the priests whose god is money

pablo picasso, au bon marche, 1913

he was not an astronaut someone will say

and he never traveled to the moons of jupiter

or to Aalpha centauri so his poems are weak

look at them limping there across the page

and he did not score the touchdown 

                    to win the game

or visit machu picchu or pray at mecca

so what good are these poor poems

these poems are mocked by better poems

he loved a woman

he raised a family and a peach tree

so what    we want the snows of Shasta.

we want the great flood

peaches and children

give us a break

_____

is it saturday    or the end of days 

time is so slow and I am often so blind 

where is a friend 

where is a window to open 

this river answers to no one 

ah    for just an ounce of sorrow 

so that I could be certain that I can still feel

_____

I don't think we really need any kings in the world

their hands are heavy   like gold

their sweat is poison

what is a kingdom anyway    it is a birdcage

left outside to torture the imprisoned bird

with a long look at freedom

businessmen    suffocated by greed

often want to be king   or to get rich

serving one    that never turns out well

they are like priests whose god is money

and I have grown weary of bowing

haven't you    all of those crowns

would make lovely paperweights

think of it    on a windy day

we could leave the windows open

with our papers right out on the desk

we'll let the poor sit on the thrones

and feel the breeze on their faces 

_____

there is no correct order to the sequence of that which is 

there is also no incorrect order 

I am holding the darkness to my temple like a gun 

there is no trigger    there are no bullets 

I am counting the seconds    father 

when we meet again    how will we be 

I don't remember anymore 

                    which things happened first 

and which things happened last 

I don't remember a time 

                    when you approved of me 

for that matter I don't remember a time 

                    when I approved of you either 

I am holding the darkness to my heart like a knife 

now I am pushing it in 

there is electricity in the air tonight   father 

I can taste it    can you 

_____

May we, as a people, find the strength to hold on to our compassion, faith, hope, and love. And may I, as one person, find that strength as well.

by james lee jobe 

Tomas Tranströmer - TRACK 

2 A.M. : moonlight. The train has stopped

out in a field. Far-off sparks of light from a town, 

flickering coldly on the horizon.

As when a man goes so deep into his dream

he will never remember that he was there 

when he returns again to his room. 

Or when a person goes so deep into a sickness 

that all his days become some flickering sparks, a swarm, 

feeble and cold on the horizon. 

The train is entirely motionless.

2 o'clock: strong moonlight, few stars. 

-translation: Robert Bly

_____

Tomas Tranströmer, 1931-2015

Tomas Tranströmer Reads From His Work

We're all Buddhas. We just don't recognize it. 

Mingyur Rinpoche

When we accept life as it is, we can respond appropriately to the way we're experiencing it.

Ajahn Sumedho

Sometimes you just gotta let that shit go. 

Eminem

Marko Köppe

Poetry Links 

Ballad of the Moon Moon, a poem by Federico García Lorca

The Black Men Outside the Waterfront Safeway, a poem by Alexa Patrick

Medusa's Kitchen poetry site

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Thanks, jlj