The camping trip

I looked left, and I looked right for a kerosene lighter, couldn't find one.
I did not understand, why one would exacerbate the importance of fire.
Fire is something that is important for life, and for freedom among those.
That follow the truth and follow the liberty and love among people.
Oh, but we do not have fire here, instantly I realize--the fire is among us all.

Boris hits a hole in one

Watch this drive, he says. As the ball goes into the temple of bin Laden.
                                   Ai, there is no one like you-- isn't there?
Watch this pitch, he says. As the ball goes into the glove of corporate America.
                                   Ai, what a strike out!--you play so fair!
Watch this shot, he says. As it goes into the heart of the ocean, spilling ooze.
                                   Ai, that was a perfect shot!--I do swear!
Watch this speech, he says. he clears his throat to speak. Nothing comes out.
                                   Uh oh, look at the damage....
                                                                          Boris....
                                                                      soiled his underwear.

Take care, you are going into a slippery hole.

Every man is chasing after some hole, no matter how virtuous he is.

To Deny that he does not follow the white rabbit, is a lie.

To surrender, to take charge is what will be considered ultimate bliss

To lay back and let it happen, peace he can never find.

Yes, it’s a slippery slope my friend, but you can find the footing.

Go in take charge, and take the loot and do all but destroy.

She doesn’t expect you to do anything but comfort her soothingly.

But you all know this hole game, is yet but  yes, a ploy.

A dream that will drive a man to madness…

Cause, a potential nine months of sadness…into eighteen!

Nightmare? Not always, but yes a hole dream. 

Go West Boris.

You must have amnesia, if you think that the world was better yesterday

Ten million people filled the capital mall, to pay a tribute to democracy

Go West Boris, Go back to your elitist cage.

You must be crazy, to want us turn back to where we lived in caves

I might be crazy, but I am not going to give my keys to any Pharisee

Go West Boris, Go back to your golfing days.

My friends, you must wake up before you realize that Boris, oh Boris.

Boris was put in by you and me. And now…well Obed, yes Obed…

Will continue this spree. Nothing ever changes for you and me. 

I always wanted to be a priest of the world

Disclaimer: A lot of poetry cannot be taken too literally. I for one, am very glad to be a Christian and do believe that the church can have positive effect on the world. But, there is a constant struggle that I do go through. It's the balance of how much of the world we can have... This is what this poem is essentially about. It's not about hating my parents faith or my faith, even.  I don't feel like I should apologize at all, but I just wanted to clear the air. 

I always wanted to be a priest of the world

Oh curse my red-neck roots, that curse my sheer desire

I do not want to be associated with vile theology and

Politicial movement associated with my name.

I want to lead a confessional, an open world where

People come to my side, and drink the communion

Wine of the Sabbath, freely till we are completely drunk

Blessing the body, of our freedom and liberating

The masses with sweet beautiful liturgies of Eliot,

Ginsberg, Auden, and Hardy- till we understand the scripture

Despite, the ignorance of my neighbors that do

not have a clue about what I am proposing they would

agree if they saw the truth, of the demon box they listen to.

I’d fill the fount, with Mountain Dew and wire the people

To understand where our consumerism came from,

maybe they’d understand it better instead of cursing it.

If only I could erase the roots, and be of all this noble stock

But, I come from this- so I might as well try to embrace and

do not take my oath of celibacy of religious  and conservative thought.

The last stand of a P. Americana

she shrieks, callz her boyfriend over to me.

He is bizzy, he cannot help her- but she loaves my

Prezence

i for one am quite happy, to lay on this black floor

smell the warm roast of coffee beanz in the

aire.

i glance at the eyes, of passing loverz, and poetz and

of elderly men talking about politicz and the

weather.

i yet, am nothing to them, i am bred in thousandz but

when the bombz drop on this place, whoz left in the

drovez?

i see my life pazz before my eyez, as hiz feet smash

me with no remorse, my gutz lie spread on ze floor

lifeless.

he picks up my carcazz, and throwz it in the cobbled

street, to be taken by the birdz, and thus endz my

stand. 

To him, that imagined there was no heaven

I come to you Lennon, as an admired and a student of praise.

Living my life, as you see fit- throughout all of my days.

You spoke of a world, consumed with love and peace.

As if the world was on fire, and his words he didn’t heed.

You, my teacher were killed too early, and much too soon.

If you could only have seen what we did to Babolyn’s ruins!

Those that  live for today, now… unike you have taught.

Packing on enormous debt, our oceans left to rot.

John call us from the dead if you will, where nothing is real.

Forever, Strawberries rising from the apples core and peel.

Your mates, continue on…though, not as you would like.

The walrus still making music drivel, from another time.

Places that you would have remembered, they surely have changed.

Truly the worlds been shot by a revolver!, a rubber soul it’s remains.

Those I never loose affection, for everything you have recalled.

I have found that in my life, I respect you day by day all the more.