A Question of Tolerance

If we want a better government we need to have less tolerance for deceit and more demand for so called transparency in our government officials.

It’s time we take our country back.  We need to stop being republican or democrat, stop being black or white or Hispanic. It needs to be US, all of us against a government of tyranny and politics as usual.

All of the freedoms that have been fought for and marched for are at stake by a government that insists its their job to take care of us. We need to grow up as a nation and become active in our own country and the health and vigor of its free state.

I notice we keep electing the same names. We keep electing what ever the elites decide is our candidate to vote for than hold our noses while we’re forced to vote for politicians we hope are not quite as filthy as the rest.

We ignore our government passing on laws they make for us. We ignore their semantics, lies and cover-ups, “we didn’t know about that”, “we are as outraged as you” are and the most famous “what difference does it make”; all of these statements are an example of don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.

Another infamous quote that explains our problems in Washington-“you’re going to have to wait for it to pass”. A monstrosity law that few of us have read that fundamentally changes America is forced on us with a  “we know better than you attitude” is unacceptable in a free country.

Laws can not be enforced to some and not all. The public shouldn’t have one insurance plan while the government has their own. This is why you have a government that thinks its royalty. It’s our money we make and we take care of our own people better than any nanny state government could ever hope for.

Aside from expecting more from our governments we need to expect more from ourselves. Let’s stop being victims, stop allowing lawyers and politicians to divide us and convince us we are projects to fix and pander to. We need to rebuild a color- blind society that is proud of its successes, that know and name our enemies and protects our own with the ferocity of a mother grizzly.

It’s time we take our country back. A lot has been done for this great country that we are lucky to live in, only we can save our own freedoms and maintain a country we can be proud of.

An Unsigned Portrait

This portrait I will never sign, it was never mine. Even though the colors are 
familiar and the strokes are uniquely a piece of me, I have barely laid a brush 
on the canvas. In fact, more of my flaws you will see than any of my strengths. 
 
I have stood in awe, as this work became itself. I have not even the slightest 
knowledge nor understanding of the medium and yet I welcomed the idea of 
creating it, a small piece of the artist is that which is created as just a 
whisper, not too much detail and yet enough to clarify the artists vision. 
 
In this particular work, I must admit the painting has taught me more than I 
could ever explain. Now as it becomes theirs’, a work that will be shared with 
the world, I seem to be more clueless than ever before. 
 
I can’t articulate the purpose or vision; it is so far beyond the comprehension 
of a mere artist. The strokes I have taken in recent seem more discordant than 
ever, it seems I can only damage the canvas and being an artist and a creative 
person seems more like a detriment than a virtue. 
 
I am clumsy, my colors are unsure and even worse than all of this, I am so 
irrelevant. And yet the finishing touches beg for my attention. I keep my 
distance, I sort of need to these days because the closer I get to perfecting 
the masterpiece, the more I realize it has nothing to do with me and it is not 
mine. So I won’t be signing this canvas, I wont be taking a bow to the audience 
no more than I could stand in judgment of my lack of skill-the painting has 
become itself, I have been barely present and yet the lack of myself has meant 
everything in its creation. 
 
I won’t sign this work, I will leave it to the audience to decide and they will 
finish it. They will never see the beauty I see, nor understand its amazing 
virtue-only I can see this and my deep love for it has made me the worst critic. 
I can only judge myself in its shadow and I never come up as nothing but a hack 
painter, a novice, a word smith without words to describe… so this painting, 
this beautiful amazing painting will never be signed. 

Winter Jasmine

Icy fingers climb the spine

But you remind me of spring

Out of the ice your spindly tines

Frozen right before my eyes

You insist its spring

You remind me every time I pass

Rich yellow flowers defy the senses

While other flowers sleep in silence

You’re awake

You haunt me with the intangible scent

The sunlight through winter curtains

Another evening spent

I wait for the sunlight to melt the ice

Wait for the cold to leave the spine

Bees on lost scent trails

Ants from burrows deep in the ground

You insist its spring

A fragrance bold and loud

Beside the ghosts of summer

Broken stems. Black and grey

I planted you last winter thaw

So convince me,  spring is on its way…

Treading Water

I want your peace, you give it as a gift

I only lick the edge of the plate

Ignoring the state of bliss

I bask in dark water

It’s how I comfortably swim

As I drown in a slow whirlpool

I won’t ask again, I’ve seen my shadow on the bottom

And my eyes were always scared

I trusted you

The thin skin of the water

A blackness I can barely discern

And a thirst I can not contain

I remain in this water

Smelling the memories of winter

And fall

How cold the bottom seems and distant

Like memories

Of so many summers gone

And all of the children

That have passed on to be parents

Watching children

Treading water

I wish I could feel the safety you insist

And the fact that the mortal coil

Only persists

As long as I’m breathing

And as long as the water evades my lungs

Welcome it in and I sink to the bottom

I trusted you

You never failed me

I’ve failed you

And the shadow on the bottom that stared back in fear

Was only the remnants and entanglements

The love and beauty of a fleeting year….

The Hole

Perched on the edge of that hole

The wet soil of cold November

Frost on the ground

The plywood planks never saved me

The distance falling

Never covered the hole

The heart

Still beating young and naïve

The sprout in winter

Wake to the winter ice

That hole

Buried deep inside me

And keeps me

Awake at night

The gaping wound

The earth and all its hollow glory

Never saying once

It was sorry

Only the edge of the soil

Is discernable the ground will never settle

Never heal

You lay in silence in the empty shadows

Your not there

I know that now

And you never were

Around us

All around us

And the evil silent hole

Would never keep you

Only me

In its violent graces

Keeps me crafting words out of a shadow

Keeps me searching for something precious

I lost in the hallows…..

The Beachcomber

The violence of the storm in evening

The silence and calm of the first morning light

He is the warmth and awe

In a sky full of stars

A whisper of the wind at night

There is no reward so great

Than the crisis where we rest on his awesome hand

The darkness of tragedy

Is the beautiful gift we’ll never understand

I blame him for the chaos in the stream

For the darkness after it rains

But he listens in the evening

and knows my pain….

The skies will devour our tiny cities

To show us just as small we are

Our earth beneath us quakes and takes us

But he is constant, the one amazing star

that always finds us in the evening

At our darkest hour

Holds our hand and keeps us safe

in deaths despairing hour

but he is a constant

as the tide that mars the beach with broken shells

and teaches the earth how to share

our broken souls washed up on his shore

the beachcomber is always there….

An Afternoon with the Ancients

Weight

I spent the afternoon with the ancients

Tall dark shadows on a primeval landscape.

Could have collapsed on the path

But let’s call it the awe and beauty of nature

It overwhelmed me

But this is why I changed my life

The simplest thing, fitness

So the mountain ahead might become the friend

And never the adversary

That the feeling of freedom might one day

Be savored more sweetly

How sad the legs that can not take the weight

Of ones own leisure

So unfortunate the weight of ones body
when it's the burden on the soul

Light

The paintbrush lights the way

glimmers of light in an ancient forest

deep dark paths mark the journeys of centuries

shadows deep and hallowed, keep us calm

and contained, a silence

even among the crowds of faces all in awe

and the light, a brilliant light

touches greens and amber all along the path

I am lost in the intricacies of leaves

the maize of cryptic branches

God, the amazing artist

touches the canvas with colors

and I give up all my brushes

a photograph is barely a snippet

of the wonder

Muir agrees, there is nothing more

I can bring to this place

exquisite light through

ancient trees.

Conversation

I cherish our conversation

as the forest listens intently

there is laughter like music

a stellar jay in forest undergrowth

mocks us

but we insist

even as my oxygen level wanes

I'll never complain

we walk through shadows

and glimmer in rich spectacles of light

I can barely capture this moment

my photos seem like snapshots

to the spectacle of one short afternoon

an amazing moment of sharing words

all the conversations with you