Enough Words?

How does a part of the world leave the world?
How can wetness leave water?

Don't try to put out a fire
by throwing on more fire!
Don't wash a wound with blood!

No matter how fast you run,
your shadow more than keeps up.
Sometimes, it's in front!

Only full, overhead sun
diminishes your shadow.

But that shadow has been serving you!
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.

I could explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
and there's no fixing that.

You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.
When from that tree, feathers and winds sprout
on you, be quieter than a dove.
Don't open your mouth for even a cooooooo.

When a frog slips into the water, the snake
cannot get it. Then the frog climbs back out
and croaks, and the snake moves toward him again.

Even if the frog learned to hiss,still the snake
would hear through the hiss the information
he needed, the frog voice underneath.

But if the frog could be completely silent,
then the snake would go back to sleeping,
and the frog could reach the barley.

The soul lives there in the silent breath.

And that grain of barley is such that,
when you put it in the ground,
it grows.

Are these enough words,
or shall I squeeze more juice from this?
Who am I, my friend?

-Rumi

He studied his posture
etching figures in his book

as he watched, the people did too
but never spared a look

the people stifled interest
the thoughts that passed were stifled too

he thought; and thought thinking:
not a thing to do.

Well he took a breath;
and when he came to

he realized that he had died
from the world that he once knew.

He sat and watched the goosebumps forming on his skin
basking in the sunlight
and feeling naught within.

He sat and basked,
and felt himself feel

and realized that life is aye
and ever at his heel.

If he could only slow it down
he would surely see
what gift it is to know what is
and what it is to be.

Well he slapped himself across the head
and took a deep long breath
concentrating on his chest
the heaving and the depth;

"What a gift,"

he said

the moment bred

peace and undying rest.

-Joseph Vito Ramirez

Thought: the eyes are made of grass.

the flesh is dirt.

frogs singling like hinges in the ditch.

Thought: According to one japanese legend

a crane in still water forgot it was a crane

and suddenly broke into bloom.

The eyes are also dirt.

The heart could be a temple or a field.

The swamp could be an ear pressed into the earth.

Grass also grows on golf courses.

-Cole Kawaguchi

God is Grass

I dreamt of the rapture last night

not the lovely type of course

not rooftop rapture:

friends on high, reciting foreverness and talking mountains,

but the rapture to which my invitation has been misplaced by equality.

I dreamt of a tidal wave of immense proportions;

one that came and swept away the whores and the cheaters the liars the gays the free lovers the hungry the underprivileged the dark the cool those who know and me.

I sat meditating despite the wrath of Your god

I sat lotus while the rules of society and Your god squashed me into oblivion.

but thats just peachy keen: I've made my peace.

not with the arbitrarities of a gilded book,

but with the Grass:

The all knowing, ever thriving, conscious silent Bodhisattva of earth:

the almighty grass over which we trod trod trod.

We give It not the benefit of (y)our doubt that maybe, just maybe, there's something to be learned there,

not trigonometry of course, not algebra at all,

not quantum,

not mathematics,

not bio,

not medicine,

not cures for the next generation of decrepit old farts

not even how to reinforce stereotypes in comfort, Indian style.

I learned infinity in the grass

nirvana in silence

peace in consciousness

and solace in simplicity

God is

grass

silence

consciousness

simplicity

Your god smites

those who love

those who give

those who think

those who care

those who lotus and learn

my God,

sitting flower

learning grass

dreaming peace

expecting consciousness

my god is not present.

Presence, is my god.

Being is my peace.

Living is my lord and savior.

cosmic accidents be damned,

I live eternal

I breathe peace,

I sit silence,

I meditate consciousness.

I love Grass

Buddha, the wisest inhabitant of 137B knows;

God is fish flakes.

CWV 4

A passion untamed

a directionless desire

I read the rantings of Allen Ginsberg

I feel the homoerotic frustration of the urbanite beats

I'm not a hipster, but I too burn for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

I understand the frustration of having a vision.

To see in a world that is determined to keep us blind

the frustration of a world that would have us feast on delicious nothings before allowing us a taste of tree-climbing nonchalant autonomy of thought

-the grass is so complex, if you give it a second glance-

I see the wide-eyed santa clause mall spectacle of a prepubescent tike

to amaze to awe to disney world us into complacency

and those who can see

(not to be confused with those who know)

feel too the frustration of a language which has pragmatically denied us the tools with which to verbally dismantle the system of subtle oppression

which wages a constant war with our minds

all the while our subconsciouses, suppressed for decency, rattle and dent the cage

I look back to days of beats and hippies, of revolution and passion, flowers and fucking, freedom and pot, acid test moon-pie skip down 42^nd street naked with peter days

I look to burning passions of ideas unformed of questions asked of vision

I look to harlots and charlatans, to big words, mental masturbation and social perturbation.

I look to writing a paper that catches my brains spattered across the table an early death picked on in middle school columbine children of the corn gone to soon Marilyn Mansion

I looked to the past for inspiration only to find that what was said in their prime remains there

ideas fade and melt forgotten but for the dusty pages of a library book unused

of a buddhist philosopher in a suit of armor mankind's weakness was always apathy

sitting in front of the TV rotting your brain dulling your mindfulness is the key to liberation

Marcuse wanted to let you know

this is a capitalist society

and language has bent to the will of the subtle oppressor my ass!

Billboards displaying half naked beauties cows killing chickens over hamburger deals of cars and cigarettes of suits and slots of happiness of content of lifestyle of intelligence

I learned I could loose 10 pounds in just 2 weeks and threw myself up overboard gone to live in a commune full of sluts and hoes of killers and thieves of the scum of society riding the foamy waves of their generation

there is no autonomy without slaves

there is no freedom without the filthy view of millions eating their ways to early deaths half-lives cut short by a radioactive decay of the nuclear japanese reactor destroyed by mother nature

she was always a bitch

my son will die for his country proud mothers praying for freedom

the bottom of the barrel is dark molten combustion driving a 3 ton car

freedom is at the bottom

I'm talkin' king lear poor tom Led Zep drug abuse use fightclub anarchist cry of the wolf of a life cut short by a clown

there is no redemption

there is no content

there is no freedom

I'm talkin' seeing jesus in a waffle, glass of milk coca-cola lifetime Hallmark baby jesus in saran wrap porcelain nativity scene destroyed by puberty

there are thinkers among us blinded by the spectacle of necessity

I saw the unfortunate truth of the captivity of my species behind bars of Jack Daniels and a fine piece of automotive ingenuity

behind Armani suits of masculinity purchased

behind hegemony and marxism behind fornication and jerry springer behind 37 world series and the highest rate of HIV in new york

of wars fought over baseball and dirty diaper politics that need not be changed but destroyed burning down to the butt of the cigarette in the mouth of a 12 year old girl

Walmart has what she needs to fit in at school house rock and roll as a scapegoat for Columbine machine gun bad parenting

I feel the beat of a heart with murmurs

I touch the cold brick of a Philadelphia neighborhood gone to shit

dilapidated house microcosm

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by apathy

I'm with you in Rockland and theres no way out but in

the next time you walk past the well manicured grass of our priv-a-ledge please lay down and let your life begin

-Joseph Vito Ramírez

From: Jail Poems

by Bob Kaufman

28

I am afraid to follow my flesh over those narrow

Wide hard soft female beds, but I do.

From: Jail Poems

by Bob Kaufman

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread. But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.