hardly much fun
So make mine a bowl of granola for one

D-Day

D-Day 6/4/08

D-Day is here, the day of Departure
Time to submit to the Allies of torture
Fighting a war on two opposite fronts
Crashing and burning with dazzling stunts

One fallen soldier retired from combat
His ailing condition is nothing to scoff at
To the infirmary sent, for respite and care
Checked-out, abandoned and out of our hair

Sighing with relief we have sent him away
Convinced that he needed a new place to stay
In their capable hands he still suffers as much
But at least his disease is no longer my crutch

With guilt-ridden joy we can reclaim our hearth
And hope to rekindle a marriage of mirth
Asking each other and looking within
We wonder if ever we’ll bury the sin

If joy is no joy in the absence of sorrow
Then this here’s a joy that will outlast tomorrow
All wrapped in remorse and the anguish of loss
A shell full of feelings he can’t get across

Casting all hopes on the luck of the cards
A soldier-of-claws with a crab that he guards
The hearts and the spades and the clubs have been dealt
A handful of feelings he shouldn’t have felt

Firing salvos and tear gas that smells
Bombing and blasting and breaking through shells
No one can win in this war of attrition
The victors are bound in the gauze of contrition

Summertime Blues

Ebb and Flow 6/02/08

My eloquence has failed me
With no more erudition
That boundless world of words
May never reach fruition

My needs and hopes and dreams
Just might be incongruous
I need a roof and bed and food
The rest is superfluous

A home with sun and sonorous sounds
And maybe there we’ll kick it
I follow my heart to the office
Spot a soul in my meal ticket

Ice cold logic draws the line
As clear as Aristotle
My life is either virtue
Or staring down the bottle

On the hand a golden ring
Worn where they can see
It means the heart is occupied
And no more vacancy

Everything went south
And something flew back east
Just lines across a map
That’s folded twice and creased

Like a one-way trip to Lisbon
Where all was left behind
What if it were different
If I could hit rewind

The tide is moving out now
The waters are receding
The lunar force alluring
But sometimes so misleading