Granola Poet

Under Observation

2009-06-10T17:42:00.000-07:00

Due to recent episodes of volatility displayed by the Granola Poet, he's had to be put under heavy sedation. And unfortunately this course of treatment has had a detrimental effect on G.P.'s creativity. So we are suspending this blog indefinitely.

Please refer to The Tao of Fred for status updates and spiritual guidance.

~ the management

A few words on the The word

2009-04-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

“Three-eyed monster”

In the air that you breathe and the water you drink
I infuse every thought though you might hardly think
That with three simple letters I’d wield any sway
But my standing is firm: where I start I will stay
An invaluable servant so hungry for praise
I’m the handle you need when you open a phrase
Entirely definite, sure of myself
I lurk in the shadow, a creature of stealth
With invisible fingers I point like the Lord
An article of faith but don’t take my word

A pariah perhaps in the People’s Republic
But stateside you’ll see that I speak for the public
A commoner character never you’ll find
In “Ulysses” fourteen thousand nine hundred times
My tee-aitch might trouble a tongue now and then
When foreigners’ palates are pressed to the skin
They trip on their teeth and come landing like duh
Which sometimes is rightfully rhyming with the
While sometimes you’ll hear that I’m rhyming with me
Such are the hurdles and secrets of The

Clemency Granted!

2008-09-09T11:23:00.000-07:00

On Monday Sept. 8, the Granola Poet was granted early release from his maximum security lockdown in Soledad, CA. This decision was based on a close review of the following passages which appear to demonstrate a clear sense of remorse and a deep state of inner reflection. In a 5-4 decision, the parole board decided that the Granola Poet was thoroughly reformed with virtually no risk of recidivism.

"In Search"

Enter the forest of cedar and pine
Perk up the senses and straighten the spine
Depart from the legions and wander alone
Adventure inside to expose the unknown

Deep in the woods where the mystery lies
Plunge ever deeper, beyond the disguise
Descending the cave where the demons will hide
Confronted by wickedness, anger and pride

Nine hundred heroes have come here before
Their answers have yet to be left at your door
The princess was rescued, her treasure was found
And angels emitted a heavenly sound

The Savior remains in a book on the shelf
But still there's a journey to make for yourself
To capture the magic one needn't go far
It just takes a lifetime to know who you are

'The Judeo-Christian Capitalist Mafia'
Are storming the planet with weapons in hand
Consuming our spirits and raping the land
Erecting their temples of fortune and fraud
For the kingdoms of heaven and cities of God

Out of the chapel and into the street
Projecting their prophets and stomping their feet
Swinging their knuckles and waving their flags
Concealing their secrets in brown paper bags

Their conscience is weak but their hunger is strong
Their shadows are dark and their nightmares are long
But forgive them their greed as their souls may be shallow
Forgive them their hate for their hearts may be hollow

Who are these villains that stalk us by day?
The habitual demons that won't go away
Tempting our egos with pieces of gold
Knowing each man can be purchased or sold

Promising bliss in the life after this
Threatening hell when your faith runs amiss
They prey on the weak who have anger to spread
Who dream of their enemies peppered with lead

So the angels and devils stay shrouded in awe
Foreign and far beyond natural law
And we remain subject to external forces
Too scared to uncover the deep-seated sources

But study and see that your rivals are near
Their soldiers advance over trenches of fear
Our minds have been split like the town of Berlin
And the enemy's refuge is somewhere within

Public Statement

2008-07-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

The Granola Poet's attorney returned from Iran this week and issued the following statement on behalf of his client:

The Human Scourge
Mankind is in need of a better direction
Consuming and killing with savage perfection
Where lies the answer
To this bipedal cancer?
What can be done to contain the infection?

Scorched Earth Policy
Open your eyes to this uncommon era
And dry up your tears ‘fore you run your mascara
As the king plucks his fiddle
The Earth’s in the middle
Defending herself in the war against terra

Earth in Peril
Old humans once honored their planet
It seems now they take it for granite
But the Earth’s plenty strong
She’ll heal before long
Global warming can’t kill us — or can it?

Wasteland
Rushing downstream like some ill-guided salmon
Our bodies are wasting with spiritual famine
The flesh has grown fatter
From meaningless matter
We’ve traded our souls for the almighty mammon

The Jurassic Age
This orb was once ruled by reptilian giants
Who preyed on the weak with a grizzly defiance
They reigned on for eons
With brains like poor peons
A lesson therein from the pages of science

Mars Attacks
Mr. Martian stepped out of his cosmic two-seater
Joined by his wife, for he hoped to entreat her
Unsure what to think
I said, “How ‘bout a drink?”
“Why yes,” he replied, “take me straight to your liter!”

Exhibit "A" for the Prosecution

2008-07-02T13:04:00.000-07:00

Among the granola delinquent's personal effects, investigators have found numerous notebooks containing page after page of meaningless jibberish, a catalog of personal diaries maintained in reverse chronological order, and no fewer than 29 dog-eared copies of James Joyce’s “Ulysses.”

The following letter was found taped to his refrigerator, which may or may not shed some light on the motives and intentions of the apparently sociopathic cereal-lover, who remains in maximum security lockdown.

“Dear mutha and fatha,

By the time you read this, my mission will most likely be accomplished, and I will most likely have been captured or otherwise taken down by members of the President’s personal attachment of secret service agents. I should be resting in a pine box by now, somewhere in Arkansas, with my head and torso filled with government-issued lead, while the physical remains of the President lie somewhere in the Capital in a platinum-plated coffin. The state funeral may already be underway, and heads of state from around the world are perhaps flying in by the droves to pay their perfunctory respects to the man who proved that gross ineptitude cannot disqualify one from holding the highest official position in the world. Though, in private, I’m sure that these world leaders and the vast majority of the world population are letting out a massive, collective sigh of relief, in the knowledge that this man of mediocre stature and enormous criminal incompetence no longer walks this earth among the thinking and feeling members of the race.

Still, I know my actions will be criticized, and I apologize profusely and wholeheartedly to the both of you for any shame this may bring upon our family. I can hear the critics even now, casting their aspersions on the granola. My actions have accomplished nothing, they will say. ‘He should have used a dirty nuke to wipe out the Pentagon or the WTO.’ They’ll say I should have waited until all the joint chiefs of staff were in the same room rummaging through Satan’s toolbox and then flown a lightweight Cessna loaded with TNT straight into the building.

And I’m sure they’ll all say it was a big waste of time because mister bush was nothing but a mindless puppet and a figurehead anyway. But that will be to miss the point entirely. This assassination is a symbolic act, no less than the sabotage of the WTC in 2001. It was that stroke of genius that lured this proud, egocentric nation into the war in the first place. Whoever was responsible for that action has gotten exactly what they wanted. Who could not have foreseen the results? Is this regime not as predictable as any laboratory rat with a block of cheese and a vial of cocaine? They got their war, and they got themselves into a quagmire from which they can never escape.

The private defense contractors are making their fortunes, the oil cartel is growing filthy rich, and the world economy is collapsing. In the disgraced name of democracy, the new regime is getting exactly what they wanted. And now they’ve set up a black man with a middle eastern name as their main competition. What more could they ask for?

So what choice did I have? If they think they can do a better job of overthrowing this egregious government, then by all means, let them take a shot. I hope to be made a martyr for my efforts. My actions are as symbolic as the puppet leader himself, and when they execute me, they will stop nothing. This is a grassroots revolution, and if everyone of us stands up and assassinates one political leader, change will happen. That much I can promise you. Peaceful change is impossible. Ask anyone. I would have asked Gandhi, but then some crazy Pakastani shot him in the chest. Same with John Lennon. All you need is love, my ass.

Those assholes depend on peaceful revolution. The longer we ‘sit-in’ the deeper they sink their greedy claws into our passive pockets and hopeful hearts.

Dear parents, if I learned anything at all from you, it was to honor the well-being of the world and all of its life before the well-being of myself. When my arrow of love burrows through the forehead of that mindless automaton they call the commander-in-chief, I will be thinking of you. My life means nothing compared to the damage he has done to our planet, as he bows to those weapons manufacturers, drug pushers and oil producers who order him about. I learned from your example, and I pray that others may learn from my example, to rise up and put an end to the evil empire. Their greatest thrill comes from watching their assets swell as they accumulate wealth beyond the wildest imagination; our great thrill will be to see the smiles on the faces of their wives and children who will inherit everything when daddy’s head is vaporized by one of Rockwell’s laser-targeted compact missiles.

God Bless America. With love and respect, your loyal and obedient son.”

Indefinite Detention

2008-07-01T16:49:00.000-07:00

This blog has been indefinitely suspended while the Granola Poet is being held in the maximum security wing of the Soledad Federal Prison in Soledad, California. Local authorities in Grover Beach apprehended the Granola Felon late Monday night after he drove his white Geo Storm through the glass doors of Grand Liquor, on the southeast corner of Grand Avenue and 8th Street in Grover Beach.

After ramming the convenient store’s entrance, the criminal penman crawled out of the window of his disabled vehicle, walked inside, and allegedly accosted the store clerk, demanding he hand over every box of Captain Crunch® breakfast cereal in the store. The clerk, quick to see that something was amiss, reached under the counter for a baseball bat with which he preceded to deliver poetic justice to the unruly customer.

Police arrived on the scene minutes later. It was a short drive from the Grover Beach Police Station located across the street. A field sobriety test on the granola ruffian came up positive for alcohol, marijuana, methamphetamine and 2C-B, giving officers probable cause to proceed to the offender’s residence and conduct a full search of the premises.

In addition to a formidable stockpile of hallucinogens, authorities also discovered what appeared to be an elaborate plan for the assassination of the President. Among the culprit’s extensive notes and records, police found a complete itinerary for the President’s travel plans through Mississippi and Arkansas, scores of roadmaps, stacks of photographs of the soon-to-be-ex-President, as well as many pictures of Little Rock, blue prints for numerous hotels and other buildings in the downtown Little Rock area, and a one-way ticket from San Luis Obispo airport to Little Rock International in Arkansas.

No weapons were found in the home, but a number of middle eastern rugs, tapestries and other artifacts were found throughout the house and hanging on the walls. A team of IT detectives is currently working to unscramble the encryption on the misguided wordsmith’s laptop. Authorities have been unable to reach the writer’s attorney, Ahmed Naficy. Naficy’s secretary has said that the attorney is in Iran for the month on family business.

I am the Light, I am the Way

2008-06-24T15:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T21:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T14:54:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-19T14:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-12T13:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-04T16:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-02T16:58:00.000-07:00

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

Daily Reading

2008-05-15T12:57:00.000-07:00

Tarot Reading 5/15

The Ace of Wands has planted a seed
Now trust in yourself and take what you need
Open your hand and see what’s in store
Proper excitement will open the door
The Staff is the fire that burns through and through
The Ace brings the power, it’s all up to you

A room full of Chalices offers a warning
Consider your dreams when you wake in the morning
The Cups overflow with new hopes in profusion
But is it in fact a mere world of illusion?
Or maybe it’s time to break free from the traps
And let the predictable order collapse

A woman in bondage is pointing the way
With Eight Swords around her and nothing to say
Lost and alone, with blind-folded eyes
And no way to reach her ethereal prize
The forces of air have imprisoned her mind
The way to escape it is what she must find

The juggling jester just takes it in stride
Riding the ups and the downs of the tide
In spite of the weight that he holds in his hands
The joker is dancing wherever he stands
Like the Magician who harnessed infinite
With trust in the force and the ways of divinity

Tarot Reading

2008-04-30T15:09:00.000-07:00

I read my tarot cards yesterday, and my prospects are ambiguous as ever.
I drew the 6 of Swords, the 4 of Cups, the 2 of Coins, and the 3 of Wands, then tried to make sense of it all . . .

Drifting along on the sea of despair
A spiritless vessel in need of repair
Listless and longing for solace or more
Hoping for berth on some genial shore

Passively riding the wake of the tide
In danger of sinking too deeply inside
Lost in a tangle of inner reflection
Blind to this offer of saintly protection

Juggling options with ease and finesse
Sailing the waves with such effortlessness
Follow the clown in his balancing act
Bend with the breeze and never look back

Gazing out over the uncharted oceans
Looking ahead through the sea of emotions
Beyond every boundary and all the restrictions
Somewhere out yonder lie deeper convictions

Seasons of Eden

2008-04-28T17:06:00.001-07:00

Mad Gods and Dogma 4/28/08

From the black womb of night I entered stage left
Out of the void with my conscience bereft
With no sense of discipline ethics or order
‘Tween Heaven and Hell, I sat on the border

I’ve spent my life looking for reasons to live
Transgressing through vices and deeds to forgive
Peering through darkness in search of the light
Waiting for morning to conquer the night

I’ve blinded myself by the rays of the sun
Inflating my ego in search of good fun
Ignoring the link between Heaven and earth
I followed the mammon and wallowed in mirth

I saw movies with justice and questioned the truth
Of a good book that teaches a tooth for a tooth
A mouthful of molder I reckoned as much
Believing in only those things I could touch

I sat through the morning in shadows of doubt
Looking for guidance to point the way out
From inside the whale and alone with my thoughts
Just gazing within at the colorful spots

I’ve spent my days seeking some mystical force
Desperate to locate the ultimate source
Tracking the planets and mapping the stars
Scratching out poems and banging guitars

I’ve spent my time testing the waters of reason
Wanting a flower that blooms every season
Thirsty for answers that won’t be refuted
The river, I fear, has been badly polluted

I’ve studied the ways of an angel’s ascent
And relayed the message in time to repent
The wheel of fortune turns mountains to sand
The hero returns with a gift in his hand

But is there some vortex of unification?
A heavenly father who fostered creation?
Some read the Gospel and some look to Allah
But I can see wisdom inside the mandala

I’ve squandered a lifetime inside of a square
Resisting the tension of fire and air
While water and earth make up pillars of mud
Though none can survive the perennial flood

In a corner I’ve wasted a good chunk of time
Paradise lost with my reason and rhyme
The apple of Eden had poisoned my mind
An ocean of wisdom I still hope to find

Beyond the horizon of good versus evil
Return to the birthplace in utter upheaval
The profane and the sacred united as one
And the spiritual journey has only begun

After Life

2008-04-28T12:45:00.000-07:00

After Life 4/28/08

I was barely fourteen when my grandpa departed
That’s when my thoughts on the afterlife started
I’m told that his blood cells were poisoned by cancer
I asked what came next but they gave me no answer

At eighty plus years of impeccable health
Leukemia struck him with terminal stealth
In a matter of weeks it reduced him to waste
The blessing I’ve learned was the factor of haste

A short decade later his scion fell ill
But father’s disease would take longer to kill
The plague in his nerves was a modern-day torture
And fight it he did with great patience and ardour

Though hardly uncommon, this bane he endured
The doctors admitted it couldn’t be cured
So pills were prescribed for intended relief
With no more success than an Indian chief

Handfuls of pain meds consumed every hour
As if they possessed some exceptional power
Needles and potions and treatments were tested
But Parkinson’s progress could not be arrested

With each passing year we could see him grow worse
And watching him suffer was no less a curse
Looking for something to lessen his anguish
Desperate to do more than let him just languish

I stood by his side to prevent him from falling
As he stood by me, when I was still crawling
At one time advising me, teaching and coaching
The tables were turned with his old age encroaching

In a ball on the floor, full of pain in the night
I mumbled and told him it’ll all be alright
He mumbled too and I bent down to hear
His face without color, his eyes full of fear

So why do I speak of this all in past tense?
The outcome we know for it bears no suspense
Patiently waiting we button our breath
Living in peace with the shadow of death

Our hopes for his comeback are somewhat absurd
Everyone knows that this thing can’t be cured
It won’t last forever, so somebody said
The heartache will stop when my father is dead

As If

2008-04-17T08:24:00.000-07:00

If you can bear the brunt of a thousand callous elbows
And hold your ground among a throng of hungry fellows
If you can stand the stench of liars who rise above you
And keep your thoughts on the one or two who love you
If you can bend over backwards with stress and tension
Or stand up tall with undivided attention
Or lean from right to left with ease
And not just wiggle in the breeze

If you can sense your tragic flaw and give yourself a laugh
Or lift a shining kernel from a crusty stack of chaff
If you can chase the spirit of wanting that burns a man’s heart
And loosen the desire before it tears your soul apart
If you can drink from both cups of joy and sorrow
Or wait for now and drink tomorrow
Or see that coins are all two-sided
And know your fate is not decided

If you can take a page of Kipling and follow every letter
Or find your heroes’ faults and do their deeds one better
If you can stand alone and know that you’re right
And surrender your words for good works in plain sight
If you can bite your tongue and accept it with grace
Or let your thoughts go drifting in space
Or focus your mind on everything pleasant
And know that forever survives in the present

If you can forgive the crimes of those who write the rules
And let go of the past and the pranks and prep schools
Without forgetting what you stand for and why
And never believing its useless to try
If you can do what you can to steer clear of strife
And act with respect toward all forms of life
You’ll be the pillar, and carved out of wood
And – what’s more – you’ll be misunderstood

Absolute Zero

2008-04-16T10:50:00.001-07:00

Can you picture a planet where people mean nothing?
Where the spirit is weak and the flesh is for stuffing?
What kind of world would we all have to live in?
This I believe is the one we were given

Art has no value unless you disguise it
Peace has no purpose till somebody buys it
Love is an asset that merchants endorse
To sell you more flowers and books on divorce

Honor means war with a valid excuse
A buildup of rockets we’ll never reduce
Stop those who challenge the message of Jesus
And conflict will end when the Middle East freezes

Once you’ve defended your standard of living
High praise is offered to things like forgiving
Turn the left cheek, it’s what he would do
A lesson for Romans, but not me and you

Integrity stands like some ancient Greek goddess
Carved out of marble unable to prod us
A classical fiction or outdated hero
Whose virtue today is worth absolute zero

Victory

2008-04-08T16:54:00.001-07:00

Victory At Any Cost (April 8, 2008)

General Petraeus, your mission is dragging
Cheney is willing but spirits are sagging
Vict’ry you say is round the next corner
Explain to the mothers who wait by the coroner

The specious invasion at five years and counting
Our country it suffers from backwards accounting
Library hours grow shorter and shorter
Money for textbooks they’re spending on mortar

The bloodshed increases and George doesn’t see
He said it was finished in May of 03
Each day your forecast grows fairer and fairer
When did that country get riddled by terror?

With 4,000 dead, on our side alone
It’s too soon for towels or fits to be thrown
Now is the time to be hopeful and strong
But glasses in deserts aren’t half full for long

I hope we aren’t half as dumb as you think
The longer we stay so the deeper we sink
Protecting your honor, young gentlemen die
While Exxon sees profits go straight through the sky

You entered their land with a force of deceit
And coming back home is the mark of defeat
So send the boys in for another attack
If you had your way they would never come back

I Pledge A Meanness

2008-04-08T14:18:00.001-07:00

I pledge a meanness to the man
Who schemes and conspires for power
But oh how the mighty do fall
From grace to perdition
From faith to sedition
With lust and dishonor for all

Equine Amity

2008-04-08T14:12:00.000-07:00

The End All Be All

Three horsemen and I went riding this morning
And raising our voices we issued a warning
To speak of such matters so often untold
Together we witnessed a new day unfold

Out of the darkness with twilight emerging
The omens of ruin were gravely converging
So four of us mounted our colorful horses
Divinely invoking our farsighted forces

Bad news was broadcast all over the herd
Of famine and pestilence not to be cured
Drawn from the quiver my arrows let loose
And fell like a plague that was sent down from Zeus

My fellow beside me on cinnamon steed
Announced to all races, regardless of creed:
Beware the production of weapons galore
Your earth will be scorched and divided by war

In the streets of Japan where our bugles resounded
The next seal opened and man was astounded
Two cities submitted to Hell’s trumpet call
Till nothing was standing, no tree stump at all

On ebony bronco my next mate he measured
Four cups of wheat, and unfairly treasured
Before you go hungry, consider the reasons
Why flooding and droughts have been flouting the seasons

A hot wind is roaring with sea levels rising
Tornadoes in Europe no longer surprising
Now cyclones blow madly and gloom they betoken
Just see how the towers and levees are broken

Offering wisdom we hoped they would hear it
Atop my white stallion I spoke with great spirit
Into the masses where businessmen stirred
But over the din went the message unheard

It’s only themselves to whom they’ve been lying
For no sum of money can keep them from dying
Rose-colored glasses and rich sugar coating
Nothing can sweeten the taste of foreboding

Still they remain disinclined to believe us
It’s ever much easier not to receive us
The words that we utter are simply ignored
But the sisters of Fortune will deal the reward

Finally our colleague comes riding behind us
Thin, pale and pasty as if to remind us
The news we declare is a doom we must share
When death wields the scythe, not a life will he spare

Our fate has been sealed and nothing can save us
For these are the days when doom shall enslave us

Little more than life and death

2007-10-17T13:59:00.000-07:00

"The Original Adventure"
Remember the spiral that brought you to light
Pulling you down in a moment of fright
By casting all doubt
You clawed your way out
Venturing forth from the black womb of night

"Resurrection"
Three and a half years without any rain
No crops in the field and the livestock in pain
At last thunder struck
A change in our luck
And finally the orchards are blooming again

"Butter of Immortality"
There's a legend of yore, from when gods were maternal
When Vishnu and Shiva fought forces infernal
From the Milky Way fountain
With a snake 'round the mountain
They churned out a batch of the Butter Eternal

The Grover Beach Grunge

2007-10-10T10:35:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to the legions of Granola groupies who have been begging for more locally-inspired Limericks. In response to the relentless and overwhelming demand, it is my pleasure to present you all with "The Grover Beach Grunge" . . .

Rednecks rush out to the sand dunes of Grover
Breaking their limbs when their buggies roll over
An egregious offense
With no common sense
They might as well bulldoze the White Cliffs of Dover

Original Goddess & Earth Mother

2007-10-09T12:55:00.000-07:00

Close your eyes for a moment and pause
Removing yourself from the natural laws
Imagine your tomb
Like a watery womb
And embrace Artemis, the original cause

another metaphysical dilemma

2007-10-08T13:35:00.000-07:00

Limerick #366
Stand by the river, examine her course
Moving with steady unstoppable force
As the cycle goes round
The first drop can't be found
And still we expect to uncover the source

Our Father

2007-09-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

Our Father, you’re consubstantial,
However we call your name.
Yahweh, or Allah,
We choose to follow
The forces that circle within.
Give us the patience to trust ourselves
And relinquish our egos
As we receive those who punish themselves.
And breeding more toleration,
We decrease the illusion.
For I am thee, and he is she, and you are me,
And we are all together.
-Amen.

September 11th

2007-09-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

We've come a long way since I wrote this in the lobby of a youth hostel in Lubeck, Germany, on Sept 16, 2001.
Thanks, George, for proving me wrong.

I hear a time bomb ticking down
I see a dark and heavy cloud
Stars and stripes speak words of war
Nothing like nothing before
Caught with our defenses down
An enemy that can’t be found
Fire the engines – aim the guns
At anything that walks or runs
Koran thumpers and the Bible belt
Terror like we’ve never felt
If it’s Allah versus Jesus
Then it’s Satan who increases
Heaven help us through this hour
Stop this little show of power
Stop the war while you still can
Save this sorry race called Man

Pipe Dreams

2007-09-10T09:21:00.000-07:00

Suffering in the caboose on the bullshit train to emerald city

I should have been a plumber
Instead of trying to use my head
I’ve tried to be creative
Should have studied cars instead

No more time to read these days
Reality shows run back to back
Libraries closed like minds
Education is under attack

Books are out of fashion
Unless they teach of home repair
I should have been a plumber
They make money everywhere

Books are now unwanted
They require us to think
But a plumber’s always needed
Every household has a sink

I should have been a plumber
Charging hundreds every hour
I could feed my family better
If I learned to fix a shower

Instead my time is wasted
Studying Henry, James and Joyce
When I could’ve studied welding
A more productive choice

So now I check my bank account
And wonder in despair
Where I’ll find the money
When our rooftop needs repair

I should have been a plumber
Eating sushi every week
I should have been a plumber
Instead of just a geek

September 8th is finally here

2007-09-08T09:22:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is Grandparents' Day all across America. I may not have time to visit my Grandma this weekend. Perhaps I'll stay home and balance her checkbook instead. It's important to make sure that her balance never exceeds $2000 so that her care facility can continue to bill the state of California about $4000/month for her room (50 square feet with a hospital bed) and board (mostly food that doesn't fit the criteria of her very restricted diet since her 1953 colostomy operation). It's an arrangement that keeps Grandma off the street and maintains a comfortable standard of living for the managing staff of the Care Facility.

Some day we will all escape the tormenting illusion of this physical world, the hapless realm of fear and desire, the wasteland of spiritual bankruptcy and material greed, the either/or area of good vs. bad, right vs. wrong, eternity vs. time, and god vs. man. The day will come when we each returns the paradise of Eden that existes within everyone of us, when we discard the fruit of the tree of knowledge of opposites, and eat instead from the tree of life. When we discover that paradise is not a faraway place but an oasis that lies deep within, only then will we unlock the potential of eternal life and experience the rapture of infinity and divinity in the here and now.

All of which brings me, somewhat anti-climactically, to this week's Limerick:

Avalon
There’s a place somewhere north of Gonzales
With forests expansive and flawless
And people who know
What makes the trees grow
Up there they will offer me solace

May you all reach the island of angels and fairies, of peaches and pomegranates, of sweet nectars and invigorating elixirs, of unity and presence, wherever it may be. Open your hearts, now and forever, and see that your bowl of galactic granola never runs dry.

Labor Day Weekend

2007-09-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to all the White Trash... welcome to Grover Beach!

The holiday's here not a moment too soon
I look out my window and what do I see?
Two thousand Hummers head straight for the dune
To leak motor oil right into the sea

Monster truck madness invades Grover Beach
They rinse their dune-buggies at evening high tide
With tow-trucks and 6 packs all within reach
Last week a toddler got run down and died

(In memory of the 4-year old child who was run over and killed by an off-road vehicle on the Oceano Dunes last weekend.)

Now here's something in a more cheerful, literary spirit — also for Labor Day:

Limerick #332 – H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)
Where the land of Cthulu existed
The creatures were horribly twisted
And as mythos grew bigger
Around this cult figure
The labor of Lovecraft persisted

Found Art Tuesday: Favorite

2007-08-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

Lately the Granola Poet has been about as elusive as a two-tone green leprechaun hat in a box of Lucky Charms. I apologize, but there is a perfectly good explanation for my absence. Unfortunately, it's not a particularly poetic explanation, so let's move on...

I now and then crave a well-aged gorgonzola
Hand fed to me in my private gondola
While a hand-cranked Victrola
Plays a piece for viola
It's nearly as nice as a bowl o' granola

Tagged

2007-08-10T17:48:00.000-07:00

It finally happened... I've been tagged. So eight random things about myself? Jeez, I didn't think anything about me was random. I thought it all had purpose. Ah, well.

1) I was born right smack in the middle of the sign of Cancer, so I'm a crab in every way. Moody, sensitive, emotional, domestic, motherly and unconventional. So I release my emotions in the form of Limericks - they're like my 350 little babies (and counting).

2) When I was a kid we raised California Desert Tortoises. Turtles are something like cancers — always carrying their homes on the backs — but not as crabby. And turtles hate to be flipped over, whereas I love being upside-down. It's a different perspective that's often more satisfying to my unconventional disposition. I like to walk around on my hands. I also enjoy headstands and powerful hallucinogens.

3) I grew up in Orange County in the 1980s, a time and place where Ronald Reagan was revered as a living god. No one can deny that he accomplished great things for the wealthy. Nothing could be a greater violation of the poetic principles. Except possibly his proliferation of WMD.

4) The 2 months I worked at Le Bastide Haute in Theizac, France was probably the greatest time of my life. I tended vegetables, shoveled horse manure, watched over chickens and rabbits, hunted mice, and made friends with an ass named Jocko (he had great ears for listening). I formed a close bond to the earth, drank copious amounts of wine, and made communion with Dionysus.

5) During a siesta at Le Bastide, I found an old copy of James Joyce's Ulysses, in English. I pulled it off the shelf and was intrigued by the introduction by Anthony Burgess. So I read it. I was confused. I had no internet or reference books of any kind, so I was very confused, and amazed. Five years later I re-read it along with a trove of explanatory books and essays. This was a far more rewarding experience. I was less confused, and more amazed.

6) As I said before, Cancers are domestic creatures. We take pride in our homes, we like cooking and gardening and mothering. I feel a very motherly connection to my home planet. She's Mother Earth, but sometimes she needs a little nurturing herself. My heart aches when I see her being ruthlessly raped by greedy men. Sometimes I worry that she's fallen in with the wrong crowd.

7) As I said before, turtles hate to be turned upside down but I like it. After 9-11 everybody said their world had be turned inside out or upside down. Mine seemed right side up for the first time. I had just spent 6 weeks tilling the earth in southern France. I had departed France about 3 days earlier. And a week later I would meet my future wife at youth hostel in Lubeck, Germany, the birthplace of Thomas Mann.

8) Before joining the Cult of Dionysus, I was really into numerology and 8 was my lucky number. My first name has 4 letters and the name I go by also has 4 letters. My last name has 8 letters and starts with the 8th letter of the alphabet. My bother's name has four letters and together we started a business with 8 letters. It's actually a compound word, formed by combining two 4-letter words. The name of the business also started with the 8th letter of the alphabet. The address of my branch of the business was 844 Monterey St. My new business is on the corner of 8th street, and it has 9 letters. The ninth letter of the alphabet is the second letter in the word "eight." What could this mean?

Free your mind

2007-08-08T17:42:00.000-07:00

Come now, mash down babylon
Up and down the mountain
Wash away the wickedness
And purify the fountain

They're poisoning our very souls
And brainwashing the youth
They've hidden all the answers
And re-arranged the truth

Hungry eyes observe the Dow
It's highest point in years
While the fife and drum of Ares
Is ringing in my ears

A million martyrs stand in line
While shepherds speak of profits
Portfolios resurrected
Yet the death toll still skyrockets

The gold that briefly glitters
Is worth its weight in salt
While those inclined to seek it
Close their minds up like a vault

The golden promise broken
Yet many still revere it
They pray for nothing greater
And sell away their spirit

So breathe a little every day
And don' get left behind
Please obey the noble truths
Let Buddha free your mind

Found Art Tuesday: Jump

2007-07-17T10:18:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling with Found Art Tuesday topics for the past 2 or 3 weeks. My apologies, but I keep getting distracted by this pesky vision quest of mine. Anyway, I thought the "jump" theme would allow me the opportunity to expound poetically on the notion of a Leap of Faith. But, as luck would have it, I'll be damned if I can find anything to rhyme with faith.
So here's what I came up with instead...

Conditions are cluttered by clouds of confusion
And pinheads proceed in prolific profusion
So follow the masses
Who fall on their asses
Come join the convention and jump to conclusions

James Joyce's Ulysses: the complete series

2007-07-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

James Joyce’s ULYSSES, in 36 easily digestible Limericks
By The Granola Poet

“Ulysses”
There once was an artist called Stephen
With Homer he tried to get even
       So Bloom and he walk
       Around Dublin and talk
About all the things they believe in

Telemachus (episode 1)
The story begins in a tower
Where 8 o'clock is the hour
       Young Buck and Sir Haines
       Make light of his pains
But wait till he meets Mr. Flower

Telemachus #2
It starts with a portion of prose
From "Portrait" our character rose
       A maker of mazes
       His thoughts take us places
Like the Liffey his monologue flows

Telemachus #3 (Homeric)
There once was a young Telemachus
Whose father left him in a fracas
       To the war he objected
       But his name was selected
For an odyssey certain to shock us

Nestor (episode 2)
At 10 o’clock school is in session
It starts with a history lesson
       To the past Stephen reaches
       And languidly teaches
For his own past he must make confession

Nestor #2
At school young Stephen is teaching
And into the past he is reaching
       By his’try they’re bound
       To a king and his crown
And a Pope who’s incessantly preaching

Proteus (episode 3)
Introducing the Protean mind
Streaming with thoughts of all kind
       The king changes shapes
       As our hero escapes
On a quest for a woman who’s kind

Calypso (episode 4)
Calypso is leading a life of seduction
As Leopold seldom attempts reproduction
       Their home goes to Blazes
       While Bloom simply gazes
At maidens who gaily portend his destruction

Lotus Eaters #1 (episode 5)
In the bathtub he dwells on a lotus
A billet-doux from the pocket he showed us
       Her language so flirty
       Makes Flower feel dirty
Her roses he tries not to notice

Lotus Eaters #2
Naughty Miss Martha she beckoned
For Henry was lonely she reckoned
       But when she comes calling
       He can’t help from falling
Some thirty-two Bloom feet per second

Hades #1 (episode 6)
All Dublin has come out to pay their respects
A rite to which Leopold lightly objects
       In metempsychosis
       One life cycle closes
On dad’s misadventure L. Bloom he reflects

Hades #2
The gravediggers gather in lightsome lament
Poor Dignam on Guinness his last schilling spent
       But there’s no disgrace
       To die drunk on his face
While old mister Bloom has no chance to repent

Hades #3
In Hades his thoughts grew nightmarish
On the losses of loved ones we cherish
       Of Rudy’s young face
       And father’s disgrace
Each day umpteen thousand more perish

Aeolus (episode 7)
There’s a paper where men shoot the breeze
Blowing steam over Mad Cow’s Disease
       Home Rule is one topic
       On which they’re myopic
For our heroes have both lost their key(e)s

Lestrygonians (episode 8)
There was an old Hebrew in search of a bite
In the lunchroom he witnessed a sickening sight
       With the animals feeding
       He felt like excreting
But a sandwich he managed to eat with delight

Scylla & Charybdis (episode 9)
Somehow Stephen’s reasons seem so circumstantial
Prince Hamlet distracts him from problems financial
       In a sharp dialectic
       And a voice apoplectic
He maintains that the actors are all consubstantial

Scylla & Charybdis #2
There once was a passage so dangerously narrow
‘Tween white rocks of dogma and whirlwinds of Tarot
       The balance required
       Left Mulligan tired
But Stephen flew on with the grace of a sparrow

Wandering Rocks (episode 10)
Inverts and adverts and throwaway sheets
The minions meander through mazes and streets
       A priest on parade
       A state cavalcade
The double-edged spoon from which Ireland eats

Sirens (episode 11)
On a sea of sweet voices our mongrel is cast
To resist their temptation he’s tied to the mast
       By bronze and by gold
       Some stout pints are pulled
And later, like gas, a loose trollop is passed

Sirens #2
A hero hears voices out over the oceans
While sirens fill glasses with succulent potions
       His eardrum it pounds
       With sonorous sounds
And somewhere a street girl seductively motions

Cyclops (episode 12)
I once knew a man who was prone to eruption
Lashing about at the eye of destruction
       Exalting his land
       Libation in hand
Then blinded by no-man with no introduction

Nausicaa (episode 13)
O’er the sea sinks the sun with contrition
To be watching alone is the human condition
       Just a rock on the sand
       Honeymoon in the hand
Sewing seeds with no chance of fruition

Oxen of the Sun #1 (episode 14)
There once was an infant alone in the womb
As herds of debauchers all crowded the room
       By fluids enveloped
       Their bodies developed
And alone once again they head straight for the tomb

Oxen of the Sun #2
There was a commotion in yon House of Horne
By three days of labor a mother was torn
       While gentlemen waiting
       Delivered words so degrading
The god-possibled soul of a new boy was born

Circe #1 (episode 15)
A vision at midnight by magic affected
But Bloom’s black potato is bound to correct it
       Like a morsel of moly
       To reverse the unholy
The remedy found where you least would expect it

Circe #3
Our pig-headed heroes wind up at Miss Bello’s
One of the district’s most fetching bordellos
       Where spirits might render
       Delusions of splendor
Finally conjoining these two wayward fellows

Circe #4
Stubbornly Stephen’s extending his nerve
“Non Serviam” he will duly observe
       While Bloom takes a bow
       Like a suckling sow
The artist announces that he will not serve

Circe #5 (in iambic meter)
From darkness mother steps in sight
Doomed for term to walk the night
       Behold her head
       All beastly dead
Will Stephen make what’s rotten right?

Eumaeus #1 (episode 16)
In the wee early hours their congress occurs
Perfectly sober Bloom sorely infers
       That Stephen’s been euchered
       Forsaken and suckered
And therefore he (Bloom) at this treason demurs

Eumaeus #2
A wayfaring vessel returns to drop anchor
Pretenders and thieves are regarded with rancor
       At home there’s a rift
       After ages adrift
A respectable sailor would rightfully spank her

Eumaeus #3
A salesman returns where he one-time resided
Where upon he discovers his house is divided
       An adventure through town
       Brought him all the way round
Till father and son are at long last united

Ithaca #1 (episode 17)
How shall this hero extinguish his passion?
With questions all posed in fastidious fashion.
       Then where does he head?
       But straight for the bed
Right back to the womb and the voice of compassion.

Ithaca #2
What is the point of this painful narration?
To slaughter the suitors in examination.
       And what about miss Marion?
       Bloom answers her clarion
Bracing himself for a keen remonstration.

Penelope #1 (episode 18)
By 2 in the morning room seven’s a mess
Molly has just seen poor Poldy undress
       By bawdy suggestion
       She answers the question
Announcing resoundingly certainly Yes

Penelope #2
They’re fleshing it out at their Eccles address
Erupting with feelings she needs to express
       She wonders half sleeping
       Is Poldy worth keeping?
And answers in estrous emphatically Yes

“Finnegans Wake”
James Joyce was an exile in France
Where the Earwicks held him in a trance
       Lost in his thoughts
       With a stream of bon mots
But none of it makes any sense

A reaction to current events

2007-07-03T09:34:00.000-07:00

"Scooter Libby (and the Power of Clemency)"
There's a tacit political precedent
Under oath you had better be reticent
For to perjure's a crime
Which means doing time
Unless you're protecting the President

Reflections on the middle way

2007-07-02T15:44:00.000-07:00

"Namaste"
Take in thy hand your sceptre and rod
Each of us here is perfectly flawed
       Respect the divine
       In your soul and mine
For none but a god can worship a god

"Ariadne's Thread"
The virtuous path may be shrouded in haze
The ego misleads you in so many ways
       But the simplest thing
       Like a bundle of string
Is all the you need to escape from the maze

"Eden"
Back in the garden, before man took a bite
Before any knowledge of wrong or of right
       All branching from one
       We basked in the sun
But now we're condemned to the darkness of night

"Good and Evil"
All things on earth must receive affirmation
Evil and good are beyond separation
       Let them all run their course
       For we share the same source
Who died and said you could question Creation?

Found Art Tuesday: Present

2007-06-28T08:04:00.000-07:00

The past and the future are one and the same
To believe otherwise is a short-sighted game
Outside of uncertainty
Right now is eternity
The light of a pure and perpetual flame

The case of Joseph Frederick

2007-06-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

You've probably heard all about this case by now. Of course, anything having to do with "bong hits" that makes it all the way to the Supreme Court is bound to make some headlines. And so that the breath of history does not exhale too quickly, I've written this limerick to help us retain it in our collective short-term memory banks.
(Also, stay tuned for my series on the Seven Deadly Sins, coming soon.)

Joe Frederick's a student who does as he pleases
He one time put forth an unorthodox thesis
The principal frowned
But Joe held his ground
His 14-foot banner read "Bong Hits 4 Jesus"

Transcendence

2007-06-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

or, How God grew tired of me and my flippancy

"Also Sprach the Lord"
Last night I saw God and He spoke to me thus:
"Why must you people all make such a fuss?
       You pray for your nation,
       But I am Creation!"
So therefore we're equal, and He's just like us

"In the Belly of the Whale"
A metaphor helps with the truth to unveil
See for yourself what's inside of a whale
       A dark hollow place
       With some hard facts to face
Without inner wisdom you're certain to fail

"Look and See"
It's no easy order obtaining the truth
Dredging through Daniel, Elijah and Ruth
       If you see it inside
       They'll charge you with pride
Or question their creed and they call you uncouth

Found Art Tuesday

2007-06-19T20:11:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day
Actually, everyday is father's day in this house. But alas, I'm not the father, only the son, on a perpetual quest for his spiritual father. My biological father lives here, where we're able to provide for his basic needs.

Under the general heading of administative malarky, please allow to mention that my computer has been encountering severe technical hurdles this month. You should, therefore, a) forgive me for not updating the blog and the links as much or as often as I would like, and b) express your sincere gratitude for my even updating it at all. Thank you, and please pardon the interruption. We now return to our regular programming.

"Father"
I once had a teacher, role model and guide
The world I'd ask, and he'd duly provide
Taking my hand
So I might understand
That now is my chance to be there at his side

Survival of the wettest

2007-06-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all your support everyone, but after withdrawing into my shell in typical Cancerian fashion, I've now returned to the land of the living. And truth be told, I probably wasn't quite as bad as I made it out to sound. And, in fact, it wasn't even really a migraine, just a tedious headache that lasted about a week and was accompanied by several sticky nights of profuse perspiration. Whatever it was, I have no idea, but I'm over it now, so let's all crack open a box of hemp granola and drench it with calcium fortified rice non-dairy beverage. Woo-hoo!

While I was in my cave, I did have a chance to consider our place in the universe. And wouldn't you know it, I made no major breakthroughs, just some Limericks. If Noah ever collected any literary specimens, I hope this pair of Limericks would be invited to board his ark, hand-in-hand.

"The Jurassic Age"
This orb was long ruled by reptillian giants
Who preyed on the weak with audacious defiance
       And nearly forever
       Though not very clever
A lesson therein from the pages of science

"The Human Scourge"
Mankind is in need of a better direction
Consuming and killing with savage perfection
       Where lies the answer
       To this bipedal cancer?
What can be done to contain the infection?

Found Art Tuesday

2007-06-12T17:23:00.000-07:00

This week's theme is light. I spent the day searching for a glimmer of hope at the bottom of a dark pit. Hopefully your day has been a whole lot better than mine.

"Light"
The sky knows no bounds to the ashy-crowned lark
The grass never browns when you walk through the park
       But their joy has no place
       Until sorrow they taste
You can't see the light till you stand in the dark

"Migraine Melancholia"
The morsels of time drag out longer and longer
With my corpulent head throbbing stronger and stronger
       My mind in a flurry
       My vision all blurry
What used to be right's looking wronger and wronger

Wake up and live some more

2007-06-07T11:32:00.000-07:00

"Free Will"
There once was a question of fate
Do we choose it, or simply just wait?
It's more than a ride
No, you must decide
Fetch your fortune before it's too late

"Existential Bliss"
We live in a world so absurd
There's no meaning — or hadn't you heard?
But it's cause to rejoice
For your life is your choice
There's no reason to follow the herd

Wake Up and Live

2007-06-05T22:25:00.000-07:00

This is a call to action for the townfolk of Slo County. But it's more than just a call to action, it's a Limerick.
Actually it's less than a call to action, it's a Limerick. Just a Limerick. Just a friendly, harmless, not-particularly-philosophical Limerick, never intending to do anyone any harm.
Wouldn't want to cause any trouble in Paradise, after all.

"Rebel!"
There once was a town so complacent
With sewers and strip malls adjacent
All shallow and smiling
So rarely reviling
Their souls remained sheltered and nascent

Praise the Lard!

2007-06-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

"The Bored Player"
Oh bother, these hands uneven,
how many seem the same?
My Sunday duds, my king of clubs,
inert as a pair of sevens.
Give it away and pay me bread.
And forget about bets, as we forget our senses.
Feed us hot wings and libation,
when the liver is in peril,
four steins of Kings Cobra, in an hour,
in a story, for empty endeavors.
--Amen

For New Zealand

2007-05-30T10:35:00.001-07:00

This one goes out to Shauna at Found Art New Zealand. I felt her piece this week was particularly inspired. . . and inspiring!
(Go ahead and take a look so you'll know what I'm talking about: http://foundartnz.blogspot.com/)

There was once an hommage to Magritte
But please don't you dare take a hit
The illusion is broken
This art ain't for smokin'
Voila, ceci n'est pas bullshit

Found Art Tuesday: Close

2007-05-30T09:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it all seems so close...
... and sometimes its feels like light years away.

"Close to the Void"
Screaming into the void
Awaiting the echo's return
Reaching for meaningful teachings
A morsel of truth I could learn

A master I look forward to meeting
To wake me from dreams and ghosts
Life is too short, opportunity fleeting
Open wide, for the answer is close

Muddled thoughts for a holiday weekend

2007-05-26T17:41:00.000-07:00

"Virtue"
It's not at all easy to act out of principle
They laugh in your face and they call you an imbicile
Label you crazy
Habitually lazy
They know not the ways of a heart that's invincible

"Reconciliation"
There once was a cause for confession
The holiest form of expression
Despite your intention
You'll find no redemption
Until the first act of transgression

Found Art Tuesday: Moon

2007-05-22T15:33:00.001-07:00

"Smiling Phases"
Vernal Moon shining bright
Casting shadows in the night
Goddess mother's evening glow
See your children; watch them grow
Newborn crescent's day is done
Setting just behind the Sun
In seven days the orb has grown
Stays out half the night alone
The former phantom fills its whole
Soon good fortune smiles in full
From dusk to dawn she rules the sky
And keeps our restless spirits high
Rising nightly slightly later
Reeling back to her creator
When the slender slice descends
At last the sidereal cycle ends
And in the distant final breath
A new moon born from last month's death

For Lady LaRocco

2007-05-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

This goes out to Kathy LaRocco, whose work we all admire and whose support we all appreciate. (http://artful-musings-of-kathyl.blogspot.com/)

"The Artful Musings of Kathy L."
There's an amusing midwestern marauder
Collecting collages of water
Worked out in layers
To send them like prayers
Her masterpiece must be her daughter

Creative Everyday

2007-05-16T13:32:00.000-07:00

This one's for Leah a.k.a. Creative Everyday — a Cancerian like myself, whose beautiful works of collage and encaustic are inspired by Rob Brezsny and Tom Robbins, among others.

"Creative Everyday"
There's a Cancer in deep meditation
Her stars are the cause of creation
Balancing spaces
In dark waxy places
Awash with a moon-lit sensation

Found Art Tuesday

2007-05-15T12:51:00.000-07:00

"Lost"
There's a peacenik whose poetry shined
But was lost in a world so unkind
Confused by the fighting
He kept right on writing
Till one day he just lost his mind

I hope whoever buys the next box of GrapeNuts has a streak of compassion and a sense of humor!

Finders keepers

2007-05-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

This is for one of my favorite *Found Art* artists of all times...

"Pacha's Found Art"
There's a German who comes from the East
Feeding shoppers a visual feast
She left it behind
For someone to find
So their happiness may have increased

A Fanciful Twist

2007-05-12T10:13:00.000-07:00

Here's another tribute to another wonderful online artist.

"A Fanciful Twist"
There's a queen with a fanciful twist
And a cool cache of coins on her wrist
Enamoured by sweets
And colorful treats
Her swap meets are not to be missed

Keep up the great work everybody... and keep your spirits high. You are making the world more beautiful each day.

Make Art Not War

2007-05-11T11:33:00.000-07:00

I hope that yesterday's drawing, pictured below, put a smile on someone's face. (Now you know why I'm a poet and not a graphic artist, thank you very much.) It was inspired by footage from an anti-Vietnam protest I recently saw in a John Lennon movie. Art is beauty. Beauty is peace. Make art, give beauty, create peace. Stop the carnage.

"Random Acts"
Those random acts of kindness
Have never been known to cause blindness
So make someone smile
Just once in a while
For life is too short to be mindless

Get Freedom

2007-05-10T21:23:00.000-07:00

This one goes out to the one I love

2007-05-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

I've written plenty of Limericks this year about other people, real and fictitious, living and dead. I suppose it's one way of trying to make sense out of other people - sifting the stream of life for the uncommon kernel of universal truth. But I spent all morning pulling curly ones and black sludge out of the shower drain (not mine own), and so now I think I've earned this moment of self-indulgence. (Don't worry, I'll keep it brief.)

"The Granola Poet"
There's a poet inspired by Elling
A writer with adequate spelling
He leaves lyrical notes
In boxes of oats
And where he'll strike next there's no telling

Paigerella

2007-05-09T10:58:00.000-07:00

Today I have to acknowledge the rambunctious Paigerella: literary enthusiast of the week! I just discovered that she's been reading and podcasting James Joyce's "Ulysses" in its entirety at paigerella.libsyn.com.* It's a lively rendition of the modern masterpiece, capturing all of its perplexing poetry and vitality. And it's proabably going to keep Paigerella busy for the rest of the year.
(*Sorry for the clumsy cut-and-paste links — I'm going to learn html as soon as I finish deciphering "Finnegans Wake")

"Paigerella"
There's a scholar who lives by the bay
With a passion for drama I'd say
But the 16th of June
May drive her to ruin
For she's madly obsessed by that day

For all the mothers

2007-05-08T12:15:00.000-07:00

Happy Found Art Tuesday everyone. This one goes out to my mother, who is not only this week's Found Art theme, but she also happens to be in Ireland, the land where Limericks were born!

"Mother"
A bringer of life like no other
She gave birth to me and my brother
And loves like a savior
Despite our behavior
So give thanks and praise to your mother

I'll be secretly depositing this Tuesday Limerick into an unsuspecting granola box later this evening.

What's cute?

2007-05-07T12:41:00.000-07:00

So the rusty corner of my brain that cranks out Limericks from time to time — well I greased it up real nice with a half-carton of soy non-dairy beverage, and now the Limericks are rolling out faster than I can catch them. Apparently there was an old half-written Limerick about Cyrus the Great that was clogging the works and backing up my whole apparatus. Hopefully things will be running smoothly again now.

The following goes out to Robayre (www.robayre.com/news/?cat=4) and anyone else out there who enjoys amusing him- or herself.

"What's cute?"
There's an artist with senses astute
On a quest to determine what's cute
It needn't be tall
But better if small
And best to weigh less than a newt

An Odd Duck

2007-05-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

Happy monday morning. What better way to clear the cobwebs of a much-too-short short weekend than by stretching the noodle with a semi-aquatic Limerick? (No, I can't think of one either... a better way that is.) This one goes out to an odd duck (http://anoddduck.blogspot.com/), whose light-hearted reverence for thrift shops, raindrops and public radio should serve as an inspiriation to all of us.

"An Odd Duck"
There's an anatine artist out yonder
Each morning she takes time to ponder
Special teas of all sorts
And the words of Will Shortz
Take a gander, for what could be fonder?

Be Mindful

2007-05-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

My latest Limerick was inspired by a piece I saw at Penelope Illustration entitled "Be Mindful." It shows a finger with a yellow ribbon tied around it, which reads "Be Mindful." (http://penelopeillustration.com/blog/)
She's got plenty of other nice pieces as well. Anyway, here's my thoughts on the subject...

“Be Mindful”
Respect the source and you surely will hear it
Only the wicked have reason to fear it
To obtain inner peace
Just learn to release
And never forget to be mindful in spirit

water on the brain

2007-05-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

Water — wow. Now there's a heavily charged element for a poet to wrap his mind around. Steeped in symbolism, drenched in double meaning... birth, death, mother, seas of change, streams of consciousness... Where would I begin? I went with my gut instinct, which was to follow the Tao. The softness thing overcomes the hardest thing, and all that jazz. I struggled with the topic for about half a day and ended with a pair of limericks.

Last night I made a clandestine trip to the grocery store and tried not to spend an inordinate amount of time in the cereal aisle. All went smoothly, and I successfully innoculated a box of Organics bran flakes and a box of Quaker Natural. May some lucky granola lover wake up tomorrow (or today?) with a pearl of wisdom to contemplate for the rest of the day.

Water 1 & 2

2007-05-01T10:51:00.000-07:00

"THE RIVER OF LIFE"
The current of life always flowing
The river remains, the water keeps going
     Escapes from your hand
     Turning rock into sand
Its secret is something worth knowing

"WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE"
From the fountain of time we all dip
For each moment a succulent sip
     Holding water in hand
     Like an hour of sand
It will never succumb to your grip

Toy

2007-04-25T07:52:00.000-07:00

There once was a playful young boy
Who came from abroad to enjoy
The land of the free
Where he saw on T.V.
That a gun makes one hell of a toy

(This was written just a few days after the Virginai Tech incident)