you need proof we are made in the image of jehovah ?
take a gander at man’s behavior the wide world over !
we can’t do earthquakes – at least not yet 
but as much harm with a bomb and a jet
and we do and we do and we do

guess we must be made in the image of our god

we can’t do diseases half so well 
but we can cripple and maim to almighty hell 
and we do and we do and we do 

guess we must be made in the image of our god

nor are we ashamed to procreate with young virgins
or indulge in genocide when the fit is upon us 
just like His most recent creation 
a species surely made in his likeness

god wreaks havoc and death on man –
lingering deaths – infantile paralyses and worse –
he ignores 99.9 % of all prayers uttered 
and so does man – to liken him to a wolf 
is slander to the wolf, for man is a godlike thing

and mighty effin’ proud of it too. 




[if the last would be first. . .]

if the last would be first. . .
does that mean
the first would necessarily be last ?


could they then just be second ?
You know: the guy from the back
coming up to the front
like a relay race or something?

First, then second, isn’t such a bad deal
and the guy from the back
who’s now in the front
[having become the new first]
will soon wind up second too
[so he’ll know what that feels like]
…and from second to third isn’t such a bad deal either

By the time you’re halfway down the shoot
you’ll also know [unless you’re
a hopeless dummy] that one day
[if you live long enough]
you’ll even get to be
First again!

…because otherwise
if the last shall be the first
only by pivoting
the entire ice-skating line
all at once

…then second from the Front
becomes second from the last
third one way, third the other

blah blah

and the poor bastard
in the middle
spins like a top
and never gets
to try out

a god damn thing!



Stand up, man!

All the clergymen
pastors, priests, vicars
and so forth and so on
are afterlife insurance salesmen

religion exists only
because men are chicken –
can’t face it
what comes after this
vacation from oblivion
they want to trade
round-trip ticket
for permanent one-way
they want to bloodywell stay
death the sting
in all their to be or not to be(e)s
and ours the most foolish race
of weak-in-the-knees!



Homo Vegetarius

In my pint-sized distress
I’d often seek commiseration
in the doghouse,
sitting side by side
in the packing straw
with my best friend.

I’d share my wee woes
and would somehow feel better.

Bruno was such a good listener.

Children often know early on
that eating friends is not right
but they get talked out of it
by adults, previously talked out
of the same wisdom when they were kids.

Even if I sometimes give in
and eat anchovies, I know it’s wrong.
Even stealing the bee’s honey is wrong
but I’m no saint.

I used to think that when man
developped his compassion for other people,
humanity would grow compassionate
towards animals as well.

I’m beginning to think I got the sequence backwards.

We will, of course, end the livestock massacres
if only in our own interests – because
it uses up too much water – but
in our groping compassion these days
perhaps animals can remind us
who we really are…




Don’t look for stuff inside
I’m all on the outside
not for show, no
for givin’ away –
what you get
is what you see
if there’s more [inside]
it’s news to me!

A million things
I’d like to say –
or rather, I wish words
could salve the wounds –
but unless you face
your darkest demons
nothin’ rotten in this world
will ever be fixed
and this world
is all we got
whether you think so
or not

Sure, you can
warm your hands
[Even in twos or threes]
and marvel at the wonders
of H2O
[in clouds and snow]
and hey –
I’m just crazy about
daffodils and shit –
but sharing your epiphanies
won’t mend
a world that’s forgotten
even the meaning
of the word



Fleeting, nameless (collage #1)

A hyperclose-up
of pink tulips
one petal
as if to sweep
wainscotted corridor

and then
that scrap of newsprint
atop another bit
of paper. . .clouds
or creampuffs ?
a mint green barrow

the stuff of dreams. . .
perhaps, in a matchbox
a hint of Braque. . .
so little what it seems
and no such thing
as still life
no such thing
as turning back



Oh how I love SNOW

Agnostics, atheists, doubters,
free-thinkers, humanists, non-theists
and just people, you know, folks
who never even think about Fred
are all free to look at snow
and just marvel.

The wonderful is wonderful
the marvellous is marvellous.
Clouds and Snow are H2O
[wayta go!]

Nature is just nature too,
and if the reasonable and the rational
have the bad luck to get stuck on the road,
they may make jokes about The Fates
but they don’t really think some mean-spirited
supernatural beings have it in for them.

[In passing, as church attendance has been falling
all over Europe, so have many crime rates…
but that’s probably just due to better security systems]



Homage to John Muir

These sombre fingers of the earth’s dark hands –
indices – sometimes a pinkie, too –
rise, majestic, from once-blessèd lands
and point the way to celestial blue.
These Ash or Aspen, Maple, Pine and Beech;
these Oak, Sequoia, Redwood Lime or Birch:
I do believe in them – and prize their speech –
and see their trunks as pillars of one church.
So delicate their leaves in golds and green
applauding hymns to skylarks, softly gloved.
Palms cup my skull as I admire the scene
and dream this helpless planet is still loved –
although I fear the worst for all my trees
as none save modern men will hear my pleas.

[as first appeared in Earth Advocay News]


Wonder isn’t always born
of what is strange
or unfamiliar

Every day
I wonder at the sun
slipped over the roof
and onto the birches –
how they seem
to turn from grey
to white – and I never fail
to smile because it truly is
a wondrous sight.



Sweet Boy

Not even his mother would listen
You could see she was sore afraid
the wrong people might hear, she said
and surely they’d be betrayed
(fed to a lion, simply for tryin’)
Could it be any worse, he said
than the life we have here now?
They own the land; they own the seed.
What do we own, a plough?

His brother thought he was crazy,
laughed when the rants got intense
until one of this brother’s friends
said quit it, your brother has always made sense.
He left the game, went out back to talk
and those two became friends
in the space of a walk.

Then a guy where the brother’s friend worked
joined them both – and laughing, and just for fun –
the three of them took an oath.
A fourth invited the trio around for a beer
and a few more listened…
I tell ya, in less than a year
they were more than a playing team,
a crew, more than a band –
they were dozens of men from all over
men from the land and villages
some even joined from town
they’d meet mostly in twos and threes,
though, so plans wouldn’t get aroun’.

And the sweet boy
who by now was clear leader,
not some hangback general,
but a bit in a diamond drill,
finally led his rag tag unarmed army,
proud and fearless, to the crest of the hill
and they shot him –
they always have, they always will.