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A Spanish Galleon.

You know what it looks like.

A great big Mother of a ship.

Five decks high.

About a million white sails.

Complemented by blue sea.

Naked peons swabbing the deck.

An imposing, Apocalyptic,

Armageddon type ship.

Full of gold bullion,

A King’s random,

A few gorgeous

Spanish chicks for, well,

You know.

And prisoners of the State.

 

Over the horizon comes

A British Man of War.

The Spanish Captain says.

Shit! Damn Anglo-Saxons.

The first volley

Blows away the sails.

Neat tactic.

The Spanish can’t maneuver

So the British steer

Perpendicular to

The Spanish bow.

Rake the deck with fire.

Unspeakable fury and violence.

Blood and body parts all over the place.

 

Ten minutes. The battles won.

Goodbye Inquisition

Adios Conquistador.

Time to claim the spoils.

The gold, King’s ransom,

The chicks.

Free Cervantes.

Seize the Captain

And just to make him pissed.

Take his son.

Who was supposed to follow

In the Captains steps.

Make him walk the plank.

 

The Spanish Captain

Bible in hand.

Faith in his heart.

Sorrow, blood and water

Running down.

Even if a looser he is.

Says to his son.

Boy, your life has never

Been your own.

From before creation,

Right to now and beyond.

You belong to God.

And with God you have

Always been and ever will be.

Don’t worry

Go ahead

Jump into the sea.

 

The kid sinks into eternity.

The Captain has a vision.

2010.

From Harlem, South Chicago,

Bourbon Street to East LA.

Black as coal to lily white.

A short pathetic life

Through a concrete sea.

Fighting a loosing battle,

Kids condemned to die.

With no father to

Love and guide them

To God’s

Eternity.

I know where Elvis lives.

Sometimes I feel like a brick maker in the Exodus from Egypt. I’m standing there looking at the Red Sea on one side of me and the Egyptian army on the other side of me. No where to flee and no strength to fight.  So I look to Moses and say: come on man, hit the sea with your damn stick so God will part the damn sea and we can get the damn heck out of here.  I wait and wait and wait and finally the sea is parted and I cross on dry ground over to the Promised Land.   The real hard part is waiting when there’s absolutely nothing I can do.   I cuss out Moses, question God, fume and fret, assume all is lost and often do stupid things that get me in trouble.  But then Benevolence parts the sea and all is well. This seems to be an ongoing, iterative occurrence in my life. But inevitably everything works out well.  Maybe not as well as I’d like. But as I learn patience and faith, things seem to work out better.  Makes the damn wait easier too and keeps me out of trouble.............................On the other hand, if you’re a good swimmer. Go for it.

Walking on Water…..think don’t blink

 

Why can’t I walk on water?

I've tried and tried and tried.

I just damn well sink.

 

So I asked the guy who turns

A cracker and wine

Into the body and blood of Christ.

 

I think, wow man,

If you can do that, you can walk on water,

Or at least raise the dead. Naw!

 

So what about the Bible beater?

The self righteous guy

Preaching from pulpit?

 

Nope! But he tries to theologize…

Forget it man. Actually, between you and me,

I think he’s full of bullshit.

 

Like, I know Peter tried to walk on water.

He sunk

‘Till Christ took his hand.

 

After that I think,

Everyone else, as far as I know,

Just walked on dry land.

 

So give it up Dude

I say to myself,

Unless you want to drown.

 

I’m not Napoleon, Lincoln,

Or today thinking I’m Christ.

My life is not my own.

 

Crucify me. Cuz I can’t walk on water.

Or at least medicate this crazy,

Nouveau, Christian clown.

There’s nothing more peaceful that a sunrise over a vast calm ocean or to follow the silver pathway across a still sea to the full moon.  There’s nothing more frightening than to be alone, thrashing and sink to the depth of the abyss. And there’s nothing more powerful than the billowing tumult that can sing a battleship.  That’s life. That’s my mind. That’s freedom. I’d rather live life like it is than live life in a medicated waste land.

I’m a pacifist, love poetry, a heart full of joy.

The quintessential American boy.

But pumped full of meds lifted the vale,

Exposed my dark side, then someone said:

You’re a train wreck,  off the rail.

So I beat off his head.

What now? Fix my meds or put me in jail?

Probably both.

But I think,

My acrimonious shrink,

The guy that prescribed the stuff

Should take my place.

Cuz he don’t know

His butt from his face.

I feel like a Man of War

The British navy.

White sails above blue seas

That ruled the waves. At

Trafalgar, a bloody defeat,

Of the French and Spanish fleet.

 

But I’m decrepit, insanity prevails.

Truth be known,

Ain’t no wind in my sails.

Where the wind comes from

And goes to, I haven’t a clue.

Yet it blesses the chosen few.

 

A Man of War I am vicariously.

The wind howls through the chasm

Where my brain used to be.

A chosen one I guess I’m not

Suck it up sailor, and

Accept your lot.

     If up, away from the center of gravity is

The theological physics Black Hole.

A simple quiz:

Why?

Above the earth, soaring thru the

Sky,

Don’t pigs and cows and  elephants,

To the universal abyss, singularity,

Fly?

 

Full of light the Singularity is,

Cuz light can’t escape. Consequently  the answer,

To the quiz:

A paradox, a brilliant beating heart,

Around which everything revolves.

The glowing Black Hole,

They reject, and the earth they prefer, to

The Universal Soul.

Sitting in an upscale gentleman’s club,

Namely the chic Enclave,

Perched on their stools,

Were Nigel, Pierre, Hideo, Pasqual,

And a few others,

Not to mention, manic Dave.

 

The conversation was philosophical,

Concerning the many roads

To the grave from the cradle,

When Dave stands on his stool and says:

I’m surrounded by idiots,

Then urinates on the table.

 

Dave says there is only one road.

The others say there are many.

The road is golden, says Dave,

Leave the little people behind.

Your one with three others,

To overcome the trials and obstacles you find.

 

Balderdash they say.

There ain’t no Green City.

You’re crazy Dave

And in-ci-dent-ally

The guys in white coats

Are imminent and coming to take you a-way.

 

From the cradle

To the gentleman’s club.

The crowded table, now a padded room.

Dressed in a white straight jacket,

Fedora, plume. And a pink carnation,

Looking beyond the grave,

To the last happy dance, or suffering fornication.

 

Sits Dave.

I’m not crazy,

He vehemently and

Belligerently says,

Everyone else is.

Oh yeah! OK!

Huh! Eh!

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