"The Author-Preneur with Something To Say That You'll Love To Read."

Water-Wealth

What will happen
when all of our water
is owned by Nestle?

How will we gauge
rich and poor?

What will happen
when all of the rainwater
is bought and sold
just after it is filtered
to remove the wonder
of what burning coal
gives back to our clouds?

What will become
of men and women that
own wells and aquifers?

Hold that glass - NOW.
Look deeply into its
crystalline cool and
slake your thirst - NOW.
Wealth will be changing
commodities sooner
than you believe possible.

One more time
we will watch a
basic human need slip
from being a basic
human right, to property
for barons to wield and
wend amid the portfolios
of their rising hoards.

There was a day
when a stream, and a spring,
a well and an ocean
were things we shared
among ourselves.

Gone are those days.
Now, only now,
comes their passing –
hastening slowly.
How will you
observe this change?

How?


picture and poem reprinted from:
The Lion & The Lamb, Spring 2017




Creating a Self

The mystics
have often called it
the self-project -

the ego-project -

the project
of building an
image that we
can love
and adore

of ourselves.

Just shy of
worship.

Making ourselves
our self

that we can tolerate

or, learn

at least

to live with.

I would like
to appear pious,
or patient or astute

and filled with infinite
wisdom from the dawn
of time.

Expecting that there
is a core in there that
is stable and changes
not.

The I cannot
believe elsewise.

But,
what if the
thing

that remains
is always new.

But who is
the one inside

that gets to say

"I" do not
like who "I"

have become.  "I"
need to change

that "I".

Who is it
that is

uncomfortable as
I watch my I become

more me.

That one,

needs a vacation.



Myths from the Precipice

What myths
do a people tell
from the precipice

of the end
of times.

How do they
shape words to
hold the stories
of what they
see and yet suspect.

A myth about
how the conclusion
is written into
the snow

or melting ice caps.

I would think
some might be myths
of how people

can change

their molecules into
metal and cybernetic
aperture able to

brew new life
as machine.

Some sort of
uber-human;
something able
to hold on in
the great heat
and awesome freeze
of a desolate
planet.

Some sort of
hybrid mankind
that must start
its mutation first
in tales

of vampires and
zombies - the last

of thinking cells
able to hold life
and consciousness
and love.

The final
hungering creature that
is drunk on its
desire to consume
normal humankind
and the last
rotting remnants
of our flesh.

I think
they would need to tell
tales of a singularity;

of transformation
when skin would
turn to an alloy
and blood would
course to crude
or volt instead.

I think these things
after listening to
twenty four lectures
on the BLACK DEATH
in Europe and watching the
endless train of articles
on shifting climate
that humans will be unable
to find pleasant without
great work; and of course
tiring of episodes of any
show that eventually
produce a zombie in the
cast of characters.

Do we know something
we are not speaking aloud?




Hidden

A stillness
lies hidden
just beyond the
beyond.

A step further than
you feel like you
can drag yourself
along.

You must push
yourself through
to the other side,
but it is
there -

always there.

Waiting for you
to enter.

And,
you do not.

Just because
you hear the locking
of the door -

behind you
as you leave
the prison walls -
does not mean
that you
are

free.

Enter
the stillness
spread out

in front of you
and all
around -

EVERYWHERE.

Then,
you can
cry

FREE.


Stones and Moss

I am captured
by the stones.
The way they sit
there, piled and
scattered - in and out
of relation with each other.

The mosses can
fold themselves -
if they like -
over the stones.
Making mortar of
themselves against
the mounds of
shifting rock.

They hold me, too.

I sit here
among them

unable to move;
captivated by their
them-ness. Soaking in
the rain and listening
to  time pass

with the moon.

Photo and Poem from the Isle of Skye 1995



Full Red Moon of October

The early-morning
gloaming is pale
against the vacant
sky.

I cannot find
the space

from which to see

through the clouds
and
spy the stars.

The moon is
full and red

and tells a tale

of impending
storms.

Burning,

as it does,

so gently through
the cover.

A full red moon
and gloaming light
of morning

give me solace;

being surrounded
by comfort
and by joy

another day.

Just to hear
the silent sound

of gloaming
gives me pause

to know the balm
it is

across this life,

these lives,
among these days.

https://pixabay.com/p-378343

Stand Out Among the Winds

Stand out -
you mouth breather -

stand out among the
mighty winds and
glorious droplets of
cold winter rain;

and look up.

Close your eyes

and breathe in.
Breathe in deeply -

through your nose.

Feel the splashes of
cold wetness on your
forearms and on

your face.

Hear what escapes our
listening while we work;

the majestic gusts of air
that seem to howl around
and up; back to the skies.

Don't ever forget this;
for this is what is real.
Stand firmly upon both
feet and soak up all that
can be known with every
cell your body avails.

You are awash with the
wonder of quarks; you are
repleat with the amazement of
quasars.  It only takes
one atom to be broken
open to awe to set the
universe aflame.  Find that
pearl, clasp that ducat.

Sell all you have
for that one electron

to SEE!

image from CHANDRA: http://chandra.harvard.edu/