Nithish and I Down by the Samadhi

Nithish and I taking a selfie together for this poem

This poem was written for the trustees of the Sri Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry, India, and was given to them the only way correspondence can be, if you are not an ashramite or someone they know, by giving it in an envelope to Mr Puru at the photo room adjacent to the Samadhi, and whether or not he will pass it on is entirely up to him. The Samadhi is the tomb of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, where people come to sit, meditate, and pray, which is located at the ashram.

We met these tomfooleries.
Do you ever look at your own car?
Can you be a better sadhak in wood,
a better disciple of Sri Aurobindo?
I lunge there:
I spend my day in total concentration.
This is a farmer on my land.
I really till the soil.
The concentration comes and goes,
but it’s picked up time and time again.
It’s fits and starts,
all day long.

Can you be a better sadhak of Sri Aurobindo?
I’m burnin’ on that ground.
I clear my mind and find it’s there,
for few certain minutes.
Can we come back to this?
I always do.
I am disciple of Sri Aurobindo
that always hears words
my inner ear hears.
I write them down
through a voice recorder.
My God I’m a seer someone said.
No one’s said this yet.
I’m just this guy with wood,
if you see me on the street,
held by my little boy.

He’s white and I’m black,
as society sees us,
an easy lesson in symbols if you hear.
What color am I with him?
I am navy green.
That means he’s safe with me.
What a spectacle for a pair of eyes.
The racial mix’s intriguing,
on the bandwidth of ourself.
Don’t doctor this up.
We’ve got infinity going for us,
racin’ around,
a whole field show.
We do sadhana together.
I be his teacher.

He’s not cloven foot.
He stands on his sadhana too,
a kid in grace and poise.
Okay stand back.
Here’s where we differ.
Open the inner consciousness
child.
Reach in there and find soul.
Open up in vision God.
The Mother and Sri Aurobindo take those places so many times
in his dreams and visions,
and in his understanding of God.
A child’s understanding basks in time.
No matter,
they are his guides and goads.

He’s opened the inner consciousness,
and his poetry would map our Earth,
if we but could give it time to breathe.
School shoves it down his throat:
hey kid, study for your exams?
An exam is a holdover from the last institution:
caveman you gotta learn this mile;
it’s survival of the fittest.
My God the lists against this kid are strong.
It’s a wonder he’s even doing it,
bein’ a vehicle of the inner voice.
The inner lines are strong.

I know the doubt and fear cast on this.
You would only see
to know.
His latest poem I include
at the back of this email.
His latest voice I include.
We measure this
by the strength of his ego.
That’s not fair.
A little kid’s sense wrote this.

Now here we are sittin’
at the back of this ego.
And we mention the poet.
I’m in the poem you see.
Now listen to a story.
I’ve given my kid the voice recorder.
He might get a line.
We are at the opposite pole of the Samadhi from the crowd.
I’ve never sat there before.
I'm with my other student Mithun,
who hears inner music.
I don’t got no more students but them.

A band plays.
I hear the line “Ice cold Samadhi”
just given into my inner ear,
but my boy’s got the voice recorder occupied,
whisperin’ in two lines of his own:
“Rechargeable minds here,
Olympus.”
Here’s where it gets weird.
Someone not connected with the Samadhi watch,
not a staffer there,
or so I think not,
gets an eye on the voice recorder,
walkin’ by the mountain.
“Gimmie that.”
No polite words were spoken,
no considerations one,
no respect none.

It’s here you’re doin’ sadhana,
when somebody pops yah.
All the gold comes out.
I’m sorry to say none of mine did.
In the ensuing conversations
with this person and that,
I just defended myself,
and my boy there.
I did not do what I was supposed to do:
not react,
but I didn’t tell one person off.
I kept reaction out of my voice,
to the degree
anger and ill will
I didn’t let show.

This I was careful to do.
No one heard me.
No one said a word.
You know how this is gonna be reported:
that son of a bitch lied and stole.
You will believe your people,
of course,
but all things show themselves in time,
and no one will be able to lie then,
together or apart.

I’m left with a voice recorder
I’ve used there now many years.
I’ve written poems from that Samadhi,
framed one and gave it to yah,
“The Rotisserie of God”.
No one has ever copied me,
the reason I was told I couldn’t do it:
everyone will.
You think I’d of been discovered by now
if it were a ruckus,
but I can bring a pencil and paper if you insist.
That leaves me with gold
they will take from me there,
when I come to pray.
We will check you now every time.
You know when a threat’s spoken.
It’s the hatred in their eyes.
We will harass you every time you come here.
Can this not be what they really said?

Well Savitri asks for boons,
from the spectre death.
I’m not gonna ask for the blind to see.
I’m just a sadhak not Savitri,
but I hear you call my name,
and can I write poetry sir
on my voice recorder at the Samadhi?
Well, I’ll wait.
Now here’s the one I’m worried about.
Can I enter the ashram gates
without bein’ harassed?
I’ll bring pencil and paper sir,
until you tell me otherwise.
No hidden cameras to record my voice
I’ll wear.
Do we have a deal?

Trustee please,
are you spiritual?
This is a Samadhi question.
I live there
in my heart all the time.
I react, sure, but I’m there,
and I live in vision.
I see the world before my eyes
a thing under creation.
It’s being made right now.
I hear this in vision,
and you did too.
“Ice cold Samadhi” means
it was a frigid place
emotionally,
and where was this?
It was in the situation I described.
These men were ice cold,
no warmth at all in their voice
or in their eyes.
Immediately they rose to anger,
all riled upon themselves,
and I’d had prevision of this,
in that line of muse,
just before it started.

The world rose there,
before my very eyes,
and I only saw it after it was over.
Could help then?
Well it sure helps in our conversation.
I don’t think those men
gathered the future before it happened.
They were not focused and gathered.
All came to put that foreigner in his place,
like their reaction was natural the order of the day,
like they weren’t doing sadhana.
They acted like the inner voice had no place in Sri Aurobindo’s yoga.
It was wrong.

Can I tell you something else?
Well, my inner voice was right on.
I forgot to tell yah…
Some people say no
I just made a mess.
He wants to go over it look—
my muse on where I’ve been.
I’ve been to the moon and back,
if you’re listenin’ to muse,
and I’ve danced with the military
on tactical nukes,
a U.S. special forces commando.
I’ve been in the heart and breath stop in Silent Mind,
that hurried glance,
and I saw the Gods in their tiers in Overmind,
and on a rim of dreamless sleep,
dived into the well of soul.
Would you believe in overhead?
The consciousness raises up there,
like several meters,
and there you find Supermind.
Makes for a lot of poetry.
Brief glimpses all,
but I’ve seen what I’m sayin’.

I can go round about the world
a penniless vagabond—
27 countries in 10 years.
Do you have that faith?
I don’t think you even learned Classical Greek.
Translate Euripides into English verse,
and you’ll gather strength in poetry.
You also get good at it,
in time.
Took me 25 years,
even after I started hearin’ it.

Now can we define the future poetry?
The future’s got that in hand.
I don’t understand.
I’ve heard the future call my name,
and you won’t show this to anyone?
Paper airplanes
every poem I’ve made?
Make or break yah,
these are not conventional teeth.
Are you open to the divine?
Candywood
make or break yah,
what you hear on the internet today.

I’m sorry I took it up,
the internet speaker.
I get laughed at and lauded.
The latter’s not louder,
but they’ve gotta eat too,
the people on there for the breeze,
and I might be seen soon
by a pitchfork and a vital
that hate me so much I go viral.
Look there’s nothing in them,
the threats I face today.
The rotating officer
is not interested in me.
I’m not hurtin’ anybody.
I’m not doin’ anything wrong.
Now you’re starrin’ me,
at your look see.

Oh well,
do it to her face okay?
Get another bad piece from her.
You gave her a poem
that said she needed to work on it,
humanity’s tiger.
Do people really wanna act like that at the ashram?
A boy his hair,
that’s what he does.
I thought you’d notice
they walk silly.
Good idea,
I’m talking about
being human kind and loving
to all who enter your gates.

You’re gonna have to,
whadda you do?

Really buckle down and be good to people,
and her hair could be picked up too,
and she could focus and concentrate,
breakin’ along can reality period,
yeah, yeah.
Global,
I even ask you to global change.
Here it is you have a mirror.
There’s broad stroke said it.
There’s the yoga.
Everybody makes mistakes.
Would you offer this to the Mother?

Opening up kids,
I agree with you.
We don’t block them from society.
We fathom them God.
We don’t fathom them school.
And they become there,
on the journey to God
a society rose.
What do we hope by it?
We get bigger than ourselves.
His heart,
a little boy rises
his soul.
A little boy rises
I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.
The expectation’s not the kid.
It’s the consciousness.
What’s this mountain?
You wanna bring God into the world.

I tried to do a little explainin’
on boyness and the nature of man,
on bein’ human.
We are here for this.
We need all our strength.
Practice is another suite.
Send it sweet.
Did you get everybody put in this spirit?
It takes the world to make it up.
Blown up yeah.
We made it here,
in this section,
to the touch of a magazine.
Everything’s online,
and this will be too,
now or never.

Do you understand the flavor here?
That’s the flavor of change.
That’s the flavor of Harm’s End.
These are bunk beds,
and we live here,
grandfather
and his grandson
you keep hittin’ at.
Did I mention Douglas?
Puts together his life with the Mother.
A house is not complete without dogs,
and we have four.
They are the love of our life.

Our friend is on the roof,
Narasimha,
protecting my house
if you should try to take me down.
I don’t die.
A divine worker is protected.
This is what I’m aiming:
the life divine.
So much power,
you’ll have instructions.
May God bless you.

Your outer form was carried right.
We are not derelicts or sinners.
We are safe and sound.
I’m will
extra deep,
alright?
Okay,
you have been warned.
You don’t mess with divine protection,
but are you really mean-spirited?
Does the Mother cross your brow
if you should hate someone?
Okay your character’s on the table now.
May you wish blessings for all.
May you really hold the Mother’s hand.

I bear you no ill will.
I’m not in a campaign to smear your name.
I’m doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’,
here writing you a poem,
now doing sadhana.
I’ve changed the ticker tape in his life,
that kid.
Am I glad
he met me with the divine.
I’ve met you that way.
That’s the story.
Oh wait a minute daddy I wanna fix my lunch,
one second.
A purity of kid rose,
a gracious cartoon.
Now let’s survive this
and become better friends.

You know it’s there,
the fact of your will or consciousness behind a lesson.
Okay,
noted.
Well it will transfer
that it was made by the foreigner.
Okay,
spit on ‘im.
I don’t think so.
Your thought process in relation to your thoughts,
and you pick them up randomly?
Now that’s got uncle and brother,
your bigger clothes,
without AI.
I’m here to help.
Paradise Things With Lyrics
by S. Nithish

Reach for peace,
but it’s a long jump away.
It’s One stairs.
Butterflies are our airplanes.
They’re peaceful and calm.
They can fly us to space.
From there we need to walk.

There’s a place for everybody in the world.
I did two steps:
let the Light be the guide;
my place is out of this world.
We all have something that we should pass on.
I do not have a turnoff button.

The ancient minds were better.
They left out clues for us.
They left out clues around the world.
We should always say thanks.
Stars were meant to be together.

How’s Your Self-Made Star?

photo by the author
In and out cars,
this one
got longer hair.
I’ll print the trailer
one horse at a time.
In the first poem, [link]
the codpiece is about enlightenment.
We need our system’s input,
and we are too skeptical for God in our lives.
The horse and pony show
makes us system mean.
We rob flowers,
in all department stores.
Terrible consequences for wood.
We get ostracized and banished from society,
and this is kingdom hall.
We bleed and we say grace
in the wrong movement.
Can you discover this?

It chops us in half,
with special counsel.
You fool erase that paint.
I have to rein it in.
Crash on symbols.
Let me monopolize
ages of reason.
That’s think tank
in our purple yard.
It’s expensive to have sex
the behavior is wrong,
and that is defined culturally,
in sudden kingdoms.
I’m a Mastodon
that lost its way
in heavy equipment.
Society won’t forgive me for that,
and it only knows the spell of society.
Can you gauge that?

We pour out morality on our sleeve.
We bury there
all our common sense.
Hallelujah I’m saved,
says the Christian in the room,
and society’s muffled because of that,
as Christians enter the Legislature
and take over government
in halls of America.
A thousand and one evils,
they all blow up on society
in a Christian yard.
It helps itself
to the wrong measure of man.
We are so much more than behavior
and bended miles.

We can’t see straight.
We can’t even look.
We’re confounded by time.
They study us,
all these wrong people in the room,
the ones who think they know the right
and have their hands on power.
They wanna move us outta here,
where we pinpoint the throes of man.
You can’t lick this chocolate.
It’s time on Earth is few.
Everybody knows the dance,
but no one knows the realization
that we are loftier than our species,
that we can make it right,
one society at a time.
This is certain gold.

We are all cattle and sheep,
unwilling to find the destination of man.
We think it’s a religious figure
or an atheist’s technology
that tries to play God.
Can you character here,
find the Sun?
We revel in sweetness,
then shoot it down with our guns.
I don’t think we know what innocence is.
It’s cropped out in school,
and we lament the loss of innocence in children,
and we stand there and rob it from them
in the harmful environment of school,
and we wanna make it harder,
put them in there longer.
Can you see this?
This is the greatest fire on Earth,
makes society a slave model
and pits us against one another.

Have I reached the end
of this talk on climate change?
It’s not felled trees I’m talkin’ about
or branded water,
or the warmin’ skies.
Can we get down to business and do the Earth?
Can we see past our little lives?
Can we see the bigger ship
that man is and will become?
How do you land down here?
We have to get right with one another,
and that’s our climate change.
If we are going to get bigger than ourselves,
we’d have to see importance in every man, woman, and child.
No one is discounted.
We come together on love,
in every set of circumstances,
unless we have to stop killin’
and people in the violent act.
We have to be strong and swift for that.
Then love finds us again
healing lives.

This will give us breathin’ room
to discover ourselves.
Without this no one’s there,
except the few who manage to escape
society’s bellows.
Where have I placed you?
Where we need to go.
Where we need to be.
Can you refuse this?
Most people will.
Necessity will bring us to it
in the eventful years ahead.
I’m a blueprint magazine,
and I have my windward sail,
and you know I’m here.

I felt the wind blows.
How to translate our lives
a meaning shifting.
You can’t ground it good.
You can’t even spell it out.
Where does it come from?
Where is it going?
It’s larger than space and time.
We have our supernal roams.
This give rise to these,
the worlds,
and we know you’re in there Mr. Nithish.
It comes close to the bottom and close to the top,
but a world is a beanpole.
We stargaze there.
We champion our own rounds.
Oh come on come up.

How do you handle a hungry man?
With patience and loving-kindness,
unless you need to shoot ‘im,
‘cause he’s in our garden.
I’ve just mentioned to you the problem.
We don’t know when to quit.
Our lives are in danger here,
but defend ourselves means this:
too much overkill.
And what do you want?
I’m sorry I’m backin’ off.
Let’s make this count.
We don’t have to be at the dinner table
in the substance of our lives.
We can be bigger than kin
and they all wear my face.
Humpy Dumpty sat on a wall.

But we’re relieved to find
we are on our way,
once we know how to get movin’.
You there,
will you just sit there and smile?
The fear of death join our room.
Can we back up this yard?
We’ve got a whole lot to loud out,
and it’s time we did not let the fear of death stop us.
Who lands this creek?
You’ve got to get up and get moving,
knowing death is always there
circling you
and the lives of your loved ones.
Accept death hell,
we’re gonna learn to change it
a long time in the future.
Meanwhile,
we don’t let it stop us
from getting bigger than ourselves.

Oh my goodness wide movement.
Morality will help you there,
but it’s not the goal.
We live and die:
oh you’re bad
temple will cook,
because it’s not your religion anymore
the church seat.
Let’s gold bottom’s up.
Where Douglas?
We’ve reached stars,
all over ourselves.
We review the Sun,
the gold I was speaking of.
Can you hear it?
It’s right there on the tail end of this poem.
Let’s get busy with it,
gettin’ the strength to see it.
I give you links,
the bread and butter.
Let’s copy this on one another:
I love you.

I Will Show You the Lord / Not Behind You

George de Forest Brush – Orpheus, 1890 (public domain)

This is a poem written to G Surya Prakash Rao, the founder and managing editor of Muse India, an online literary magazine, in regards to their rejection and criticism of Nithish’s poem “Paradise Things With Lyrics”, which was submitted to their online forum Your Space, not to the literary magazine itself. A Twitter/X photo-poem of mine would give more details: “Where Were the Ones That Felt?”

And the poem below was submitted to Muse India for publication, not through their regular channels, directly to the managing editor, as we were having a brief email conversation regarding the boy’s poem. I would gather he doesn’t want to publish the poem below, and that in itself I find remarkable, and you will have to read the poem to find that remarkable too, but the fact that he won’t even bother to tell me, I find that absolutely incredible.

Human civilization is a world apart.
I grab you by the poetry today.
The overhead music,
the overhead town,
some suggestions for your
unmanageable poetry scheme sir.
I speak poetry to your sense of self,
and that’s a long ride,
half-religion,
in the carnival of God.
Do you wear zeitgeist on your sleeve,
offended
if I grab your ass and smile?
Man I tell yah
where we put poetry today,
in the hullabaloo.

You give me 40 lines to tell.
How people don’t know it,
tellin’ poetry to be quiet
is sexual reassignment surgery,
cuts its dick off.
Well foreign he’s brave.
That room is shocked.
That room is sorry.
This one here,
what do you do?
Do you publish a poet,
Donny Lee Duke?

Teacher of the day master of the poetry.
Who says that’s prayer
or insightful?
That’s a line from the movie
Beat Kids.
I’m throwin’ at you rabbits
to know the meaning of the word,
its symbolizing form.
Rabbits are a dictionary,
and they fecund.

How do I open poetry in your heart
that’s not a diction model,
phrased put?
But I’m putting sound down
as a vehicle of meaning,
categorically put.
Imagine we lived in a rose,
and we petaled differently,
the speaker said.

You’re not huntin’ meaning.
You’re all about sound rose
a churppin’ model
with words you can cut your finger on,
your personal stuff
that sees the corners of things,
gets at feeling and taste,
ode to a green jar
and supposin’.

I wrap you around wood
in a different kind of glory.
I laugh-loud you
to go get greater silk
to stand your life,
because I’m sittin’ here strandin’ mine,
where it hurts,
where it counts,
and that’s bubblin’ up poetry.

That’s not it
I’m listenin’ to myself speak,
here I am on the table
the thought of London,
Batman in robes,
lyrical put.
A new generation of poetry,
a new thought of poetry,
here I am and you
chase me down this mountain
you tin can.
I’m a dormitory of words.

Is that bowl I’m missing
let’s listen to Tennyson?
Grab your evolution by the poetry sir.
Blast your pillars of salt.
Blast your shadow kings.
Don’t look back
at some exam of poetry
Orpheus.
Grab your poetry by today.

To the editor of Sky Magazine:
change Orpheus into a pillar of salt.
Lay down your lines
you’ve surrendered to poetry.
Can you hear that?
Muse India
a scolding.
How sad.
You hear that?

The tops of teas
lyrical ballads.
Where am I at?
I don’t think you’d recognize me.
I’m poetry fits the day,
sudden splendor.

Can we get to the top of that mountain?
I offer you a chair.
It’s closer than you think,
a morph of Orpheus,
of your kind.
You open it
binoculars.

Peace is a drug that you get from the upper store.
[above line Nitish’s muse, my 12-year-old grandson]
Nithish’s smile.
Your anthology papers,
post my letters,
it is very change.
I’m not lookin’ forward to the new ghost story.
Oh man, do your ignore me?
A new music,
a flute overhead,
we need that to survive.
Things are not going in our direction,
and can we just change the tunes?
What a poetry says
a culture does.

You’re not playin’ around with smithereens.
Come on don’t groupthink
and let poetry rock.
I don’t understand you sir.
Does it have to be highfalutin?
You stuff shirt,
come out in the world and see.
Am I wrong?
Do we need something more out of poetry
that we’re not getting?

Come out of your damn ivory tower
and touch the world.
Is that so hard to listen to?
What are you doing that you can’t see
this is poetry?
And I will haunt you for the rest of your life
a poetry gun,
a poetry speaker,
a poetry man.

I don’t think you realize the power of poetry,
the muse today.
It will be inevitable
we dance along the Thames
putting it out like Shakespeare.
It will come out of its bottle
and change the world.
Too strange driven,
you think it just needs to be thrown away,
like this email’s cut off here.
Are you kiddin’ me?

Infinity Meets Its Stairwell

Nithish, photo by the author, taken today
A different kind of story.
I’ll write it across the sky:

I am a poet of the Mother and Sri Aurobindo.
I’m a 12-year-old poet.
I am an original poet.
I’m a muse poet,
no help given
to the writing of this poem.

We have as little as possible to do with bounds.
Everything,
if you think of something divine,
it lights up.
Grape juice,
what’s the price?
To get this boy’s poem published?
Use the excellent hunter witchcraft.
This is by far the best boat.

We have an epiphany of being.
It lasts.
It shoulders reality.
It doesn’t go away.
It will be there when we get back.
That’s an ankle torn,
lavishly spent on nature.
I think we disappear awhile
into our compellings.
This could be a shade of grey,
or the self-righteous crowd.

We hang there.
We brood there.
We don’t know what it means.
I think Earth has taken us by the hand
to stumble some.
Are we workin’ things out?
We’re an operation reality.
So many meanings made clear
where we go wrong.
Can you see this?

It reaches us
right there where we’re at.
There is no perfection slave point.
We arrive there,
post-stumblings.
It’s as certain as Earth.
This is all in a car now.
We hump it some.

I can’t show you the Earth.
There are no fields there
perfection’s sum,
the arrived at.
I can only show you time
in her suspended miracle.
Each failing of Earth
gathers us.
It fixes us
where we find wounds.
I think the urge there is to heal,
in humanity,
and in ourselves.

What have we done to the Earth?
And you think this is out of step
with nature’s plan?
Of course we rob/ruin it. [words heard spoken simultaneously]
No other animal would do otherwise
in the glory of its day.
So how do we naturally put on?
Give the Earth time to heal
its man-plan.
This is far away from us?
You’ve got it in your hand.

We open Earth with it,
one story at a time,
stories big enough to see us,
because they’ve hit us in the quick of ourselves,
in what it means to be human.
We lavish such stories
in exaggerated can.
There are all humans to meet,
who spiritualize themselves
and bring out of them soul.

You can’t see this plan.
The story has made us discover ourselves
in an avoidance of Mars,
the tribe of our taboos,
that can make you vomit
if you find it close,
that can heal your scars
when you find it redemption.

What do we do with this?
He’s a pedophile throw him away.
You nincompoop,
this blesses us,
if we know it arrives at noon,
if we can call it our own,
sit with it
and not react.

I can’t spy this in for you.
You’ve got to see it yourself.
You’ve got to be there with the Earth
where she most needs.
You’ve got to be open to chance,
and from bad things can come good things,
if we arrive there.
The Earth is a joy shout out.
It means somethin’.

Every separate thing
loosened from its coils
came from her divinity’s roll out.
Some have become perverted in the mask of space.
They have a divine element.
They come back to themselves,
over and over again,
if we can find that purpose put.

And the pedophile becomes a purpose maker
in the intensity of small children.
Instead of sex he gives them stars.
Your disbelief is operating now.
It blights this page,
and I’m stuck with it,
have to sit with it and stare at time.
You won’t release me.

And we’re crowdin’ in on time.
My boy has submitted his first poem
to a literary showcase
here in India.
There will be others.
He’s 12,
and comes upon us another snag:
did he write this?

You maniac,
you are horrible disbelief.
You would destroy the world if you could,
rather than read his poetry lie down.
I’m making it visible now,
Nithish’s hotspot,
where he finds muse.
This is in our certain poetry together
in the soliloquy of love.

A shapeshifter,
I’ve morphed into my true form:
hello there boy,
I’m intensity of consciousness open up
to intensity of purpose,
hanging your own star.
Watch that glow.
Good God that’s purpose,
smellin’ salts.

Stories that make you puke,
stories that rhyme with the Earth,
calculate us
and make us see.
They involve with us
to every hand’s on healing.
Do tell,
and here I am in that yard.
Wrap me around the world, will yah?
I’m certain.
Watch it,
a fuller opera,
a zero point ignition,
reaches Earth.

The Transgender Wars

photo by the author
The body of trans auto-mania
piss you off.
It’s just super cool
to take your gender off.
They suffer for this.
I am a man goddamn it,
and here my body’s female.
I can’t grab my own balls.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
I’m ugly in the mirror.
I don’t fit.
This hurts.
It’s all I can see.
I live with this
everyday.
I can’t surmount it.
It’s got me by the balls.

So I’m transgender,
and I have this wonderful surgery
to make me a man.
It really feels good
to take my gender off.
Low and behold I’m a man!
I’m now right with myself.
I can see the world that way.
Everything’s alright with the sun.
There’s just this little stickler in the program:
I’m still a woman.
I can’t get up in the morning
without remembering who my body was.
I kill my dead name,
and I still respond to it.

I thought I was gonna be happy,
really fulfilled.
I tell the press I am.
I’m still confused inside.
This didn’t do the trick.
It just took my face off.
I don’t know how much I regret my new situation.
I kinda like my new dick,
but this just didn’t satisfy, you know?

I’m in gender dysphoria.
I think that’s the word these days.
I can’t get over it.
Gender is a thing of the past.
It’s not biologically made.
It’s not who we are.
I decide what I’m gonna be.
Gender’s what I say I am,
and it’s fluid all damn night,
and it’s green.
I have to get my dick cut off to be happy
or make my vagina out of one,
and that is the secret formula
for wholeness and wellness of being
I’ve told myself that a million times.

It never sticks,
but you know,
it feels good to be different.
I’ve revealed myself.
I’ve taken society by the horns,
and I have said you do not determine me.
Now, where do we go with this?
I’m on the same side I was.
Happiness did not come
from the scalpel and knife.
I still suffer.
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know out of this.
It’s not what I thought it would be,
all bliss and honeymoon.

Oh man there is a deeper life.
It’s right there at your edges.
You have so much more to you
than gender.
You are a pilot inside.
This is where you take yourself.
You’re looking for fulfillment.
You find the road ahead.
It’s got spiritual on it,
in that it’s deeper than life’s ways.
You go beyond yourself.
You get bigger than you.
There are states inside
that show you this.
It’s a consciousness change.
It brings you out of yourself.
It’s as natural and as right as rain.
It doesn’t boil you over.
It’s where you’re going with this,
your humanity.

It’s not a made-up lie.
You will find it on the inside
if you look
with open questions
and the knowledge of the seeker
who fervently knocks on doors.
It’s been lost to humanity
by and large,
translated as religion
around the world.
These are not beliefs you grow into.
Your spirituality is you,
and you get deeper every day.
The sun rise in you
it begins to dawn in you.

Now you’re sittin’ in the road
of you feel good about yourself.
It’s not fake anymore.
It’s the real McCoy.
It can’t be duplicated
by gender fuck you.
It can’t be duplicated
by a reliance on the machine.
It is so different,
who you are,
than you figured it was going to be.

Gender was not what I thought it was.
There’s a principle there masculine and feminine.
We would call them forces of nature.
It’s got a lot of glow.
It would determine society.
It would be a division we are.
We’ve been divided in two,
so our babies don’t kill each other
any more than they do.
So we have to have a plan to elope.
They have to come together,
the divided forces,
to make offspring,
and that makes us.
It was designed that way,
so we could have peach on earth
in our kitchens.

The lie is this:
you are a man,
or a woman,
and that’s that.
You are both you see.
The woman you long for,
the one you wanna be,
man in gender dysphoria,
is not about a knife,
cutting your balls off.
You be that woman inside
that’s fine.
It’s a principle you’re enhancin’,
but you still let that man glow.
You come to a balance in yourself,
express which gender suits you
in any given moment of life.
Which one you push more to the front
in that moment,
and which one lays back,
this is wholeness.
Don’t cut yourself off.

Gender dysphoria,
it’s a book.
It’s a fad.
It transpires,
but you don’t reject yourself.
You see what you are.
The confusion’s on the table.
It’s about us.
We are more than a mind in a body
in the everyday instruments we use.
We have an intermediary,
the vital, a life-body.
It’s the breath of life,
the life force in us.
It has its own consciousness,
and it pushes its desires into the mind,
its impulses into the body,
its preferences for this and that,
and it’s the death of us.

It’s like a small child,
really.
If you meet it in dream it
is a large, hairy creature
with a long neck and no head,
that just loves you to death,
like a big rub up against you dog.
It’s friendly.
It’s got its own mind.
Now here’s the trouble with man,
and we don’t even see it:
you have to get the vital in order,
if you wanna deal with life.
This was not a doctrine I performed
when I entered the Integral Yoga
that has this psychology down.
I had met my vital in dreams,
and I understood what my teachers were talking about.
Sri Aurobindo and the Mother talk about the vital a lot.

Now here you are
a man in a woman’s body,
or a woman in a man’s,
or so you think.
There are three people involved:
your vital, your mind, and your body.
They each have a gender.
Wow, how weird is that?
It’s principles they mask.
One is masculine.
One is feminine.
A combination wouldn’t mean dysphoria,
or would it?

Now, my mind is male,
and I’ve got a male body.
My vital sweetheart is feminine.
They work together you see
and form a confederacy.
I balance them.
I know myself.
Would you?

A masculine-feminine body
would have to be dealt with.
It would require surgery
in some cases.
That’s understood.
Okay we got a masculine mind and vital,
but the body’s different.
What’s removed in surgery?
Surface towels.
The body consciousness still has its gender.
It hasn’t been cut away.
It counts.
Can you see this?

How do you live with it,
a body one thing,
a mind and vital another?
That’s not a woman inside a man’s body,
or the other way around.
Your understandins’ wrong.
Give this gift to yourself:
don’t worry about society’s gender.
Take its clothes off.
You want to be you inside.
Where is that at?
A masculine-feminine lady,
or a man that’s masculine and feminine.
Do you get the picture?
Can you see what I’m sayin’?

Be okay with who you are.
That dick is yours,
that beaver.
If it’s ugly you got a problem
of self-acceptance to sort out.
You don’t have to be confused.
I think it’s society’s roles making you suffer,
the way it looks at you.
Can you be bigger than that?
Can you get out of yourself
in don’t look at gender
like it makes the world go round?

Be a man and a woman you see,
and it’s where society’s movin’,
fluid gender roles.
You open your spirituality
you’ll also become the opposite sex.
I mean if you follow your plan,
the inside spirit of things,
the movement of your soul as it walks through time,
not a practice and belief set.
Have we gotten anywhere?
To the right way of being.
Have you heard me yet?
Try.

Gender roles
don’t tell yah who you are.
The extraordinary does,
and I’m a mission to see it
more plainly than I do now.
Would you believe it?
And they call me a pedophile.
You think you’ve got it bad
in society’s ways.
Gender role fluidity,
let’s get sensitive about that,
not insults to us,
because they disagree with you.
We can’t change society
with the anger of its being.
That crushes it,
eats it alive.
We can’t change society with anger
and want it to love us.
Somehow we have to all agree
gender roles are too rigid,
and we change accordingly.
That takes love.
That takes patience,
and we won’t do it overnight.
Does anybody hear me?

We want society to change,
and that’s the school we go to,
and it’s not a military school.
And we come to the gender roles,
the wrong types of the wrong kinds of divided.
We reason this out
where rules are concerned,
and we put them aside
when need be.
Our school children can learn this
so easily,
how to a happy gender life.
Let’s start with some knowledge, will yah?
And you heard it in this poem,
all along the gender wars.
You hear me?

There’s a message
in our placement book,
where we live together life.
Do you hear it?
Let’s aim life
to that message room:
oh gender kids,
gender fluidity.
Oh no acting occurred.
There are muscles that never hurt.
There are muscles that never work.
Never wash your hands
is a single no to the system.
You just lie there and wait
for some other hand to pick you up.
Oh come on please,
you don’t know what I’m talking about?
Get it,
that two worlds isn’t political;
it’s political or die.
You’ve got that raccoon in your mouth.
It lifts good.
Now are we gender or sex?

Let’s take a look at this.
Oh my God he’s gay.
Yes Chris,
Mr. Beast is not laughing about this.
Twenty thousand
eat their dicks.
I’m gay.
It’s a guilt trip.
One second.
They don’t like the social stigma.
Is that a reason to cut off your penis?
You don’t want to be gay,
and we transgender,
like gayness is out of style.

Does it feel good
cutting your penis off?
Like months,
like nab,
yeah I’ll use nab.
We use gay against the world.
Luna!
get off that girl dog.
She’s humping her lesbian.
No even a service to me.
Look at the spell.
A Rottweiler’s blind.
She really gets after it.
What am I saying?
Please,
we would not give Luna a sex change operation because of it.
She’s my dog.

Why are we sex changing people?
And it’s just a big mess.
The social stigma of gay,
or bein’ a lesbian,
I don’t want it.
I don’t care.
I will kill you.
Wow we’ve loaded this gun.
Now let’s support them in this?
How many children are saying that?
Puberty blockers please,
I’m just homosexual.
I hate that.
I put on gender clothes.
Yeah it’s perfect.
Yeah you do.

Can we sell you something else?
You’re a man.
You will be that when you grow up,
and you’ll have these gay feelings.
Why would you want to deal with them with irreversible surgery?
And man, they say it’s better as a kid.
The change takes that way.
Hence the puberty blockers.
And we look at God again.
No sex between kids,
so cut their dicks and pussies.
Why can’t they make the decision to have sex?
They can gender confuse.
They can decide to remove their genitals.
Why aren’t they old enough to have sex?
Now a child molester touch those parts,
is that really worse than a doctor cutting them off?
I think you’re blind here.

You stigmatize people.
That helping hand,
you won’t let it out in the neighborhood.
That role competition,
can we first see we engage in it?
A girl wants to be a boy.
Why?
Boys get to do more stuff.
They’re the arm of society.
So they bleed in the wrong bathrooms,
because they have a dysphoria.
They don’t wanna be girls.
Has this anything to do with life,
a reason for choices?
You bet your sweet Bob it is.
They’re gay,
so many children who want to slice penises.
And those girls who want to be boys,
how many of them say it’s because of the muscle?
Can we look at gender dysphoria please?
Can we really look at it?

Let’s look at my hand.
And he goes out into the water,
The Fonz,
and this is trick or treat.
You’re doin’ it on ice.
You rob people of their sleep.
I think you know you’re ugly.
They’d call you a freak,
the transgender haters.
It didn’t work did it?
Just listen to your voice.
It’s a weird drum,
your larynx.
You don’t look like people who made the stars.
There’s somethin’ about you out of wack.
Can you admit it didn’t work,
your sex change operation?
It just has you glow
in an almost there.

I can’t count society’s ways.
There’s too many of ‘em.
I think it’s important to be gender.
Don’t even catch up.
I’ve watched them a million times,
‘cause it goes and knocks out one of them,
it role change his whole society.
I think it’s important to be gender related.
I’m talking about Chris,
with the power to say he’s a woman.
Is that really true?
Do we give people that right,
just be the opposite sex?
That negates society’s most structuring formula,
right now.
We haven’t gotten there yet,
a gender equal society.
We can’t force it with this change.
You’re messin’ with the roles of man,
the very terms of how we socially construct,
and that goes deep.

You change that at the drop of a hat?
Why would somebody be transphobic,
who opposes it?
Wouldn’t they just be normal
in the field of today?
Did you know that
you’re askin’ a lot of people.
You want them to accept your decision,
based on what?
These are role plays.
Now it’s just if you say so.
That’s the right being pushed.

Well that’s grand.
It doesn’t do us any good.
Okay if your vital and your mind are feminine,
and your body’s not,
I think we need to learn how to do that,
come to that conclusion.
Part of it’s inner work.
But them we wouldn’t change your sex
with plastic surgery.
We’d allow you to express yourself as a woman,
if that suited you,
or at least feminine wears.
We are still on the way to that.
So many people just want the norm.
Can you see the obstacles in your way?
Can you see all this stuff?

I don’t think there are as many of you as sort out.
A lot of you are just blind
to the role maker,
and you think you need to be reassigned.
By that I mean nature works,
in most cases.
Now are we superstar?
We can’t even get a poem across,
and this is a long one.
I can say anything you know.
I don’t get called out—
no readers.

How are things goin’?
Things seem to be happening rather fast.
It looks like social breakdown,
but that’s been always happenin’.
Oh we don’t own money.
How many of us are record holders?
How many of us are rocket holders?
The rich own this planet,
and we want them out of power.
World is not a kind thing,
and it’s beginning to self-destruct
there are so many of us.
We aggravate that.
Now you can go right to the hammer
and get under it,
or you can lay out the change,
one poem at a time,
to keep this planet off roller coasters,
to make sure we survive.

America especially but in the West,
transgender has come to mean offend.
It’s where we can see over-sensitive,
in its full play.
Why is that?
People aren’t secure in their decisions.
Well another poem
underway.
See that it gets to rocket science, will yah?

The Baby Formula

photo by Lidya
But I am provided in poems.
Put it in the baby wash.
It rules society.
I’m talkin’ military hardware.
We live with babies.
The whole universe sticks in them
we don’t see.
The openness they are can start a revolution.
They are so open
it’s crazy in there.
We just program them well.
We don’t even know we’re doin’ it.
This is ballpoint of society,
and it is here we fuck up.

They’re strangers you see.
They just lay there and fuss
or pop a smile.
They are closed to us.
We have no idea what’s goin’ on
in that baby’s consciousness.
They’ve arrived from somewhere.
Does this still glow in them?
It’s got Heaven on it,
which they slide down by degrees.
They’re a soul state.
They are empty room.
They come from far away
to land here.

They’re a Heaven’s breeze
to our notion of self.
We delight in them.

It’s all over their face
we have the power.
Oh they’re tiny lords
to our work schedule.
They make us work.
They are ever present in our garage.
They are kingpins there.
That’s the surprise.
They bake in our dreams.

We don’t know what to do with them.
They are a non-entity yet,
but we love them to death.
How do we handle baby?
A conditioning arm.
Everything we do effects them.
They haven’t managed yet
to filter out the world.
It’s all new to them,
and they rob you of your sleep.
We handle them,
and every touch matters.
We are formin’ their identity.
All their little quirks
they’ll pick up from us.
I don’t think science knows this yet:
we cast their sexual identity
in our arms.
We determine it.

The action around those genitals
will give the boy his love,
the girl her romantic feelings.
You don’t even have to touch it.
They live in a soup
of all this emotion,
and they dance on the shores of the body
your emotional fingers and hands.
Your emotional awareness and hands,
it could be you cannot see.
You only know you’re washin’ and cleanin’
and things like that.
Sometimes you kiss the life force there.
It’s a magnet for your fingers,
a draw,
and the baby feels that pull,
swims in it.
You’ve determined their sexuality,
I think the heaviest hand there.

Let’s swim in feelings you know.
We swam usually when we’re three,
and let’s pick the boy in the room.
Can we call him daddy’s little lover?
Their bond makes the fishes glow.
It has heavy all over it.
They abide awhile
each other’s lover.
This is way before memories are formed.
Maybe it was your uncle.
You don’t know.
It gets squeezed
sometimes,
that little package you got,
and his is so bright and shiny
in the shower room.
It’s a big muscle thing,
daddy’s central hat.
You’re not bein’ molested.
You’re bein’ loved on,
squarely and sweetly,
and you love it there.
It’s a special relationship,
and a gay man comes out of it,
like watch it glow.
That man builds his life around it.
We think he’s just gay.
Do we open more doors?

Give that kid an orgasm and see.
Oh my the baby bliss there.
It can make Hitlers out of men
and a mystic’s standin’ regard.
Can you be a child molester?
Depends on how you were molested.
Was it sweet and nice,
or did it throw you away?
It was so beautiful my mom said,
so amazingly sweet.
No, sex did not enter the room.
You see how blind we can be?
There was sex all over that paper,
but I love children
a million dollars worth.

And I’ve shaped babies for yah
in the frying pan,
not enough to see it whole,
just to know it’s goin’ on.
All the variety of kids we produce,
the adult they’ll be,
I haven’t glowed on.
Can you see this happening
in society?
The baby’s room,
I live there,
and I mean don’t we all?

And now I photograph,
a photograph of ourselves on Thanksgiving Day.
You really need this vision,
and that’s where we change society,
where that baby encounters the world.
This is the cutting edge of difference.
Don’t spank them don’t bleed them,
don’t turn them on.
Don’t even give them reason to cry,
unless you can’t help them that way,
and they’re in baby mood.
If they see violence or hear an argument,
their violence will ensue.
We are rose with them
when we call their name.
Can everbody get this report?
Baby’s Day Out,
you have no idea.
Baby’s Day Out,
the real McCoy.

I’ve got my microphone.

I’m puttin’ on my prejudices
to give you infancy.
It’s not all about homosexuality and gayness
or look at that pedophile.
It’s about somethin’ I can’t talk about.
It’s got lands on it
we don’t know about.
I can only show you a picture
that will help us along.
You got that Fredrick?
The baby wars,
they’re a baby,
and I call out war and disease
that land at your backdoor,
over the rainbow.

The Mother’s Vision

I am down on Main Street
just by bein’ there.
I’m everybody’s special mission.
Ah,
I’m studying
the ways of the world,
the field of mankind.
I have the Earth in view.
I see what I’m sayin’.
Do you see it?

My poetry put you in barns.
No, it’s not clipped prose.
It’s symbol wrought.
I speak from vision’s lair.
You see the symbol on it
and the all-managing meaning.
What does a barn mean?
You got animals in there,
and it’s where you were raised
if you can’t polite society,
or if you don’t know what it means to be human.
Am I calling you names?

Well let’s get there,
to where I wanna take you,
and it’s not the hatred bunch.
I sit in your smile and sing.
It’s got symbol on it.
I sit in your animal and sing.
We are all rough wars.
We’ve got some things to learn about each other.
Can you see the writing on the wall?
We would celebrate that Hebrew saying.
It shows us so much.

We are not kind to each other.
World Kindness Day has an explosion test.
This guy went off on me,
and my kid just stepped on a red carpet.
He was livid
with hatred.
I didn’t understand it.
I thought I’d done something wrong.
You know how kids are,
they play.
He stepped on a standing iron that meant nothing.

It didn’t make any harm.
He was dancin’ into the ashram
on his feet.
No he wasn’t making swirls.
He just got in there in kid shoes.
A little pole he stepped on its base.
You know the kind with tape between them
to guide people in?
I’m describin’ the action
so you can see the picture:
nothing happened.

The thing didn’t get injured,
and it didn’t make any noise.
The man jumped up,
sittin’ there right past the gate,
and started tellin’ somebody they were out of line.
There was no line of people there.
He was just talking to my kid,
ignoring me,
purposefully.
Now who is he talking to I thought
at first.
The man showed me what my kid had done,
like he’d entered Auschwitz
a Nazi protector,
like my kid had really done something wrong.

He demonstrated the action,
stepped on the thing.
I couldn’t believe it.
I was surprised.
Without saying anything,
wanting to get to that Samadhi
so me and my kid could learn
the school of the Samadhi that day,
its lesson,
I half-turned and gestured a mock surprise,
then bellowed my arms and changed my face
a mine of that boy being guilty
of grave concerns,
but I was laughin’ about it
in my eyes and face
it was so trivial in nature
the boy’s infraction.
It was such a good performance.

The man did not appreciate the performance.
He got mad as hell.
I think I said first “He’s a child.”
He made the Shh! gesture to his lips like he was shooting me.
It hurt.
That really isn’t the quiet area.
The way he thrust his face forward and danced on his feet,
I saw the problem,
racial hatred.
They don’t like foreigners in that ashram,
though they’ll pretend to
if they like your name,
and my kid’s Tamil.
That Indian was not.
Wow, the can of worms we can open here.
The Sri Aurobindo Ashram hates Tamils.
No, but they look down their nose at them.

I tried to give him my name but he refused it,
trying to be kind and not answer the reaction
that was bubblin’ in me.
He didn’t give me a chance
to do the yoga.
That man called another man,
a passer by,
Tamil if I’m figurin’ right,
to enforce this prejudice against Tamils,
but all he knew he hated foreigners too.
You get that in India
a lot.

There was a dance,
as the rude individual
safeguarding Nazi ways
showed the other what the boy had done
by doin’ it himself.
If it was really wrong then why’d he keep doin’ it?
Well the Tamil man hated me too.
Why you’d ask,
because the boy had done something wrong?
I asked both if they were concentrating on the yoga.
Those fingers to their lips stabbed me in my heart.
I called out their hatred.
I felt as though
if I said another word
they’d call the police.
I just had to say it:
the Mother is watching you know,
and there I joined my boy on the steps.
They gave off a noise
with their postures
and facial expressions
that showed I had really messed up.

I walked away.
Nithish was almost in tears.
I could see the pain in his eyes.
He was hurt.
He wanted to go immediately,
leave the ashram.
No, we do our Samdhi today,
and I glowed with him
as our foreheads came to that special place,
where we meet our masters
and put their energy in our papers.

On the way out I stopped,
right there in the gate,
turned and faced the man
and said good morning.
I wanted him to see me.
I had wanted to take his picture,
but convinced myself no,
cameras aren’t allowed.
So I stood there,
my camera’s eyes.
He looked at me
and put his hand on his heart,
like he was the most gentil human being,
and said good morning too.

I wondered over the proximities of human behavior.
What mules we are.
I could’ve done better,
but how about you,
do you see the writing on this poem?
This is typical ashram behavior
with guests.
What can we do about it?
We can write poems
and show the world.

Put Out This Fire

photo by author
Stop dyin’.
Don’t bury yourself.
Don’t compromise.
That’s when your guesses are weak.
Our thesis is this:
a themed to understand mankind.
Is that controlled see?
It’s bigger than you and me.
It doesn’t land you in the dirt,
grovelin’ life force pennies.
You know what I mean?

Now let’s program.
I will see you off to school,
okay?
I can’t do that.
Let’s do that.
You and Roberson are part of a family plan.
We have convinced you to send your kids to school.
Now that was a trick.
Don’t you blame it on the industrial revolution?
Thereabouts.
Universal education,
put China as a role model.
She started long before.
I’m not tellin’ yah to do it.
I’m tellin’ yah it stinks.

What’s wrong with society?
School.
We teach academics not to be good to one another.
While Japan started with good citizenry,
they created a monster,
copying the West.
We don’t teach boys and girls to be good people,
how to handle life,
their depression,
modes of being,
ways to get out of trouble.
We focus on one thing:
good handwriting
in academic subjects,
brain things.

Do you know how dumb this is?
Look at society.
I’m not talkin’ teachin’ morals,
do this don’t do that.
Yah hear me kids?
We’re not producin’ robots
Confucius.
We want them to obey
their conscience,
and that’s not mean and cruel.
It doesn’t hit anybody,
unless it’s warped,
like a magnet,
and is attracted to society’s dominance.
We want individuals here (sorry India)
that stand and reason
for the juxtapositions of society to stop.
Do you hear me Houston?

What do you teach in a classroom?
Able-bodied citizens,
can I speak with you?
Of course, I’m open.
Why you learn from me?
Now that’s a touch subject.
I need to study you first,
and we look at criteria.
These are society’s ways
we understand how to teach.
Well this presentation
is not a memorization kit.
It’s a school play.
You play a lot
to get the concepts down,
where society meets its roles.
Okay now you be the immigrant,
and you’re the assimilation policy.
You take it in droves:
students must constantly assimilate new material
of what they will face in life.
They will be ready for life.

We want to think and we want to feel
oh my that’s sad isn’t it?
I don’t think we avoid the tough stuff.
There’s a toddler in a revolution
sees his parents killed,
his brother his sister.
They live in Gaza now
or a kibbutz nearby.
Alright third grader,
feel that.
Are you lonely now?

Do we teach them to read?
Without society you cannot read.
We read all the time.
We need to learn to read to write.
Expressing feelings and ideas
takes the spotlight.
The grammar and spelling
is to encourage them to write,
and neither demands them to write.

Now I can polish off the academic subjects
in the same way.
It’s a feelings test.
Does the student feel like shit?
There’s still a prize
for academic achievers,
for those smart kids.
We just follow up
with their holistic report card.
We need them kind too.
We need them on the ball
to bring in a better world.
Piles and orchards,
we don’t spread them out in those.
Okay kill the neighborhood
you’ve made the secret formula.
Here’s an idea:
don’t try to make a scientist out of everybody,
or a doctor or an engineer.
Oh India you’re lost here.

Does the kid have a talent?
Teach them that
as if their life depends on it
because it does.
Teachers are role models
of good behavior.
If they fly off the handle they apologize
and start again.
Did I say they love children?
They never hit them.
They know what it’s like to be in school,
and that’s not all day.
It doesn’t take over children’s lives.
It doesn’t even need to be so big—
little small groups here and there
neighborhood arranged,
and there’s mixing
to bring everybody to state.
We do sports.

Do you see how small this is?
A few hundred students no.
Sometimes just a handful—
depend on the center used.
We really want time for the students
to get the attention they need.
How decentralized is this?
It’s a whole other concept of education,
called No School by the Mother.
No one follows her anymore
in this regard.
You wouldn’t spank them.
You can have an administration
visiting all the schools
constantly,
friendly,
a great big leviathan no.
We want nice people
that can work hard and play.
Do you hear me society?

Born in Israel

A Palestinian boy sits on the rubble of his house destroyed in an Israeli airstrike, in Beit Hanun, Gaza. Photograph: Mohammed Saber/EPA
When the ticks were talking about building churches,
it’s free speech.
I don’t know who I have a ham on today.
I don’t know who’s worthy.
I don’t know who I’m talking about.
It’s race cards.
Can we talk about the Black Lives Movement supporting Israel?
It did in Chicago—
okay Hamas,
you terrorists,
thank you for being a friend.
I don’t know what I’m saying—
that was a Harvard trainee.

Let’s be blunt about this:
can we support Israel,
and they treat Palestinians like shit?
They are the oppressors.
Oh my goodness a homegrown flag:
the Palestinians weren’t there before Israel.
They became a nation under Israel’s cause.
Now they’re out to do harm,
indiscriminately killing civilians,
or that’s the show they put on
when they got out of their fence.
I mean they murdered.

It hurts doesn’t it?
The Palestinians want to show you
what it means to be Palestinian,
where Jewish means Israel.
That harms.
Okay we put Hamas in the kitchen and praise them.
You inhuman bastards,
is that how you gain freedom?
We don’t know.
We just hate ourselves
and see a Jew and want to kill them.

That’s the dry land:
we can’t kill Jews.
We shoulder our own freedom.
It must work among ourselves
before it goes outwards.
How is this done?
I have a naked little boy and don’t rape him.
I pull myself together.
I tie his shoe instead.
A poet will always speak in symbols,
his life the bait.

We learn to stop violence towards our children.
We are gentle and soft with them.
They eat out of our hand,
and we feed them warm and honey.
We do not blister them
with having to hate Jews.
We do not require this of them.
We do not indoctrinate them to kill.

How kind are we to one another?
We let our humanity light up our life.
A stray dog is an opportunity
to give our world some compassion.
We hold each other tightly,
as the brothers and sisters we are.
We do not do violence to one another.
We try to show each other love,
or at least the patience
you give a friend.
We strong arm no one.
We stand up for human rights.
We stop hurting one another.

Then our gliders come in peace.
We show the Israelis what they’re missin’.
We give them reason to respect us.
We brush aside their hatred
with the real human being.
This is all we can do.
War will kill us.
It will enslave our land.
Go to the heart of the conflict,
the hatred of the Jew,
and bury there.
Can you understand these people?
Can you see their plight?

More than a few are good-hearted towards you.
Not all are racists.
Not all think it’s their human right
to be the chosen people.
This is the dragon in the land.
It’s this we must eradicate,
not Jews.
It’s this we must show is wrong,
the essence of Jewish hatred,
the hidden core of their persecution.
We must not bury Jews
or destroy their peopleness.

They are a tower and a might,
and oh we need the Jews.
Can you sink them?
Are you rubbin’ elbows with those who’ve tried?
I think you need new friends.
Even in hell Jews triumphed.
They fight differently than most men.
They fight with their brains.
You’re gonna do them in?

We count on you
to show Israel its humanity.
You are the problem they cannot solve.
Their brains can’t grasp this:
there were a people on their land they took,
and now they must oppress them.
Victim turned victimizer once again,
we can’t see this as human frailty
common to everyone.

So what can you do to Israel that Israel needs to see?
You are a fine people
together in your lot.
You take hardship and spit out pearls.
You sacrifice for those around you.
You take your humanity
and circle the wagons with it.
It’s the way you meet oppression:
you are a noble people,
and therefore hard to abuse.

How would this act
when faced with aggression?
You kill the combatants
to defend yourselves,
and there you’ll win the respect of every nation
and show the world who’s wrong.

I think we complete this
in the issues of the night.
Glory hallelujah it’s dawn.
I thought I’d made you up.
This is a little spark of God in life.
You’ve pointed out the errors
in human ways.
A call to arms,
humanity’s arms,
wow you have children there.
Well spoken said.

Oh statute of limitations,
it’s just a matter of time
the Palestinian cross.
You’re kidding me—
the Palestinian blues.
Those are Greek and Roman myths
made real by human suffering.
It’s a Dispatches’ record
my hullabaloo.
Now they can be up there.
Give me a credit.
I’m pickin’ up the pace.
Gloria in Excelsis Deo. [line heard sung, from “Angels We Have Heard on High”]
Just put boiled rice,
I just put boiled rice.
What did you put in the blue container?
I’m all here bitches, shoot me.

I don’t think you understand the situation.
You’re gonna have to get bigger than you are.
It’s not gonna work killin’ people.
You have to show Israel who’s the human being.
Is your culture up to that,
to self-develop?
You just continue
life along the shores of persecution,
so you can stop its history on you.
This is done slowly.
Every man, woman, and child
must agree to band together
and be good to one another.

This is the team roll.
This is how you begin.
You’ll be working with each other’s subconscious, that’s for sure.
Study your dreams that will help you out here.
You have to learn not to react,
and you have to learn not to be mean.
It’s a process
doable.
It will improve conditions right away.

You’re gettin’ ready to love.
You’re gettin’ ready to be a balanced people.
This is not wishy-washy handshake bullshit.
You do things for one another.
You don’t slap, hit, or cuss out.
You keep hatred out of your voice.
You be the real thing to each other.
You be a friend.

It’s all over your face
when you are.
The Israeli settler
or the Israeli enforcer
will see you a human being,
not a rock throwing mob,
and they will act accordingly,
when they’re embarrassed by their own actions.

You don’t know the bone of contention here.
Will the real humanity please stand up?
You stand up and show Israeli yours.
Obviously if they’re shooting you you can’t,
but barring that.
I’m not talking lambs to the slaughter.
You never surrender your dignity.
You just comply with regulations
a noble human being.
Show them who’s boss,
and it’s not the Jews.
It’s our heartfelt humanity.
It’s our great get along.

I’m liberty speaking,
and you’re looking for that equipment.
I’ve spoken enough to Israel
in a book I’ve left on Amazon—
definite flavor
reconciliation.
It’s not your own state you want.
It’s that:
to live at peace among the Jews equal citizens.
That’s the example Earth needs
to keep our world from blowing each other up.
Can you do that Arab citizen,
Palestinians of Israel,
Palestinians held hostage by Israel,
Palestinians in the land of Israel?

Under the Israeli banner
so bigger
than for Jews and Jews alone,
Palestinians can be free again.
If you look at the roads there’s no other way.
Between Jerusalem I’m Sorry
will point out the crossroads.
It’s a matter of seeing them
and not do anything shameful.

Love towards Israel,
can you fit this into your schedule?
If you’ll be one nation you must.
Put this in your resettlement plan.
Now Palestinian refugee,
give resettlement a chance,
cause there’s a secret ingredient to Israel.
It comes
if we labor together
for a common goal.
The secret ingredient is floating off the top of my head,
and it’s called the home for the human being.
Enough of religious politics.
God is not the wrathful, bigoted, murderer you all suppose.
Find God and see.
It will revolutionize your life,
and you’ll be kind to your fellow man.

Jews will not be the inescapable people,
Muslims will not be the only ones on earth worth.
You have to integrate.
You have to learn to live together.
This is your mandate to each other.
Not big enough
to be only kingpins
Mr. and Ms. Jew.
You have to concede their plight,
so they can see yours.
A resettled human being
has that in their plan:
keeping humanity safe.
You give it
to everybody around you:
safe passage from point A to point B,
and let’s go from there.

One key thing
rule book the exercise
of your warm humanity.
I know this sounds very arranged.
You keep time
I’ll give you something.
I would just love to.
That’s an Israeli learning what it means to be Israel:
really going to court
to learn our humanity.
It’s like you’re free there.
The Mother told them to do that.
That’s hope.

A Brazen Whistle Brawls

Photo by Douglas, celebrating my latest (62nd) birthday with him, Mithun, and Nithish
Evil our times.
It’s all our jail. [vision accompanying first two lines of one of the questions on the Together We Served Service Reflections interview I just re-posted on their site, as if this was an edit for the beginning of the answer, which one I don’t remember]
I said it right on Amazon.
He’d like to name you a place
where we could find ourselves.
It’s growin’ to war.
Delete that.
Don’t stick your fingers into your reflections.
They’re good.
They’re history,
of your own personal.
You just need them read.
Well let’s see how big men are,
how soft
on the board counts.

Life is a divine work until it’s finished.
It’s great in jars.
How much pepper spray?
We get lost here.
It’s not a divine moment
in everybody’s underwear.

And you said it:
we have to hate sex.
No, one just talkin’ while we stab each other with it,
or a hole grabs us and leaves.
You take care of man.
We beat each other with it,
but that’s not my lifelong toy.
I play with myself because of it—
some child grabbed his gun.

Now, if we’re just a folded joy,
we can get along better in the streets.
We can cash in on tomorrow.
We need to get rid of sex—
I think the mature person said this
about who they have become.
Do we get rid of it?

It’s just a football field.
We learn to outgrow it.
We put it down.
We do not condemn it.
It’s a mature decision we make.
We expect no one to follow us but us.

Well I think I’ve sowed my wild oats.
No one’s ever blocked sex from me.
I’ve had partners all my life.
I went from childhood memories
about our lust room
we had fun in
to a teenager doin’ it right.
I was a young adult party sex.
No one stopped me.
I never got punished for it.
I’m clear and easy on sex.
It’s not a hole in the ground.
It laughs in the breeze,
and it really feels good, you know?

We take it off now.
What am I, 30?
You’re not a kid anymore.
You’re at that mature age where life makes sense.
You don’t go screamin’ down the street if you cut your finger.
You’re not a nightclub in the kitchen anymore.
You’re free
from have to be with your buddies.
You’re doin’ sadhana.
It’s become the aim of life
God realization.

This is not boring, religious, clap trap.
You get long lasting ecstasies
in your body at times.
You’re inner life has opened to the Infinite.
You see visions
that represent things
that you need to grow.
The inner voice has taking you by the hand
and introduced you to life
where God leads it.

It’s an offer I gave you a wall but nobody’s comin’.
Your mind can stay silent sometimes,
and you love the world.
It bothers you less and less,
other people’s behavior.
Even your mistakes
are no cause for alarm.
Patience is painting your room,
and kindness drapes your social interaction.
You’re a strong person
that knows how to look at things.

You’re gettin’ trapped by sex now.
It’s spills you.
It does not hold your hand.
It’s a life force squeeze.
You’re tired of its pursuit.
How did we come here?
From all walks of life.
It’s an everybody does,
when they get old enough
to only pursue God.

This changes society.
Nay, this reinvents society.
We are bigger than machines.
We know how to handle ourselves even in love.
We’ve grown oceans bigger
than anything we look at.
The world is ready to evolve.
We can do this.
We can be free from sex,
if we know when the time has come to do so.
No premature ejaculation.
It has to be the right time.
It has to be real.
It has to be what we’re doin’ in life
to find God,
and you will hear it in your soul to give it up now.

You are the soul of society.
They’re uneducated,
anybody who denies this.
They don’t know what’s goin’ on.
They just want to stay kid.
How do we handle this with them?
With patience and honesty.
We don’t force them to comply.
World force does that,
as the soul force it truly is.

We’ve got such a long way to go
to reach our evolutionary path
mountaintop,
millennia,
and I’ve just given you a key ingredient
to get that done.
It’s wonderful you know?
free from sex.
You’re unhampered by life
in its sticky points.
You stand tall, proud, and free,
and you know the other half
and don’t have to mate with it anymore.

You are as much male as you are female
in the essence of yourself,
as you meet the world.
The gender of the body leads you,
but it doesn’t rule.
You’ve achieved balance in time.
This is cool.
You’re Hercules
and Diana.
You are fit do some dangerous big knife
or stay at home
and take care of the kids.
Now can I counsel you further?

Oh I’m around,
even in narrow we meet.
Come to my other business runners,
how the tackle game
plays with children,
or how dogs become human,
or how enlightenment speaks.
Join me will you,
on some other poem
battles down life
to a node.

They got a skinny little net,
the literary art house,
so you won’t find me there.
I’m on blogs and such
in my room
right here in front of humanity.
Let’s see this through:
no sex
when we get old enough to drop it.

Asses the future risk of poetry.
It will just sink.
It won’t even cut corners.
It will just sit there unread.
It’s just a bunch of words in a blender.
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
And now we’re in our teens.
It’s not innocent here.

They do it
despite we want them to stop.
It unbalances them.
Makes them crow.
It changes their minds.
It gives them a safe outlet
for their demands.
Now we’d need to stop pregnancy and disease,
not have them harm one another,
make it slightly difficult to get to
but not prevented or prohibited.
What have I said?
Teen sex.

We’d account for this
by all the kid sex they had,
where they’d learned to take turns
and be nice to one another,
before their genitals became armed.
Now I’m a roll in a hat.
End sexual hangups please.
In all this here we do that,
got it figured,
got it right.

Now you’ll blast me
with everything you can throw at me.
Now hear me out.
I’m in wisdom’s barn,
but I’m not settin’ down rules.
I’m understandin’ the animal we are
and seeing how we get beyond it.
You got it all wrong.
It’s not hide the genitals.
Let them play,
where appropriate does its measure
in the right age group,
where we are not keen on sex;
we just wanna feel down there
and have fun
with ourself or with friends.

We grow out of it you know.
You’ve seen it in this poem.
Has it terrified you?
Has it done anything at all but look at you?
Can we get over it.
Can we just make sex the plaything it was
before don’t do that got ahold of it
and put it down
when we’ve gotten bigger than ourselves?

Now test me please.
See how this works in public.
Under the right conditions
we are healthy human beings.
Some people are still reading this.
Some people have thrown it away.
Are you just afraid it’s a masturbate cushion?
If we stop right now
we’re at the end of the poem.

A risk teenager said.
Is it better to freeze?
We’re gonna try
hoppin’ a poem on Earth’s wheels.
The SF engineered
a better to see me with
well together we served.
Let’s see.

A military airlift,
hands brought me the breeze.
That’s the shot fired.
The bulwark of the law
has to undergo a transformation
in order to fit this into place.
Can you imagine the changes involved?
They’re bigger than sin.
They make us right
in our social relations
where we see attraction laid eyes
and mounted genitals and hands.
It changes us at the core
of our manipulable social relations.

We’re there
stuck at a roadblock,
women screamin’.
men peein’,
and everybody mad at one another.
Can you see that?
It’s right there in front of you
on communication.com,
on the nightly news.
It grabs the literary page
and hits up movie after movie
and theater television.
It’s a regular guest
on sope operas.
It’s everywhere we look
anywhere we got eyes
on the society of us.
it’s too tiring to see,
and we still keep it up.

Can we take it down,
when we get back to our old self
that has other gauges for life than sexual sin?
Pretty much all about Eve
is a sexual trauma notebook.
i don’t think this is smart land,
and here we go again another scandal in the news
this present poet creates.
I could’ve just stayed offline,
not bothered with dense matter,
and do my thing.
Am I stupid?
I’m not dumb.
Transparency
is the easiest way
to finish the world
a miracle on earth
enlighten us.