The Righteousness Of Mountains

The Righteousness of Mountains
Is that they talk only to the Sky
and they pose with God
for Naked Photographs
And they don’t listen
to your whimpering and complaining,
nor do they care that your
Pussy named “Santa” died after
17 years of spiritual vacation
pissing on your living-room floor.

The Righteousness of Mountains
is clearly expressed
by visiting Volcanoes and
Erratic Earthquakes who
Keep the Landlord of Time
on his toes as he harvests
yet another crop of wary
human souls.

The Righteousness of Mountains
outdoes your Suntan once again,
as you confide with Buddha
your uncertainties and pain
about your registered retirement
savings plan and the spiraling
stock market as people you love
die of cancer and your Kraft
Dinner burns on the stove.

The Righteousness of Mountains
echo in the dark
one hollow voice that will save
your soul as your grow older in paradise.
You lost your teeth climbing
your own rooftop, but the Grandeur
of the divine screams louder than
your dentist’s drill, as he removes
the final cavity of blindness
from your third eye.

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The inhale and the exhale of the moment of now

Last month, I received “the call”. My sister announced that my father was terminally ill with an advanced and particularly aggressive type of prostate cancer.

My first reaction was shock and then the grief set in. My father, who raised me with no partner, who taught me to search from the earliest days of childhood for TRUTH is dying.

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Bad people and me in life, death, and rebirth.

The wind’s will wishes you not. For it switches you ever which way it would blow. You point past the peaks and say go.
 
It makes shapes of scapes and says no. rebirthYou work and prod and pull and full, you say ho! But then the sails for which your rails were meant to fill, now fall with no frill and you say, oh.
 
Left chaste, debased, with cause to erase the chase and the case you held against your own wind of sin and sorrow sown, you blow and blare into the air in hopes that you might know. Now freed to peace in pieces and ceased you then begin to grow.
 
What shapes and scapes that rapes the fate of places which we go? Too many names are there that blow the air and cheat its mighty row. I’ll keep attention in one direction and tell you when I know. Or keep an eye upon the sky until then when I go.
 
Then say what’s fore, belief found core, and un-envelope once more.
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Death of a Maori Poet

Tree of Life, Company of TruthTree let your raised arms fall
nor extend your vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoon’s flash,
no dashing trade winds blast.
The fading green of your magic
emanations shall not make pure again
these polluted skies…. for this
is no ordinary sun

– HONE TUWHARE 1922-2008
published this poem “No Ordinary Sun” about nuclear testing in the pacific, in 1964, in his first volume of the same name. It was re-printed 10 times. I can’t help thinking he was one of the spearheads of the nuclear free movement that defines New Zealand’s foreign policy today .

Let us allow peace to reign from the natural radiance within us all.
I used to have a little badge from friends of the earth ” World peace begins at home”. My 16 year old daughter wears it now. Where there is life there’s hope.

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Life, and More Life…

today, I went to a funeral.

they’re now called memorials, or celebrations of life, rites of passage.

there are some mile-markers in life, in the monumental history of man, that never change, despite the changes in terminology and ornamentation that we apply on the outside.

this was the father of a good friend, a gentle and handsome man. a man truly wearing visible sweetness of the soul in his everyday demeanor.

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