Archive | October, 2015

The Storm

30 Oct



25 Oct



You’re always reaching for more joy, more hope, more patience, strength
Your parents and your teachers taught it’s all just past arm’s length
They took the innocent child and did indoctrinate
A constant sense of desire in order to feel great
They taught that child to want more nice things, experience
They taught you have to be elsewhere for your life to make sense
They taught that the word “fools” was harsh and mean, not very nice
So anyone that dared to question their foolish advice
Would be dismissed as radical and should be scorned and feared
They taught you how to be soulless and that “soulful” was weird
Some taught you to reach for God, or Jesus or Allah
But those who claim to make contact are met with a guffaw
“Insane,” they’re called, “not right in head” because they claimed to reach
That which was designed to not be grasped, those things they preach
Awareness of what is was not instilled because your teachers
Are not aware of what they have, they’re wanters and they’re reachers
They dress it up with fancy words like “enterprise,” “ambition”
They teach you to not trust your instincts and your intuition
“Hold on just a sec, that’s not what the experts did teach!”
The sheep with no faith in themselves do warn as they all reach
Always “working on it,” “getting there,” never content
Always reaching for something which was always present
Reaching for their scripture or their toys or drugs or booze
Reaching for a hero or a savior or a muse
Here’s the part of the poem where I won’t seem so nice
Because I call your parents and your teachers “fools” and “mice”
“Cowards,” “spineless” and all “sheep” because they have no trust
Within themselves which would have put an end to all their lust
Here’s where the term “Warrior” becomes very off-putting
Because a Warrior is one who has earned secure footing
By reaching deep within and being oddly satisfied
With who they are and what they’ve done without having a guide
Here’s where all the reachers cast their stones at those who walk
With confidence and do not need to brag or boast or squawk
“Desire,” a great Warrior once said, “is the dark root
Of suffering” but his wisdom is always in dispute
With those who reach for who they want to be to find their peace
Ironic that it’s your reaching that makes what’s inside cease
Reaching for that job or car or home or weight or Lord
Unaware, unaware of where your peace is stored


So Be It

5 Oct

So Be It

There was a farmer named Nintai who grew corn for his town
Nintai was an even sort, he did not smile or frown
No matter if the sun did shine or if hard rains did fall
The farmer went about his work and never did he stall

While others danced and sang because the sun shined and birds sung
Nintai simply said, “So be it,” and his sythe he flung
When storms would rage and all would cry, Nintai would leave his house
“So be it,” he would say and work while the torrents did douse

When skies were grey with overcast and sapped the will of most
Nintai put on gloves and boots, “So be it” he would boast
In time, the farmer would marry and she would bear two boys
Amid the cheering, Nintai said, “So be it” with calm poise

Five years later, one son caught a fever and he died
The mother, brother, grandparents and aunts and uncles cried
Everyone except Nintai, “So be it,” he did say
As he grabbed shovel and buried his youngest son that day

A few years later, overcome with grief, his wife died too
The people came and sobbed and said, “Nintai, let us help you!”
“So be it,” Nintai simply said, then buried her beside
His youngest son, and then they asked, “How do you take in stride?”

“How do you not show any heart? How can you be so cold?”
The townspeople admonished him, but Nintai stayed controlled
“So be it,” he said and returned to work with his young son
That is when the people tried to warn the little one

They grew irate and told him how his father had no soul
“Never smiles! Never cries! His heart is made of coal!”
The young boy pondered as he watched his father plough their land
“So be it,” the young boy replied, “but coal is not his brand”

“Iron flows through father’s veins, it forms his bones and will
It keeps him strong and sturdy and provides focus and skill
The iron gives him clarity to see what is and know
Acceptance and action are more effective than just woe”

The boy walked to his father and the two worked ‘till the night
While others sat and talked about poor farmer Nintai’s plight
Every time they saw the two, they’d shake their heads and jeer
“So be it,” both Nintai and his son said year after year

In time the boy grew to a man and married a young bride
They had three boys and two girls, but old Nintai showed no pride
“So be it,” he said as he held each child and did admit
“Beautiful,” he whispered to each one, “Yes, so be it”

Not long after, Nintai grew quite tired, weak and frail
The town’s doctor tried remedies but were to no avail
“So be it,” Nintai said and gave his eyes their final blink
“So be it,” he repeated as he gave his son a wink

“So be it,” the son did reply, no tears welled in his eyes
Because he had been taught too well to be controlled and wise
All the children wailed because their grandpa went away
But one of the young girls chose to not her iron betray

“So be it,” the young girl said calmly and held daddy’s hand
“Yes,” her father said and then returned to work the land
Sunshine warmed and storms ravaged but always she did see
That nothing lasts forever, good or bad, “And so it be”