Outside of the Self

Outside of the self the traffic snaps me back, its red eyes from seeking to find the same, a period and a demand are not needed, there is no end to God, God might allow you to sleep evermore and vanish for nothing gained or lost, nothing, but it's only because you've given up hope while you're still breathing. It's a bit maudlin but I think you understand my meaning.

The truth dear family is not a football or a fork and plate or a national mourning of consumption, a year long celebration of a looming finish to the never-end of possibility had We but collectively chosen our fledgling Creation, designed it from the Creation up...

"...our fledgling Creation, designed from Creation up..."

O! I pray you allow me this truth conjured from the cry of anguish from the spirits upon your HeartH, at having never known their power and through me raise up the truth like a garden built for all to imagine. Let me construct your own without charge, donations accepted in case I break my damn back! Bada bing! No. Seriously. Put the coffee down and listen for a second my fine feathered-spirits. I have a message for all, not just you or you or you or you or me or you or you or You or Me, for We. Live, Love and Laugh, silence your foul noises of industry and division and do it by yesterday! Rise up on your own behalf and change the whole trajectory and order of all things, not just those with which you feel you are capable, We are capable of all things. We...

I know that I am channeling everyone's spirit, past and present, when your dreams are lined up with your reality, all goes according to the plan, not yours or mine or theirs or those, but the one exactness and its reasoning behind all of this.

(The Wizard of Oz?)

Something like that...

Rid yourself of your childish impulses and come along with me, the act is well into its part in the full story. Sit down if you'd like, right here on the grass if you please and allow Me a word with You. Our spirits are most ready to utilize the fullness of GodLove's affections, Forgiveness, Peace and Laughter...

The key to it all my fine-feathered spirits is dreams, hopes, dances, carnivals, marvels, gardens, but always in reverence to the (H)eartH, Love and God, if God is all...

I am.

O! God, lift this Peace Garden to it's original tallness! Help Me, Father? Help Me, Mother? Help Me, Aunt? Help me Uncle? Help me Niece? Help Me Nephew? Help me Friend, help me foe, help me deliver this message to the world that we might live among all else in harmony and laughter. One law- Love&Peace...

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

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........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........ •HEAD-LINES• •RIP• ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)--- There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God… ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)--- Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God… ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)--- I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...

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Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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CONFESSION ZERO

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