Category: Planetary Status Reports

Posted on

The Hospital’s Guest (from 2012, when my sister died)

I remain.
Monstrous forces beckon
on the periphery of spirit.
Jaundiced faces,
with bodies cloaked in white,
awaiting the mistress of bile.
Creatures without solace,
growing within,
never to be satiated till finality is met.
And each day's bill must be paid.

I remain.
Not without merit and seeking only compassion.
My friends and enemies mixed company.
My wallet heavy with paper and light with wealth.
I will not dispel the witch's glance.
I shall, 
instead, 
curry favor with the devil 
in defense of good health.

I remain.
Steadfast and ill.
Blood stained and soulless.
Comprehensive and narrow-minded.
Death to the participant 
and director of this farce.

So, go ahead.
Check-in to this factory.
Make yourself known to fools.
Allow their wretched hands to wrench your body.
Make merry in their medieval dungeon.
They remain.
They will stay.
Their God or gods are not your forebear;
they forsake even the light.
The pain you suffer is not theirs.
The drugs they dispense are not for you.
No comfort, 
because...

I remain.
Awake and emptying out slowly.
A soul's distance 
no further than the door.

I remain and hope that 
some loving angel takes my breath.
That this same angel may usher me home.
Posted on

Be careful of fortresses you build …

This is the last place I lived before my divorce …

A place I built to hide from the world.

In the right circumstance a fortress can be a healthy place of renewal.

In the wrong circumstance, this fortress we build for ourselves can become a grave, a coffin.

Be forewarned: any fortress you use to hide from the world will also prevent the world from welcoming or acknowledging you.

Posted on

GRINKEN TIME

Grinken Time is almost here,
every fool should grab a beer.

Stand upright for the coming storm,
don't be afraid to oppose the norm,
expect a fire to burn up high,
and on a cloud His time is nigh.

Grinken time will be a hoot,
take a bite of the poison fruit.

Your olden day times are gone,
your parents are buried in the grave,
no one to save the lost throng,
as songs saved breathe air into a beast,
something ugly as Yeats said,
coming from the EAST.

An elder view from behind the hill,
casting iron in tired will,
persistent and enticing,
life and bread and water,
the slaughter,
the kill,
tested watchers still.

As day turns to dusk,
land fills with fire,
the city crier becomes a liar,
when his whisper is heard,
a muffled thump,
the sun rises,
you hear the bell ...

"All is well."
"All is well."

100 travelers make the break,
as waves crash higher and higher,
weary of their world gone by,
staving off the brash young wolves,
not taken,
not broken,
not ready.

"Steady my child" said old Keith,
all his teeth knocked out by the Gergin-Thieves,
"Stake out your BIG STAND"
and he pointed beyond the hills,
"A killer wind is carrying us along",
no song from Keith,
just passage.

GRINKEN TIME is for the BRAVE,
a quiet chain around your neck,
you can bust out,
stop being a slave,
accept the blood price,
ever nice,
as forks give way to knives,
and lives are tossed onto the pyre,
the town crier is first to burn.

Did we learn this time?

Did we gather wisdom and mead?

Did we get what we need?

Are the seeds abandoned on rocky ground?

A sound unleashed from the depths,
for sly cheaters and grifter slime,
a time turns over from corn syrup to blood,
and like a dud this "century" ends.

A rotten promise from a "friend",
a careless tryst with hooker fiends,
and in the KARMA laughter is heard,
no more words for this crooked scene,
spread upon the sands.

A gift from the ages,
for those left behind,
you won't find an exit,
just a whisper,
"Welcome to GRINKEN TIME!"

"HAVE A NICE FRAY!"