Sometimes even the poet has to come back down to earth!

Who powerwashed your brain?
Are you out of your everloving MIND?
Where is honesty, clarity and clearheadedness?
Replaced by confusion and obstructionism, I guess.

Do you not understand hypocrisy
Or don’t you even try?
Just listen to what you are saying…
“Good for me, bad for you.”
Each and every minute.
Look at only part of the information,
See just how to spin it.

Monkey sitting at a keyboard.
Pounding on letters indiscriminately.
Makes much more sense than you do.
Spitting junk, garnished with garbage, as you speak.
Makes no sense whatsoever.
Throwing out words and phrases.
Completely disconnected.



He was just an idea.
An abstract thought.
But thought is father to the deed.

He became one and on he did grow.
The time it took, seemed to go so slow.
Three stages appeared
Then he was complete.
From the hair on his head
To the toes on his feet.

This piece of flesh
Took a breath, was made man.
Made me a new person,
A person called Gram.


I saw a picture of the earth today,
Spinning and traveling at a pretty good clip.
While it goes off into the where ever,
Doing its best to shake us all off.

As I stand here, feet upon the ground,
Head somewhere in the lateral area
Of the atmosphere,
I think of you, my friend,
So far away in Argentina.

Standing just about on your head.
Never falling off.
Never holding on.
Speaking Spanish like crazy,
Watching the water go down the drain…

Golden Planet

Somewhere on a Golden Planet, far beyond my eyes,
A little boy plays on golden sands
And watches the waves and admires the sky.
Never does he dream, as he sifts his sand
For the lovely sand castle he’ll make,
Of other, microscopic, worlds
With skies just as blue and waves that break.

As he runs to his mother with a smile on his face,
Is he aware of me in this unfelt place,
Far down in a molecule composing his heart,
As from a tiny nucleus 9 minute electrons part?
When they spin in their orbits on a predetermined course,
He supplies millions and millions of worlds with their force.

And do the wars, which these miniature worlds bring about,
Cause his tonsils to inflame with fire and pain?
Or manufacture a deadly cancer
To destroy his young brain?

His cells are bathed in saline from tiny oceans
Pulled by miniature moons.
There’s even some left for the tears
Which may come upon him soon.

And am I just a germ who can be good or be bad,
To protect him, or infect him whenever I’m mad?
Please aid us all, Dear God, who call this toddler “Home,”
As he rushes with yet millions to unite us as Your own


I plant a seed with faith and trust.
It grows into its proper self,
As I know it must.
How does each minute piece of matter
Change so drastically, with just the addition of
Food, sun, and water?

Look at the child!
He, too, needs the same ingredients
To make of him a man.
In just about the very same order.

More, his growing should be fun.
Each and every creature needs to feel
Nature surrounding it as a protective cocoon.
Until it is ready to step freely into Life.