Category Archives: Observations

Ms. Marble

Marbles

Marbles

If I could be a marble in a bag around a child’s waist

propounding challenge to my peers like an alchemist

whose recipe for destruction lay in my bulging satchel

filled with conquests found in the sandpit battlefield

of my childhood playground, dominated by concentrated

versions of precisely aimed shots using one inch of glass

and stick drawn circles of boundaries no other should cross.

If I were a marble in a sack around my childhood waist

I would be a peerie of blue green that made them lose

as they wondered at my ocean colors splashing their spirits free

through the distractions of the wildly colored cat’s eyes

that stared back at them with deadened stares emptied

of life, unlike me, who shined and waved like the open sea

And they would avoid hitting me with their knocker’s sin

because who doesn’t want Mother Ocean to win?

Rippled Reflections

He speaks his own language

one filled with nonsense

and fanciful words like “fisticuffs”

He speaks through snippets

short jokes with punctuation

obvious as a war zone

He speaks in varying voices

that change with the characters

telling the story of his truth

He speaks with the stones

but he doesn’t trust them

Their wisdom lost to self-doubt

He speaks with the voice of Kings

ruling the alleyways wearing

tin-foil crowns that are often trampled

secret messages passed through his paranoia

clipping words like newspaper headlines

He speaks of dreams imposed

impressed, imbibed, truly intimate

flourishing in friendly fanatacism

He speaks in questions queried

in response to what he requests

Directness skitters him on a hot skillet

running like a cockroach from the light

He speaks in the symbols of aliens

collected in straight line rainbows

elaborately and tediously assembled

He speaks through the silence of the unforgiven

lost to the world of good will and hope

to the world of dark despair disguised as survival

the foundations built on lies he tells himself

to secure the warmth of a lost memory

that never existed.

Faminism is Veruca

Faminism: (FAM-ih-ni-sum) (v.) 1. The act of removing food from the mouths of children. 2. The denial of women’s rights. 3. The active practice of both.

I want to lie to the children and tell them that the world is just

To stir up their hopes so that they will do all the things that they must

To believe in fantastical things like freedom, fairness, and truth

To discard the notion of fairy tales, of ghouls, and monsters uncouth

I want to lie to the children and tell them they’re not good enough

To shackle their hands to their desks until they’ve conformed rebuffed

To fill them full of nonsense more farfetched than any tale

To forget how to think while I fill wretchedness into our jails

I want to lie to the children and tell them their thoughts do not matter

To crash against their defenses until they’re all ragged and tattered

To consume massive amounts with terrible amounts of great greed

To spend their gold on stuff they’ll never use or ever need

I want to lie to the children telling them that pride is the greatest

To crush any challengers to authority, remove evidence of any progress

To take away their beds and hide them in empty foreclosed houses

To shred apart their families with four income part time spouses

I want to lie to the children and tell them they’ll not go hungry tonight

To close the door in their faces when they bring their empty-plated plight

To enslave them to the workforce by making them buy the diploma

To be the drone worker bees, church is Monday’s worker’s coma

I want to lie to the children about the content of their character being best

To blindfold their brown eyes with white that makes them brown skin-less

Not to remember that yesterday I protested against their “rights”

To watch blindly the riots in the murderous night.

I want to lie to children and preach how they’re valued and adored

To pay them the cheapest wage I can get away with not what I can afford.

To make them stupid by making teachers responsible for their kids

To tie up the hands of those who mean well in the red tape of “I forbids”

I want to lie to the children and make them wave the American flag like they’re boss

I want their bodies to give their sacrificial wine from their flesh their righteous blood lost

To refuse to keep the promises I made for no despair

To look them in their patriotic eyes and spit on them with lies of “We care”

I want to lie to the children and feed them slogans like “Just Say No!”

I want the underachievers to rebel, five to twenty in prison they’ll go.

To incite the gang wars to give the cops something to do

I NEED to watch the world burn around me, go back to sleep, I’ve much to do.

I DIDN’T DRINK THE KOOL-AID

OH YEEEAAAAHH!!!!

OH YEEEAAAAHH!!!!

I lived in relative poverty as a child. We had more than some, less than others. Wherever my family stood on the economic ladder of the late 1970’s, I was constantly reminded by my peers that my second hand clothes (I was the eldest so it was glaringly obvious on me as on my brother who was the eldest boy) were not acceptable. I wanted so desperately to fit in, to be accepted, to feel worthy. An opportunity did arise during a Kool-Aid fad during my 5th grade year.

I had Mr. Pakulnis. It was early in the school year because he hadn’t yet discovered my wanderlust eye watching the birds or day-dreaming. That’s a habit, by the way, I still do when I write. I stare out the window and get lost.

The Kool-Aid fad was that many of the girls brought in Ziplock (not the sandwich fold over) bags with any flavor Kool-Aid mixed with the sugar as if ready to add water. Then, the girls would take their rainbow stained fingers and dip them into the cesspools of sugary goodness, licking their fingers clean then hiding the evidence quickly when teachers approached. Chenique Quarterman shared hers with me and I felt like she was my best friend in the world because I was doing something that the “Kool Kids” did. It felt gloriously naughty. And although Kim Tarpley was my best friend, but she didn’t have Kool-Aid so she’d been temporarily demoted.

I decided I was going to make my own. I thieved away a baggie from my friend’s house because we only had the fold overs at mine. I stole a single package of the only flavor of Kool-Aid I was allowed which was lemonade (due to red food dye allergies). I’d pilfered enough sugar to make up my very own baggie to share.

I felt excitement at my accomplishment and perhaps a bit of remorse but not enough to feel shame. I was ready to become popular. I was ready to fit in. I carefully read and measured my stolen goods into the filched treasure bag as quietly as possible. I hid the baggie in my coat pocket so it would remain undetected by my mother who I’d hoped wouldn’t yet be awake, she was, but thankfully was busy drinking her coffee in the living room. I made it out the back door successfully.

I patted my pocket reassuringly, my anticipation growing as I waited at the street corner with Mona Lee, the Farr boys who liked to beat me and my brothers up, and Lisa Cloud. It was early when the long bus pulled up to the curb. Mrs. Humphries in all her gold toothed rotund-ness sat in the first seat and greeted each of us by name. I sat closer to the front because I didn’t feel safe in the back. My brothers usually sat nearby as well. Plus, with the contraband in my pocket, I didn’t want it taken before I could conquer my classroom with generosity.

I remember snaking my hand into my pocket feeling the grains through the bag, terrified that I’d tear it open before I could share it with my friend Kim Tarpley. I’d hoped that each grain would bring me another friend. The way I felt had reached magical proportions since I’d successfully smuggled it thus far and therefore I was allowed to project my wishes into the sugary lemon concoction in my pocket.

The bus picked up other kids but I was lost in the imaginary conversations I’d have once I arrived under the canopy of my elementary school. Patience was not ever a virtue of mine but I knew that if I pulled it out before first recess, I’d most surely lose the entire bag. I, like an evil mastermind of the Master thief I’d become on this mission, must carefully bide my time.

My chest, which had yet to bloom into young adulthood, puffed against my teal blue coat’s zipper as I stepped off the bus and onto the concrete. I felt as if I were about to wage a war I knew I would win. With rare confidence, my hands swinging freely at my sides, I strode into the school knowing that at first recess, my entire life would change because of the magic package I carefully hoarded in my protective pocket. I was about to become popular; guaranteed.

As I hung up my coat on my designated hook I felt a sense of panic. What if, while I was sitting in class listening to Mr. Pakulnis drone, someone got a bathroom pass and went through my pocket and found what I’d been protecting. I became increasingly distraught at the idea. I looked at my peers and questioned each of them in my mind with clever scrutiny.

Jeff Plume was the most likely of suspects. He was in sixth grade. I’d watched him accidentally inhale a feather he’d been balancing on his breath for an insanely long amount time while we were supposed to be watching a filmstrip about animals. Most likely suspect identified, I imagined what my interrogation of him would be like:

“Why did you take five minutes to go to the bathroom?” I’d ask him.

“Because I had to go pee.” He’d retort.

“I think you were doing something besides just using the bathroom.” I’d push (wasn’t I clever?)

“I washed my hands.”

“You’d never do that because you’re a boy. You really washed your hands so you could eat my Kool-Aid!” I’d reveal my purpose for the inquiry with a flourish like I saw on Dallas.

“You caught me!” He’d cry and Mr. Pakulnis would take him down to the principal’s office for Jeff’s execution. At the last minute, I’d forgive him and then we’d share the lemonade anyway.

But my panic and subsequent interrogation of my classmate led me to err. I took the baggie out of my jacket and put it into my pants pocket which bulged in protest. I knew it would be safe now. Nobody would have to go to their deaths because of my soon to be new-found popularity.

Mr. Pakulnis greeted us by name as we scrambled to get to our seats before the bell rang. We still had our desks in rows before he grouped us into fours for the math test. I saw him glance down but figured if I kept my back to him, I’d be able to sneak it into my desk before he became wise to my ruse. I scurried past him sure that he would grab my shoulder with my former confidence wavering under his watchful eye.

Safely at the edge of my desk, I opened the top while digging into my pants pocket that held the Holy Grail of friendship. I pulled the yellow mix from my pocket, nearly making it into my desk when I saw the teacher’s hand descend onto my wrist in slow motion. I, in identical slow motion, looked up, way, way up, (Mr. Pakulnis was tall) at the frowning face staring back at me. A slight shake of his head, an open palm, and my valiant effort to become popular was removed straight away. A few of the girls who witnessed this snickered at my plight.

I spent the rest of the day with a tragic heart. My dreams in magic and sugary goodness were absent. I’d failed the mission. I’d failed socially. I’d been humiliated.

Later that afternoon, I overheard Mr. Pakulnis talking to my future sixth grade teacher, Mr. Martinez. He realized after several days of over-active girls and stained fingers what was happening. I got caught because of the popularity of the fad?! It wasn’t technically my doing, but that of my peers that got me caught?!

I, truthfully, can’t remember if I deduced that then or if this is years of cobwebs cleared away that showed me the story in different light. Either way, I began to learn at that age that fads could get you in trouble, teachers see more than they let on, and Kool-Aid stains on fingers last longer than the fads. If I had to do it all again, I believe, with truest of intentions, I would have left it in my coat as I’d originally planned and not second guessed myself which, over the years, has cost me far more than a bag of “illegal” Kool-Aid.

Not Soon Enough

To be placed in saint’s clothing as if death redeemed

The unresolved battles that forced childhood screams

From the mouths of his children starvation abounds

For the three little words that nary met sound

From his lips that lay silent and poison the earth

From his violent life that began with his birth

There will be no clock hands stopped in his honor

No looking glasses covered now that he’s a goner

There will be no wailing with heartbeats bereft

Absent black cotton gloves like W. H. Auden suggests

No kerchiefs stained with tears to be tucked into pockets

No loving memories or pictures in lockets

No words of compassion for the soul left to cry

That embraced angry notions and turned a blind eye

There are no clothes befitting to cover his bones

He chose life without love. He perished alone.

What clothes shall be placed on the dead deemed unworthy?

While he is yet considered unfit by the clergy.

Unkempt

I hate that the wound I thought was scarred was torn open with Christmas glee

while his wreck of appearance desecrated my safe haven, my holy place, my privacy.

He pulled up a truck to my front windows and loaded it with trash from their home

While I made sure not to move the blinds but with caution because I’m alone.

Seeing him made my heart crumple up like worthless discarded paper

at least as far as he’s concerned,

All I wanted to be for him was a guide as his empowered future shaper.

I wanted to be a guardian of the light I saw within him,

but from his mind, and through his eyes, his light is just too dim.

And so I sit crying while he drives off across the grass of my house

with another bag of garbage leaving wisdom non-espoused.

Is it Running?

Taking the journey of a thousand miles

Begins with a step, like those of a child

Returning to home or breaking one down

Making either world turn upside down

Taking the challenge that long is awaited

Bulldozing through obstacles unabated

Loyalty valiant to some of the house

Struggling for liberty in emotional joust.

What once was a longing, a need, an addiction

Is now a source of painful contradiction.

What one house rejects and claims desire

The other beckons with strength in the sire

What confusion lay in the mind of the child

To remain in chaos, trust long defiled

The raping of faith, knocked down from up high

denied the dreams with nary tears in the eyes

Blame things on everything, never their own

In the mean time, for eons, one stands alone

Time has passed by, much time indeed

When the child understands for them, no need

Abandoned, refused, forgotten, unwanted

Should the journey begin, progress undaunted?

Should the heart set aside the anger and sorrow?

Should the child remember there is always tomorrow?

The escape hatch is opened, standing ajar:

Will the house be destroyed from the will from afar?

Will temptation desecrate the once sacred heart?

Is all that it takes is a short time apart?

Pssst! I wanna show you something

Yesterday I worked hard on rearranging, moving, stuffing, cutting, thinking, and mostly trying to figure out my vision. At the end of several hours, I’m well on my way to getting things where I’d like them to be. With less than two months to go to modify, I want to make sure that I’ve done my homework, have it just so. 2014 has been a monumental year for me. I’ve collected my works, some previously unreleased work, and art from myself, friends, and some not-yet-met friends.

Sneak Peak at the numbers

Sneak Peak at the numbers

This doesn’t include the art or the graphics, just what I’ve created this year with a few surprises to myself. I’m so excited, I wanted to share this with you.

Don’t catch “The Gay!”

I fully support LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) rights as both active participants in society and as human beings. I support their right to marry whom they love. I support their fights against discrimination.

I come to you as a human being. I am not a perfect person, nor do I profess to be. I struggle to keep my judgment in check. It’s so easy to point fingers and call one another hypocrites. It’s easy to look at someone and tell them they are wrong. It’s easy to reflect on my own life and color pretty shades of happy all over the pages I messed up by my poor choices. But what is even easier, it seems, is to do so in the name of religious intolerance.

I have seen on my Facebook feed posts about intolerance and injustices of the world. I see people hating others because of their sexual orientation. I see people hating because of the color of skin (Yes, even now.) I see people tearing down the President. I witness people spewing hateful messages because of gender. I see people calling each other names so vile that they taste bitter to speak them aloud. I see people projecting their own beliefs out into the world whether they are hateful or not, most commonly under the guise of religion.

In my belief system, the Lord and Lady in their duality are everywhere. They hang in the trees, they breathe the wind, they flow in riverbeds, they dance among the stars. The sense of serenity that I feel when I am out in nature is as good for me as a guided meditation or deep contemplative prayer. While I pray, I’m reminded constantly that happiness, tolerance, kindness, and especially love are my ways to finding my peace of mind, heart and soul. To achieve balance in both male and female aspects of myself, I need to be immersed in the joy of life. I need to be tolerant of other’s beliefs.

There are laws in my faith as well. One of our most important laws is, “Harm none.” That means myself and others. That means leaving nothing but footprints in a forest. That means helping someone who asks for it. That means giving and taking. A harmonious balance between the light and the dark sides of my inner self have to join equally for me to feel whole. To me that means opening my heart to infinite possibilities done in the name of love and harmony. To me, even when I’m sad or feel broken, I know that I need only pray. This allows the love energy to flow freely.

In the Christian faith, Jesus is asked, “What is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

His response, found in Matthew 22:35-41 says, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

The words are deep and profound. In the words of Rev. Linda Looney, “Jesus’ message of inclusivity and love seems very radical. It WAS radical because of the impurity laws of Judaism, the absolutes, the impossibility of keeping every facet of the law. THAT is what we were saved from – the impossible law that was absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to keep, therefore it made people sinners for not keeping the law.”

Jesus didn’t say ‘Love your neighbor unless he is gay.’ or “Love your neighbor as long as they worship the same God.” He said to Love them as yourself. It would seem to me that there are a lot of people who can’t stand themselves out there in the world. They’d rather worry about what consenting adults do in their private lives than to feed the third world countries. They’d rather ridicule and spout hatred than to follow God’s command through His Son Jesus Christ.

This has caused me many years of contemplation. When I began to love myself, I realized that people around me are struggling with the same stuff I do every day. Just like a gay man or a lesbian or a straight person, I worry about bills, kids, schools, work, chores, etc. Just like a Christian, I pray for peace and love to rule the world instead of anger and viciousness. What face do I perceive when I pray? I see the face of the Goddess. I see the face of God. I feel the balance as if everything I ask for will be so. Not like a magic wish factory, but as in peace of mind. I don’t feel alone any more. I feel comfort from my day to day life from Father and Mother God/dess. I feel love for all creatures great and small.

I’ve heard people say to me, because I speak my mind, “Well, I’m a Christian and you aren’t.” As if that’s reason enough to reject another human. I say to them, “Well if you were such a Christian, why aren’t you living the life of Christ?” Jesus was all about loving one another. He loved his disciples so much (and they him) that they walked around all over the place teaching together. Why aren’t we more like that? It seems that Christ’s lessons are used only when it is convenient.

Jesus says, ALL your heart, ALL your soul, ALL your mind. If that commandment, the one Jesus says is the most important, is to be honored, how can there be any room for intolerance? How can there be room for God when the heart is filled with such hate towards my fellow man? How can I be truthful to my spirit when I’m unwilling to follow His lessons and commands?

In 1 John 4:8 it says: “Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” It is my interpretation that if God is love then wasting time with anger and hate towards the LGBT Community takes away from the glory of God. It takes away the potency of His words. It degrades and defiles Jesus by not following His instructions to love one another.

What love is capable of can be found in the story of my mother and myself. For years I held on to anger that I felt towards my mother. I was certain that she was the single-most horrid mother in history. I painted a horrible picture of her. Although some of it may have been true, it was only in my perception that was true.

My mother and I were estranged for 17 long years. We didn’t start speaking until about two years ago. During the course of our conversations, I came to a deeper understanding of our relationship. On her 65th birthday, together we burned a venomous letter that I had written that had, in part, caused the distance between us. As that letter burned in the bucket, I looked at her face. I saw my face 20 years from now. I saw my own blood flowing through her veins. I saw hope and love. I’d been so quick to toss blame. We’d soiled something that shouldn’t have been an issue had we followed the lessons we were taught.

The sense of peace, hope, love, and respect that I feel for her is stronger than it has ever been. I saw her for the first time as a human being, just like me. I saw her with kindness in my heart rather than anger. I was able to take the lessons I’ve learned and follow another important lesson that was taught to me at her knee. Jesus taught the lesson about judgment. His words were meant to show that there is a better way to do things.In Matthew 7:2-4 (NIV) 2 For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

3 “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? 4 How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?

No matter what I am faced with, I know that if I follow the simple laws of harming no others, of loving one another as I love my Lord and Lady, of holding onto my judgment and letting things be as they are, of offering hope and care wherever it is needed, then I am doing my part. I have been told that I am the most Christian non-Christian. I’m proud of that. I don’t reject the teachings I was brought up with, nor do I reject my fellow human beings despite their age, race, gender, sexual orientation, or any other criteria. As for me and mine, we will bide by the Law of Love, not hatred. I will love my brothers and sisters in spirit no matter what their beliefs or choices. In that way, and with deepest respect for those who object on the grounds of religion, I wish you nothing but peace and love in your hearts.

Peace to you and yours.

October, 2011: The Spider Dance

Every night for the past two weeks we’ve had a large garden spider build its web on our porch post. I’m not a particular fan of spiders, but this one was large enough to witness many events of its life. I watched as it caught bugs in its record album web. It pulled huge holes in its hard work to wrap up its latest victim.  If I blew on the web, it would raise up its front legs with the second set waving violently to protect its domain. I sort of “adopted” this spider because it carried on despite my fascination with it.

 Last night, however, there was an epic battle in the circle of life that I was fortunate enough to witness.

The web was built in the spiraling pattern with my “pet” sitting square in the middle. He had already enjoyed a tasty snack on a couple of larger bugs that landed and promptly became trapped. For most of the evening a smaller wolf spider kept trying to get up into the center only to be chased off by the larger garden spider that called my porch home.

The pushing of boundaries didn’t seem to be working for the wolf spider all that well. Whenever it would get close, the garden spider would drop down, hiss (if that’s what that noise was) and the smaller spider would back off by turning and spinning away smoothly on it’s own addition to the web. This repeated for a few hours. Test, guard, retreat, try again.

I wasn’t feeling well so I went out on the porch to sit in the noisy night. I noticed that the little wolf spider was still trying to take over the larger spider’s domain. This time, the tactic had changed. Instead of the wolf spider attempting to move in from the bottom of the web, it had climbed up the post and was trying a horizontal instead of vertical approach. Cautiously, the wolf spider crept farther and farther towards the center where the garden spider sat, seemingly unawares of the invasion.

The wolf spider rushed towards the center, but the garden spider, realizing his peril, pushed back the onslaught with wildly waving forefeet. The wolf spider turned and ran, but not to the edge of the web as he had been doing. He only retreated a few inches before turning to once again attack. As the wolf spider moved forward, the garden spider refused to retreat. He pushed forward and again drove the attack back.

When the two spiders did get close enough, the waving of the front four legs from both of them was truly amazing. I’d never seen spiders fight before, so I was quite fascinated. Waving madly, they both held their part of the web with violent tenacity. Neither one would allow any give. If the garden spider moved forward, the wolf spider’s legs would seemingly get stuck in the web. If the wolf spider moved forward, the garden spider raised up to its full height and punched viciously.

“Oh my God!” ripped from my lips when the wolf spider, without warning, leaped forward and had the garden spider wrapped tightly within its deadly embrace. It appeared to be stinging the garden spider with its rear end. The front legs of the garden spider were waving madly and not finding any purchase as it hung from a strand of its own web. The wolf spider relentlessly gripped the garden spider’s hind quarters. A shiny jelly-like substance oozed down the garden spider’s belly. The once frantic legs twitched slightly as the wolf spider ate. A few more twitches and my “pet” spider became the hunted and killed.

UPDATED THE NEXT DAY: Spider okay, turns out they were just mating rather violently. I feel dirty.