Squirrels in the Trees

Furtively they dance

Spritely they jump

Up there, up there!

And on the ground they

Bury nuts, acorns

And such—I even

Saw one scrunching

Down a mushroom

One day, yes, it did.

 

But up in the trees

Shy, uninhibited

The squirrels are kings.

Mammalian and cute

With their bushy tails,

Marsupial-like and

Keenly aware, they

Are nobody’s fools.

Up there, up there —

 

We ground dwellers

Can only dream and

Imagine the joys of

Squirreldom. And

In profound wonder

Meant only for up-gazing

We primates long to

Live free, die free.

 

Yet we too are squirrels

Dancing ‘mong the trees

Those Celtic trees of

What could-have-been

Remains to be so:

Anglo-Saxon-Jute-men

Labor on the veldt since

Magna Carta days of old,

Through the 1700s docu-

Drama, unto now, we

Clamor and rage against

The Machine, its System

Its subterfuge and the

Misdirection of digital

Police racking and Rand-

Sacking our birthright

 

We also take to the sea

We ransack your own,

—We that you disown—we

Persistent pirates ride,

Against the winds of time,

Winds that pull us and .

From the inner reaches

Of outer space, we watch.

We wait. We play among

The trees, amid the seas,

And upon the plains since

The Peloponnesian War.

 

From inside the attic

Unto the ends of the

Outside world we’re still

Here, you bastard horde!

We purebloods persist! 

On WordSmithing

 

On my wordsmithing I've been told before that my strength is in my poetry, not my prose. In my prose I aspire toward the clear and precise use of language that may require a reader to occasionally consult the dictionary — or wonder whether he or she is in one of these places:  List of Fictional Institutions (not a complete list, of course) 

Sometimes only poetry captures a certain worthiness or unworthiness, a moment, a feeling, an idea or intuition — something beyond the immediate ken of Normyville and those who jump at the opportunity to take the clot-shot. So (as those who come here all know) I do spelunk around down in this more spontaneous, creative realm.   

And in my past doctoral dealings with law and government I have to keep in mind that my perspective on those phenomena stressed the influence of consciousness. (<= also known as Woo, you might say, and as Lord HighClif describes it: a kind of resonance from the ether, the kosmos, that we mistakenly refer to as our "thinking brain." NOTE: In your copious free time, scroll down and listen to the interview, 1:10:35 long: White Hats vs. The DeepState  Clif's the man (and if he ain't, don't know whoo is).

That Spirit-like phenomenon we call "consciousness" is more the prime mover, mutating law and government within a bubbling socio-CULTural cauldron, once it is entrained by the unscrupulous. 

 
In another's words,  
"I have longed to move away...
...From the repetition of salutes,"
etc.,

Dylan Thomas’s “I Have Longed to Move Away" 

THE POEM STUCK IN MY HEAD

 

I have longed to move away

From the hissing of the spent lie

And the old terror’s continual cry

Growing more terrible as the day

Goes over the hill and into the deep sea;

I have longed to move away

From the repetition of salutes,

For there are ghosts in the air

And ghostly echoes on paper,

And the thunder of calls and notes.

I have longed to move away but am afraid;

Some life, yet unspent, might explode

Out of the old lie burning on the ground,

And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind.

Neither by night’s ancient fear,

The parting of hat from hair,

Lips pursed at the receiver,

Shall I fall to death’s feather.

By these I would not care to die,

Half convention and half lie.

Sad-but-True?

Am I an educated fool? 

An elitist? 

A sinful saint?

Am I a wee-bit-of-a snooty snob?

 

A scruffy aristocrat? 

A bourgeois boogieman? 

An unwitting oligarch in ratty clothes? 

—perhaps guilty as imagined—

And not 

Sad-but-True, 

     only 

True-but-sad

The Buddhist Perspective

 

AC/DC meets

King Crimson down

at the Grand Funk Railroad---

 

With Gone Grasshopper on lead,

A lipsticked Uncle Fester pumping bass,

And Grandma Hair on sticks.

 

Whar's the Buddha blubba?

Undercover under da robes

Whar's da purspecteev?

Behind and beyond the blubba, 

Bubba

Psyche-Politics

 

Later, 'gator (<= notice the veiled Reptilian reference)

After 'while, Crocodile (<= there we go again)

 

It's all in the eyes

And the "Ayes" have it!

 

"I"s (and "U"s) are all owned

Via IOUs — the "O"s own it

 

This plainly puts U in

The Daily Planet

 

And (from one of his branch offices)

Tarzan has called

 

Rousing all the Clark Kents 

And all of the elephants