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Saturday, November 13, 2010

To Hell With the Poor

To Hell With the Poor

To hell with the poor

we’ve got a good war

we’ve got a great war to fight

To hell with the poor

we’ve got these great wars

leaving our budget too tight

Let’s take all of our poor

and send them to war

we’ll stand behind them this time

We’ll take care of the poor

we’ll just send them to war

for it’s better the wealthy don’t fight

To war with the poor!

we’ll make money and more

while saving our fortunes and hide

It’s poor against poor

the very nature of war

good fortune will leave us alive

To hell with those poor

always asking for more

what daddy done left me is mine!

So boring, these poor,

not exciting like war

where we served with a wink and a lie

‘Cause heroes aren’t poor

we're the wagers of war

who sit buffing our best parts and shine

So silly, these poor,

to march off to war

so us chicken hawks don’t have to die

To hell with you poor!

get away from our door!

go on back to your vet homes and cry

To hell with the poor!

we’d rather wage war!

so line up, you fools, and go die!

Sunday, October 31, 2010


I still have a scar

on my finger,

arthritic dreams

and occasional nightmares

Cast along, beside an

ice-strewn river,

with such shallow

wraps against the cold

As seasons seem to spin

through their chaotic

rhapsodies of mind and spirit,

oblivious to their ends

I try my best to

trudge on, toward some

uncertain path, always

in fear of falling

Tripping and tumbling over

half-buried illusions of death,

fingers, like my own,

reaching up to grab hold

Or waiting to awaken me

by tapping at the

frozen windows to all

that I have ever known.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

No Love Lost

Last night, while lashed to the mast,
the last sailor on Innocence
grasped at his own throat in demand of an explanation
as to what had happened to the loveliness of the lady
we had all loved

Now lost, he was last seen, standing caught in mid-thought
against the luxurious sweep of Autumn color,

vanishing behind a gust-crazed cascade of yellow leafs,

no more than one of which could ever have made it

as far as the distant sea

No love is lost.

Thursday, October 14, 2010



My Favorite Magic Word

Tell the world how you want the world to feel.

By Dr. Cappy G James

Proclaim your intention to stop bitching about feeling stressed now.

It is my intention to: live a stress-less, tranquilized life.

Living a fulfilling, stress-less and tranquilized life is what our Source had in mind when we were manifesting our grandest destiny to intend to seem to find a way to have happy and joyous experiences of life on Earth, where I’ve returned to the pure, creative, blissful, nonjudgmental joy that truly is a state of joy and happiness.

When you’re in intention, you’re in your inattentive natural state—the state from which you were created—that feeling of well-being which good drink must have lent to your poor parents that fateful night. How do we return to, and access, this natural state?

The Source! You were created from that state of exuberant joy, peaceful and joyful, at peace with everything you’ve intended and everything in that state of joy you’d have intended if, in fact, you are actually here and you’d determined to match up with your thoughts, feelings, and actions in a pathway to rejoicing with the field of intention; you were created to feel fulfilled and inspired in all facets of your life, gaining freedom from anxiety and stress, in short, being happy and joyful and allowing yourself to be fully alive and to do so on purpose. This moment of your life, which you spend aligned with the all-creating universal mind of intention, is the time when you are here to fulfill the intention to be joyful and live a stress-free and tranquilized life, aware of the need to activate thought responses that match your intention but too drunk to do anything about it. You must become. This new response will become as habitual as alcohol itself, and replace your old habit, when you examine stress-producing events, of responding in stress-inducing ways. You never had a chance: Do I produce stress within me by staying here, lost in thoughts that deactivate thought itself, or do I go to work plastered so as to make this impossible level of stress a tool that will help me replace a lifetime of anxiety and stress with the habit of choosing the right brew?

One magic word: Beer!

Your emotions are a guidance system informing you of whether or not you’re feeling bad about not creating resistance to your intentions, thereby letting yourself know that you’re not connected to the power of intention to be tranquilized and stress-less, to feel good, to know you’re connected to your joyful intentions, regardless of what goes on in and around and around your head or what others expect you to feel when they point at you in your drunken stupor and laugh. If there’s a war going on in Afghanistan, you still have the option to feel good because the economy still goes further into the toilet and you - in the event of any catastrophe - have the option to feel good about flushing the blasted thing. You can feel so good! Feeling good may be an indication that you’re callous, indifferent, or cruel—it’s a choice which you'd rather not have to deal with right now! Say it out loud: I want to feel good in the morning! Then convert it to: But I intend to feel good now! Feel the stress-less-ness? Almost as good as love and respect.

Your Source is to you as beer is to your Source of Beer.

Your conditioned response is to feel bad. Many events will transpire in life which you should be aware of because these outer and inner incidents justify that response. So fuck it all and say these six magic words: I want to feel good, now! In the precise moment you do so, ask yourself if someone just died, laugh, and then try to convince yourself that feeling bad about it isn’t going to make the situation any better. You’ll discover that the only bad feeling you’ve accomplished is that old spinning thing, as you plummet back into anxiety, despair, depression, and of course, stress. Ask the drunk next to you, at that moment, what he or she thinks about all this (especially 'Intention') and you need a new set of teeth. But getting them might make you feel good!

Then you discover that blissfully wallowing in kindness and love is quite different from the bad feeling which you’ll begin experiencing when you’re in vibrational harmony with your ever-shifting emotional state, since the power of intention knows only peace, kindness, and love, as if it’s actually responding to this newly activated thought that your Source might not really be about to cut you off.

All this allows you to feel good, although it may only last a few moments, and you might go back to your previous way of processing unpleasant events: sober. Also treat that old ego-self of yours with respect, love, and understanding - remember that it’s you trying to protect your beer from your perception of its danger of being stolen by that jerk who just knocked out your teeth! Any stress signal (such as a bottle over the head) is a way of alerting you to say the five magic words Give me another beer, please. Stressing about losing the last one to someone's cranium actually gets you your attention! By joyfully repeating, over and over, the five magic words and extending love to your glass of hoppy brew, you’ll have begun the process of fulfilling your stated intention of being tranquilized and stress-less. Now you can practice activating these thoughts in the toughest of moments, like every night at 6, and before long, you’ll be living the message offered to all of us in that good book: “A Bartender’s Guide to Mixing Really Great Martinis”. The word Bartender in this near biblical reference means Source… from which you will achieve the divine assistance of the mind of one intently attending barkeep once you decide on which cocktail might not be inconsistent with that light amber color and clear, refreshing taste of the latest brew you’ve been nursing.

I assure you that your decision to feel good in this way of connecting to Spirits isn’t a different response to events. By feeling good, you become an instrument of peaceful bliss, and it’s through this channel that you become oblivious to your multiple, well-deserved, problems.

Excerpted from The Power of Intending to Stop After the First Six by Dr. Cappy G James. Copyright © 2010.

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Single Thoughts

with his eyes closed
not knowing
from a single picture
on single fingers
looking for more

Who are you?
he asked
looking beyond the glass

or just looking
not knowing
until you’re there
in the third person
until that time
he knows.

Friday, August 13, 2010

August Haiku

Space within the night
a silent Garcia moon
confirmed by the breeze

(written in either 95 or 96 on a haiku site where differnt people add lines. Two of them are mine...)

Saturday, June 05, 2010

The Ballad of the Bungling BPs

We’re subjected to the remnants of the brother of Jeb
One poor businessman, who, this country, once led
He looked at the ocean and didn’t think ‘food’
No, his poor, simple mind saw bubblin’ crude
Oil, that is, rising up, through the sea…

Well, the first thing you know, BP’s f*cked it up
Skipped a few rules, now the sucker won’t stop
pouring icky goo into the Gulf of Mexico
and we know all too well, where them Mexicans go
Here, that is, cleaning pools, working farms

Well, we tried to say goodbye to Jeb’s dumber kin
but we’re left with an ocean with a really slimy skin
It’s the all time disaster environmentally
hey, but we all gotta go, eventually
to our beaches, that is, walk a spell, take your shoes off…

Y’all eat tar now, hear?

(Note: Don't post most 'sillies', but since I also posted this on facebook I doing a copyright thing)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010


upon the moment
bare knuckles cracking
into each other
rather than
slipping past

picture-perfect words become illusions
from another time and space
what was your name?
your real name
the one that
only a lover

there was a way
I’m sure there was a way
that these fingers slipped in together
and clasped into an embrace
as this moment feels it
should have been

she whispers
“it doesn’t matter”
she tells


Friday, May 07, 2010

Some Rooms

I could paint rings around DaVinci
with a glass of beer and a warm bar,
all in the cup of a hand,

Caught by the fundamentally abstract,
both obvious and oblique in the same moment,
bends and folds and aging lines
too real

Ah yes, let me tell you about an artist
swept off into the corners of underestimation
for all it was that might have been,
had we only known

The music plays and the music goes on and on,
I lean forward and watch the wetted edge
of glass draw its arcs and curves
as conclusions

I swear to god,
some rooms are so full
they become

Monday, April 19, 2010



Ophelia skates across a frozen pond
absorbed by the rock-hard haziness
of her reflection

Ordained to be damned for spite
for what little is relinquished
not sacrificed

Persistence is the thing
blades scraping in solitude
through the early morning air

Riding the cracks between
that which is absorbed and that
which is distinct

I know too well to watch her -
but for the cold, I could
drown in understanding

I tell myself this and
relinquish all claims
on bliss

We stand upon a face
no longer our own
unable to touch it

Even as it suffers our dismay
we suffer only ourselves
and share so little.

Cracks in the Sidewalk

Cracks in the Sidewalk

Cracks in the sidewalk
cutting toward the street
in perfect slashes across
the neat rectangular order
of someone’s imbedded intentions

Patience waits for me:
a bed of flowers across the street,
the road on which a yellow double-line’s
fresh perfection lies molested by the trail
of an impatient driver’s tread

And now the rain...
splattered shades of gray on concrete
blotched until swallowed by the whole
a flag tossing ambivalently within the damp breeze
the first hints of Fall out there on the other side
of glass -- where life is real

Tomorrow is the day it will not rain
unless I am comfortably within it
tomorrow words will find shape
and become unnecessary
and concrete will crumble to lend shelter
to the seeds of weeds and flowers.

Friday, April 09, 2010

A Touch on the Shoulder

The low-slung hustle
which isn’t really a hustle
the flower of the moment
braced against impending winter’s doom

Surreptitious bemusement
a breeze that passes by
touching you on the shoulder –
things you should remember

Two worlds slip past each other
at a distance of inches –
how sweet it would be
to swallow a blossom’s breath

The rain, the rain, the rain
so beautiful to a loving mind
the rain, the rain, the rain
even this is beautiful.