HELP…John! With all this gun rage, fake news, presidential controversy, hate…I saw little in the daily media about…an issue we battle;
Mental Health and guns!
Well don’t you know that happiness (happiness) is a warm gun, (is a warm gun, yeah).##John Lennon
Even if my air were shattered…a since of completeness puts me at ease.
To travel this journey of tightropes…and, understand I do not venture alone.
Had I not taken a walk…
barren footpaths with little pride.
Had I not fallen from side to side.
Would I have recognized what it means to…
‘grow old together.’
All the senses aroused by parallel courage.
The malice of well-traveled storms.
The bite of absorbent winds.
Ridges of our life together.
An hour-glass of sunny sides to the streets.
Dark and doubtful mornings.
An hour’s glass of every conceivable element strewn in our path.
How slight the moments…
How slight every forever…
How deliberate the time…as we, grow old together.
no red wall.
no red button free-fall.
lives mattered without malice
without protocol
all lived by what appeared to be simple means
ranches, capes, basic joists
dreaming the American dream
nothing trite about what we understood
we had more than most
most did not give would they could
saving the earth by way of the dime bag
no pale ale
just bong hits and bonfires
redemption found when a dollar had been given
on Sundays as a basket passed
too young to understand Nixon
old enough to mourn John
we were discovering Lady Chatterlay’s Lover
our bodies were ourselves
living among bathtub Mary’s and American flags on the front lawn
set in stones that were thrown
‘you were right…or, you were wrong’
i can remember hearing of Elvis
where he was
how he had been found
to my young mind i pondered…
‘how quickly life can be upstaged without a sound’
Divided by color?
One forest dissected by all that is man-made.
What other distortions shall come our way?
Never raised in black or white.
With gay or straight.
A city of privilege.
Lay at my heathen’s feet.
All around,
Lennon on vinyl.
Plath,
torn and worn.
Lay heavily,
like a Bell Jar.
In the back pocket of my tough-skins.
Images of jesus,
four point restrained…ghastly, lastly,
they say,
he began…again.
One could tell,
I didn’t know better.
Know better to hate.
Never a care given…
to who had been on the other side of a handshake.
With years of me…in my wake.
When a stranger’s hand has reached out for help…
it still remains a hand that I should take.
Owned by the media…owned by others…falsehood is the cornerstone of today’s living. So, what happened to, just give me some truth?
Digha Nikaya-I have taught the way without making any distinction between inner and outer teaching. For in respect of the truth there must be no such thing as the, ‘closed fist’ of the teacher, who hides some essential knowledge from the pupil. Secrecy is the mark of false doctrine.
Just Give Me Some Truth
I’m sick and tired of hearing things from
Uptight short sided narrow-minded hypocrites
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
I’ve had enough of reading things
By neurotic psychotic pig-headed politicians
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
No short-haired, yellow-bellied
Son of tricky dicky’s
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocket full of hopes
Money for dope, money for rope
No short-haired, yellow-bellied,
Son of tricky dicky’s
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me
With just a pocket full of hopes
Money for dope, money for rope
I’m sick to death of seeing things from
Tight-lipped condescending mama’s little chauvinists
All I want is the truth, just give me some truth
I’ve had enough of watching scenes from
Schizophrenic egocentric paranoiac primadonnas
All I want is the truth just give me some truth
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