A Poem I Wrote the Other Day (Not Really Finished)

Cars turned to cages
Jammed up at the funnel's neck
Knee-jerk bird flip
Jaws flap
Caw caw claw, you son-of-a-bitch,
I'll show you what for!

From the garden's womb
emerged two humans.
I've lost most of my bear-hair, but not my bear-appetite for blood.
Little gods, each with our own religions, religious or not,
decreeing this is this and that is that;
all others are false idols.

I think if we'd smile and talk to each other in the grocery store, the world would be a better place.
   
Sitting up here in this ivory tower, I really can't figure out a thing.

Some people have one traumatic event or circumstance that happened in their life that can explain their anger.  I think I've been angry for most of my life but can't pinpoint one specific reason.  There are a lot of "small" things about my childhood for which I suppose I could be angry.  Like parents with inconsistent emotions sending confusing messages but surely every parent sends confusing and inconsistent messages to their children.  Maybe some kids just take it harder than others.  But then again, most people are angry.  Just look at traffic, facebook, or internet message boards.  For years I didn't even know I was angry.  A therapist told me I was angry about 6 or 7 years ago and it came as a total shock.  "I'm not angry; I'm anxious!"  I said.  Now when I look back, I see that I've been angry most of my life, masking it behind anorexia, drug use, extreme passivity, and "low self-esteem" (another term for the more angry-sounding term, "self-hatred").


Added later (12/5):  I think I'm mostly angry because I am not true to myself.

William Blake Auguries of Innocence

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.

The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

Space?

I'm starting to recognize that there's not much space for me here.  Or rather, there's no space to call my room to make art or record music or meditate or be alone.  So I go on power walks.  I try to clean a little but am rather overwhelmed by other people's stuff.  I'm even overwhelmed by own stuff.  Days when I don't know what to do and get overwhelmed I've stopped and asked God to specifically direct my next task and those are some of the best days I've had so I'm going to do that today because today seems to be one of those days. 

Reason Enough

Such a beautiful song.  I love how nursery rhymes are used to paint a picture of the human condition as well as offer a solution.  One of my favorites.  

Andreas Vollenweider and Eliza Gilkyson - Reason Enough (All the King's Men)

All the king's men stand still in a thunder storm
Diamonds of rain on the skin of the battle worn
Eyes touching eyes in the sight of their long range guns

The bough that breaks the cradle falls
Could this be reason enough
The beast that down to Eden crawls
Reason enough

Starting into the depths of the darkest dream
Hurling your stones in the eye of the war machine
Howling like wolves to the moon for the sons of our daughters

The bough that breaks the cradle falls
Could this be reason enough
The beast that down to Eden crawls
Reason enough

Little drops of the water
Little grains of sand
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land

The bough that breaks the cradle falls
Could this be reason enough
The beast that down to Eden crawls
This could be reason enough

Hush little baby, dry your eyes
Claro que si, reason enough
Stars will fall for love to rise
Reason enough

Ladybug, ladybug fly away
Your house is on fire your children are gone

All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again

She went to the cupboard
The cupboard was bare

Eight little indians never heard of heaven
One went to sleep and then there were seven

Ashes, ashes we all fall down

Hark, hark the dogs do bark
Beggars are coming to town

And if the great man cut down the great tree
What a splish-splash that would be

Getting better!

I finally have a little over six months clean now.  I'll have seven on the 20th.  Praise God.  Recovery is possible.  I tried for two and half years to get clean and this is the most clean time I've had since I was 19. 

New Ani diFranco album

http://www.righteousbabe.com/ani/whichsideareyouon/songs.asp

Sounds better than some of those albums she's come out with and thus continues my love/hate relationship with Ani diFranco's published music until one day I understand everything.  :-)