Thursday, June 22, 2017

T R U E   H O M E L A N D

Why is this sweet world we live in
so torn between chaos and Zen
with such extremes at either end
like enemies and lifelong friends
starvation and stock dividends
a young child's death yet love transcends
are we really blowing in these winds
with not much sure on which to depend
can we compromise in a scale of ten
must our safe place be a lion's den
and our safe word something to defend
must we wait around for the worst to begin
if peace breaks out don’t we all win
there's a lot to gain if we don't pretend
that chaos comes from some original sin
what starts the wars again and again
who stands to gain from this which men
they must not care we all are kin
nor care about the shape we’re in

It's hardly any mystery
what's up with all our history
I prefer a herstory
to bring about the best in we
much more than just a cursory
retelling from the nursery
but a story shared with honesty
and fearlessness to help us see
that greed's a type of sorcery
that mainly creates enemies

I'm not immune to tempting fate
and hope I'm not unfashionably late
to point out what I think is great
it's surely not resentment hate
exclusion some poor scapegoat's fate
instead we need to congregate
just inside an open gate
and share this world this very date

There's more than enough to go around
enough to make the world resound
with gratitude while love compounds
on openminded common grounds
employing hearts and minds unbound
many reclaimed from lost and found
this will bring a great reknown
a kind and generous rebound

Great wealth's goal is control and power
not to share but to hoard and glower
if you dare ask more per hour
and think for yourself and forget to cower
Regard the daisy be a flower
be pretty and sweet and don’t be sour
you look so nice from my golden tower
say how's that trickledown cold shower

And you'd better keep a smile
or be called disloyal and hostile
so be a threat not servile
give an inch take a mile
let's work our magic break the dial
be the resistance go mobile
and see it through with grit and style
though wealth reacts with gall and guile

It's not us seeking out to blame
there's someone seeking to defame
and bully good folks with his shame
and forcing a vile hatred game
and doing it in your good name

Who’s this bully this mark of Cain
is he a Christ a king to reign
he’s the one who truly loves your pain
and craves your loss ‘cause it’s his gain

The bully lives high above the laws
he commands the heights and admits no flaws
challenge him you’ll know his claws
his wealth and fame are his one true cause

It's the bully's con and you’re the mark
his thrill to keep you in the dark
to him we’re servants on his ark
to the new world of The Patriarch
a world of wars and oligarchs
a world of madness cruel and stark
for his own sake The Patriarch
keeps his sweet world a private park

The bully is who starts the wars
you fight to the death
that's what we're for
there's always violence in store
cause bully needs a little more

Welcome to the USA Patriarch Act & Panic Attack
with spying lying and dying to your face and behind your back
it’s a crackdown, smackdown, trackdown, and meltdown
I’m indicted with fiction though punished in fact
by death or internment in my homeland

Does your brain contain some interesting thought
from a book you checked out maybe read or bought
or from some nice tune you were humming or sought
that’s the heinous crime that’ll get you caught
in the web of the worldwide homeland

Well your mind is free but what a twist
it lands you smack on that guest list
now rest assured you will be missed
when you get out of line in the homeland

Is speaking up a dangerous crime
say the thought and do hard time
then parable and verse and rhyme
pardon my grammar and my paradigm

Please just threaten me with jail
or make me watch you hurt a whale
so that I’ll let you read my personal mail
it’s the law going postal yet the law’s for sale

Better keep your faith cause you’ll lose your trust
think how you’ll feel right during your bust
you’ll swear the law’s moved beyond natural disgust
as it reads you its rights and insists on your trust

Who might it be who turns you in
your neighbor mother ruh roh my friend
is paranoia now a sin
the paranoids are still after me again

The love of truth it is your code
until persuaded  to implode
your confession due to electrode
oh that will be quite the shock to the homeland

What is the thing you don’t want to hear
on that midnight ride we’re conditioned to fear
that you're queer or some other phobic jeer
from macho cops in their bondage gear

Are you perplexed this very night
deciding between flee and flight
methinks the emperor’s wound too tight
a bully drunk with power's our plight

In ancient Rome when it started a war
dictators were chosen for what was in store
our chosen dictator makes war on the poor
and has frozen free choice then comes back for more

Are our laws meant to constrict and besiege us
with crude ultimatums both vague and egregious
what’s this lesson someone’s so desperate to teach us
that freedom’s a threat and a reason to seize us

My nation has those recurring dreams
where it divides into various teams
first a moment of silence and then the screams
it’s winner take all in freedom’s purges and schemes

Then the winners buy states with their pocket change
then too many are shackled and memory's estranged
and royal dynasties still become deranged
with headlines still shouting there’s nothing here strange

Now in the interest of my liberal press
I’d like to clear up this news media mess
by daring someone to please confess
rich conservatives own all the networks good guess

So you’d better make that living will
and polish up your survival skill
certain preachers say there’s a time to kill
oh the thrills and the chills and whose blood will spill

Work on your table manners bub
you’re invited to the big country club
exclusive rights to that big hot tub
for the boiling in oil a la homeland

Oh say can you see the petroleum
and the rocket’s red glare crematorium
can you hear it above the delirium
as the Air Force bombs the stadium
oh how so proudly we've hailed
how advanced we’ve become
advanced like dementia
What homeland

Is this nation in the process of losing its mind
in compassion and sense is it lost years behind
does it yearn for respect only to find
instead the responses are given in kind

The patriaddicts aren’t like me
they wave the flag it proves they’re free
free to pay The Patriarch Fee
of whatever Big Daddy says it should be
or else be labeled the enemy

Meanwhile the army's exported all loaded and locked
as Marines and sailors wave bye to the dock
and the next of kin just stand there in shock
look Wars 'R Us is issuing stock
buy yours now be the first on your block
no matter how deeply you and the homeland are in hock
and surprise the wars will come home knock knock
you'll be caught between the hard place and a rock
and you'll wonder how you could have believed all that crock

Propaganda is foreplay full speed ahead damn the prepositions
fight them there freedom's march us or them target acquisition
army strong army of one be all you can be Operation Revision
Defend der Fatherland Homeland Security sloganeering addiction
it's bullying by bullshit psychological attrition
as the propagandists desperately avoid deposition
to question them they consider sedition
if you accuse them here comes your legal rendition
as martial law's invoked to crucify opposition

I try to ignore all the militarist poseurs
sitting in armchairs safe from exposure
cheering the killer robot bulldozers
but it’s getting harder to keep my composure

It’s Blood Sacrifice ordered by our leaders all hustlers
bloodletting daily by these genocidal rustlers
slaughtering people in unjust wars
families, towns, and cities always starting with the poor

Herding people with unmanned missiles
strewn through the air like bloody thistles
if you listen you can hear the ghastly whistles
as we turn people into ghosts and gristle

We use lethal alienating ideology
all-devouring zombie technology
and treat war criminals as prodigies
who determine their victims by symbology

Wars are our fatal fashion shows
designed by fascistissimos
with runways launching deadly blows
with the perennial theme Nihilism's Throes

We give cute violent names to our superweapon models
bombshells for the bloodlust which we coddle
so addictive I'll be shocked if they're not bottled
will we ever learn to pull back on that throttle

We worship our knockout sexy symbols
from pickup truck size to fits in a thimble
resist war culture and refuse to assemble
these future relics so dastardly nimble

The Predators, Cobras, Raptors, Grim Reapers,
Tomahawks, Hellfires, Harpoons, Deep Sleepers,
Stingers, Crusaders, Tridents, Intruders,
why not one named for Jeb Stuart Magruder,
Avengers, Black Knight, Shockwave, Javelins,
rockets engineered for the bad guy travelin’,
The Goodbye Weapon, America’s Ray Gun,
and I’m sure those last two are totally way fun,
The Punisher, Excalibur, Dread, and Apache,
and a gas that will make you throw up and die scratching,
and remember Fat Man and the Little Boy,
oh the nostalgia for some of our earlier toys,
and the modern but milder Daisy Cutter,
that cuts down a forest as if it’s hot butter

Screaming Eagle, Strike Eagle, Falcon, and Hornet,
Viper, Venom, Growler, The Disemboweler,
Lulu, Matador, Honest John, Ding Dong,
Hound Dog, Little Dog, Little John, Lance,
Davy Crockett, Condor, Red Snow, Red Beard,
Blue Cat, Blue Fox, Blue Peacock, Blue Slug,
Blue Danube, Blue Rosette, Blue Water, Blue Steel,
Green Bamboo, Green Cheese, Green Flash, Green Granite,
Green Grass, Indigo Hammer, Violet Club, Yellow Sun,
Orange Herald, Locust, Fort Knox, Hellcat,
Bulldog, Hercules, Herky Bird, Spectre,
Puff the Magic Dragon, Wolverine, Snark, Slugger,
Priest, Wolf, Lynx, Cougar, Fox, Buffalo,
Stryker, Guardian Angel, Wrecker, Spooky, Spooky

We knowingly bomb children with explosive clusters
no safety from them or the vile bunker busters
hot uranium spread among the living and the dead
what kind of mutant strain dreams that up in their head
there can never be enough grieving and tears shed

All the stealth machines glorified in magazines
the fire and forgets without care or regrets
the carriers, the Harriers, the hurriers, the worriers,
the minders, the blinders, the screaming Sidewinders,
the brawlers and crawlers, the brutes and the stalkers
our own Imperial Walkers
the sieges, famines, plagues
these leaders should be in The Hague
with their cheerleader militarist poseurs
how would that be for closure

If you truly believe in fair or free trade
the flow of ideas and the progress we’ve made
then tell me why such a de facto blockade
of justice and peace with this homeland charade

If you truly believe in a spiritual love
as on high so below not the pushing and shove
then why not remove your fist from your glove
extending your palm as below so above

Let’s settle now this whole debate
don’t tell me who to love or hate
but quit your living to discriminate
it's our tolerance keeping us hopeful and great

So go ahead and raise my rent
question my mind it has its bent
but when you come for the innocent
you've gone way too far dear homeland

Speaking of let's lift up high our frosted mugs
our pharmaceuticals and whiskey jugs
and toast the victorious war against drugs
oh the euphoria homeland shrugs
now have another slug and give your homeland a hug

Let’s have our real party on democracy's lawn
celebrate each vote and each liberating dawn
all equal and free with no class lines drawn
no kings no queens no rook no pawns
won’t keep us in check 'cause it's all hands on deck

Now we come together as one
through times hard and fun
with no injustice undone
yes our work's just begun
and we don't need a gun
no violence none
'cause under one common sun
all living things run
in the one common band
in our hearts through the land
this our truth our demand
our promise our stand
and democracy's our plan
for our new homeland
for our True Homeland
everyone hand in hand
it's our land

Larry Aaron Piltz
Copyright implied and sought
Creative Commons applies

Saturday, June 3, 2017

[working on a crooner's song, needs more verses]

When I was young and innocent
still learning what was wise
I entered through those doors of love
into the bluest skies
those skies embraced my tender dreams
and lifted me with hope
how could I've known my mount of joy
could be a slippery slope

And the blue is still there
in the skies in the air
everywhere in my heart
in your eyes oh so fair
in your heart everywhere
in the air in the skies
in your eyes

And the blue is still there
in your heart oh so fair
in the air in the skies
in the blue of your eyes

Thursday, May 25, 2017

From the Desk of the Editor of the Hummingbird-Human Hybrid Society Bulletin-Gazette

A hummingbird kept buzzing me by the creek yesterday. I was wondering what was making that loud episodic humming all around and above me and couldn't see a big horsefly or fat bumblebee. Then I looked above me again one more time and there it was, a very persistent hummer.

Of course! This happens for me almost every Spring. Usually it will happen on my deck when a hummingbird zips in to hover a few feet from my face and look directly at me. Then it will fly a few meters away once or twice and return to hover near my face again. It certainly gets my happy attention, and it's obviously a reminder that it's time to put out our feeder, bud, you're late every year you know, and it's not exactly easy out here for a hummingbird especially before most plants and trees begin to flower!

Last night I dreamt of a flurry of five or six hummingbirds hovering above me in the woods, bobbing nearer and retreating slightly, all humming loudly and focusing on me. What could it possibly mean?

Thanks to yesterday's daytime and dreamtime hummingbirds, today is the first day of service of their new feeder. It holds eight ounces of nectar and needs cleaning and refreshing every week, though I manage to do so about every two weeks at best. When they visit it before I've added a new mix of nectar, they will usually sniff it or taste a little bit and then tentatively zip away, pausing to give me a disappointed look or a glance back in pity in my imagination.

Once it's summer, I'll eventually need a firm reminder again that it's time to add more nectar to the feeder because you have no idea how unbearable it is for us hummingbirds in temperatures of 110 and we don't have air conditioners or refrigerators you know, just because you pamper yourselves with grocery items and roofs and such doesn't mean some of us aren't out here working the land like The Great Hummer intended.

Will you fly a mile in our wings for goodness' sake? We do get tired and parched, you know.

Hopefully I'll dream of hummingbirds again and fly along with them some night. They're certainly welcome anytime.  I hope I'll be to them.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

The Wall

by Anita Endrezze (Yaqui)

Build a wall of saguaros,
butterflies, and bones
of those who perished
in the desert. A wall of worn shoes,
dry water bottles, poinsettias.
Construct it of gilded or crazy house
mirrors so some can see their true faces.
Build a wall of revolving doors
or revolutionary abuelas.
Make it as high as the sun, strong as tequila.
Boulders of sugar skulls. Adobe or ghosts.
A Lego wall or bubble wrap. A wall of hands
holding hands, hair braided from one woman
to another, one country to another.
A wall made of Berlin. A wall made for tunneling.
A beautiful wall of taco trucks.
A wall of silent stars and migratory songs.
This wall of solar panels and holy light,
panels of compressed cheetos,
topped not by barbed wire but sprouting
avocado seeds, those Aztec testicles.
A wall to keep Us in and Them out.
It will have faces and heartbeats.
Dreams will be terrorists. The Wall will divide
towns, homes, mountains,
the sky that airplanes fly through
with their potential illegals.
Our wallets will be on life support
to pay for it. Let it be built
of guacamole so we can have a bigly block party.
Mortar it with xocoatl, chocolate. Build it from coyote howls
and wild horses drumming across the plains of Texas,
from the memories
of hummingbird warriors and healers.
Stack it thick as blood, which has mingled
for centuries, la vida. Dig the foundation deep.
Create a 2,000 mile altar, lit with votive candles
for those who have crossed over
defending freedom under spangled stars
and drape it with rebozos,
and sweet grass.
Make it from two way windows:
the wind will interrogate us,
the rivers will judge us, for they know how to separate
and divide to become whole.
Pink Floyd will inaugurate it.
Ex-Presidente Fox will give it the middle finger salute.
Wiley Coyote will run headlong into it,
and survive long after history forgets us.
Bees will find sand-scoured holes and fill it
with honey. Heroin will cover it in blood.
But it will be a beautiful wall. A huge wall.
Remember to put a rose-strewn doorway in Nogales
where my grandmother crossed over,
pistols on her hips. Make it a gallery of graffiti art,
a refuge for tumbleweeds,
a border of stories we already know by heart.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

                                                Dogs From The Future

From left to right, Daughter Mir and Mother Star, 10 and about 12 years old respectively and inspirations for many a password, in a photo I took in 2002 while taking photographs and driving with one hand or an occasional knee the back roads of forested central Louisiana at a roughly midpoint location between the Oakdale, Louisiana federal immigration detention prison holding I think mostly Mariel boatlift Cubans and the 3500-year-old 70-foot tall earthen mound built in the shape of a flying bird at Poverty Point world heritage site not far from Monroe built by a people unknown to archaelogists or any extant native histories or even tales. What will WE be remembered for? Our compulsive imprisonment habit? Maybe future people would be glad to forget that sorry episode of human development. They might be better off never learning about us, especially if sadism was unknown to them. Maybe it'd be better if we did something about it while we're here to do so.

Tsavo on the Dock at Indian Cove AKA Turtle Cove, January 2017

Tsavo, the ranger and gregarious adventurer, is gradually losing his hearing and is mellowing, at least compared to his tradition of perpetual motion. Yet he has lost none of his activated curiosity and manages to make an interesting trek out of every opportunity. Daily, he makes his outdoor rounds, comes in to graze his food bowl, and then returns to his rounds until hungry again, three to four hours total usually. That's when I will corral both he and Tiger for the day. To Tsavo, life has mostly been about the changing landscape in front of him and what's next.

He was such an independent, self-sufficient strong silent-type cat that he hadn't spoken to me the whole year and a few months until Tiger moved in, and Tiger, being uninhibitedly vocal apparently from birth, inspired Tsavo and taught him how emotive enunciation could get further positive attention from me. Now Tsavo has words for and emotions about almost everything and it has helped he and I become closer than ever.. Tiger's instructive examples probably help make up for how Tiger attacked Tsavo when Tiger first arrived from the Darwinian streets of Austin.

My current favorite recurring Tsavo moment happens multiple times a night.  He will pad into the dimly lit study and silently stand up and very gently touch my sleeve with one paw two or three times in a row, a touch so soft and pleasing that it helps me clearly imagine his earnest face looking right at mine before I even turn to see him. Then he will softly utter a few meows while looking me directly in the eyes, and when I do turn and face him, usually stating his name, and truly happy to see him and surprised each time he does this - such an intimate personal approach and a wonderful learned understanding of how to appeal to me – there is his small sweet face searching mine for my own sweet surrender.  He then turns and runs out of the study either to the kitchen or front screen door.

Then it is up to me to follow him and look into whatever important need that Tsavo needs tending to at the moment. Sometimes it's a bit more kibble in his bowl to last the rest of the night. Sometimes he just wants company while he sits at the screen door and looks and listens into the forest, his head turning slightly to one side or the other, his ears fine-tuning direction finders. Occasionally he will want me to stand guard at the litter box to make sure our retired warrior Tiger doesn't get any funny ideas about an ambush, which he has been known to do both indoors and out, all in good street fun of course.

Tsavo and I have been great friends since first meeting on our long sloped driveway. He was smelling the air and looking for his previous human significant other who had gone for a walk without him, though she had brought the new dog - a doubly hurtful omission! Yet he longed to join them and wore his heart on his paw, and I was touched by the intensity of his loyalty and feelings. Soon after that, he began visiting me regularly at my cabin, I'd let him sit where he wanted and stay as long as he could. Soon his human knew to head directly to my house when looking for Tsavo.  After a month or two, she asked me if I wanted Tsavo to come live with me.  It was an unexpected and the most generous offer I've ever received.

                Something Very Deer

Not only a bird and squirrel feeder. A big doe hoofed up to it this spring afternoon in plain sight of me lazing on the deck sofa seven yards away. As she reached the feeder, she first glanced to her left at me before beginning to empty the feeder by using her tongue to scoop around the feeder's edges and then ground it all up like a cud and swallowed. It took about six or seven minutes. She looked very content as she slowly went about making sure to leave as few seeds as possible.

Doe then walked a couple of steps to some boulder benches where I'd laid out birdseed during the winter and then licked the spots where the seed had been. The mystery as to who had been eating all the winter seed and now the new sunflower feeder seed was solved.  I'm more surprised that she was so trusting of me. 

Another touch of sweetness was a little gray white-tipped dove walking nonchalantly but carefully around the deer's legs, watching her closely, and now and then pecking at seeds that slid from the feeder to the leafy ground.

The more I get to witness deer life and behavior, the more it becomes apparent how funny and idiosyncratic they are as individuals. They stay wild yet manifest what we would logically consider personalities. Mainly though, whenever I see them, there's always something very deer that happens.

T R U E   H O M E L A N D Why is this sweet world we live in so torn between chaos and Zen with such extremes at either end like enemi...