Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Selections From The Collection II – Blog #174

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Monday, December 28, 2009

Life Happens

The man was facing a turning point in life, a change of direction, a bend in the road. It happens to all of us now and again. It happens sometimes with our consent, our intention even, and sometimes without it. But it happens. Some people end up being better off for it, and some do not. I don’t know all of what goes into that ultimate determination, only that it has a lot to do with character, and inner strength. Circumstances fall in place sometimes, and breaks emerge along the way, but inner strength seems to be the common companion of those who are able to make life work for them. It also helps to be flexible in one’s definition of ‘making it work’.
Some are afraid of turning points, changes in direction, or bends in the road. They do whatever it takes to avoid such an eventuality. Some consider the implications and become frozen in time, and, unable to proceed in life, they hunker down in a safe and comfortable place to ride life out like one would take refuge from a blizzard in a basement. But some face change with courage, head on, without reservation, or they embrace it like a hibernating bear might welcome the spring. Not to say that change is not hard, only that it is often welcome relief from something needing to be different. For whatever reason.

The man wrestled with change for a long time, and knew that he could no longer entertain the status quo. He made the decisions that he determined his life required of him. It was not easy for him, it never is. Other people are affected by those kinds of decisions, hurt even, but he was mature enough to know that what is best for him is, ultimately, best for those closest to him, whether they might agree with the direction or not. It is a sculpting of his own life, and future, apart from the expectations of others, and it enables them to consider their own lives in a framework that is independent of his. Though, undoubtedly, painful for those affected by such conclusions, the future holds opportunity for them that it had not revealed before, that would have been unattainable were it not for the mans change of direction.

Life happens.
As it has for him, it does for the rest of us as well.

His name is Everyman.
Perhaps you know him.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A Few of My Favorites

Some end of the year selections from ‘Musings of the Old Coyote’,
the home for many of my random thoughts and dangerous insinuations.


The creek rises up
to tickle my feet

Like a lap dog
licking my face.


The first time I kissed you I knew,
Tulips are better than one lip.

'A Warm Heart'

A warm heart cannot be broken.
A heart only breaks if it’s brittle.


He said
“I never had the chance
to hurt you
because you beat me
to the punch.”

She said
“I never had the chance
to love you
because every time I tried
you ducked.”

'Conflict Of Interest'

There’s nothing I would like more
than to grow hair on my back
to keep me warm for the winter.

There’s nothing I would like less
than to have to shave it
for the summer.

'Eleven Stars'

There were eleven stars
above my head last night.

Some might say there were
several billion more
that I could not see.

But to me there were eleven stars.
And I saw every one of them.

'I Asked For Shade'

The tree has grown up over my head
while I’ve been sitting on this rock.

'Bird Bath'

Quite active today.

Sparrows splashing around
like children
in a summer puddle.

Like adolescent boys
in a backyard swimming pool
trying to impress the girls.

Like men bragging about
conquests they never really

Like those women
flapping their lips every morning
on “The View”

'Selective Hearing'

The people lost their way
when they followed the sound
of their own echo.


Leave it to me
to leave it to you
to leave it to somebody else.

'Still Working Shifts'

I walked around outside of
this old factory, abandoned,
falling down from years
of neglect.
I sat beneath a shredded awning
on a weathered deck
to observe, and absorb
the ghosts still working shifts
on ancient lathes, machines,
and other equipment
long-ago rusted,
but left to do what they had
always done.

Like a heated disagreement
between neighbors
I can hear the metal on metal
in need of grease.

'For The Rest Of My Life'

Your voice on the phone,
like velvet
in my sandpaper world.

I could stay on the phone
with you
for the rest of my


lined up like soldiers
on parade, a full company
waiting for inspection.

Vineyard stretching wide,
like an army spread miles
across the otherwise barren valley
of Armageddon.

Grapes to be plucked by hand,
then crushed by feet stained red.
The vines will then be plowed,
buried like soldiers, once proud,
beneath the very earth where they
once stood . . . . . . . . . but now
have fallen.

The soldier for the liberation
of our nation.
The grape for the liberation
of our soul.


casting themselves long
behind trees,
leaning away from the morning sun,
making shapes of their own,
expressions of themselves
on sparkling grass
still wet with dew
from the rain.

Like we shape ourselves
each day we are alive.

'While I Ride Herd'

Clouds laying up gracefully
in an amber sky,
mountains tracing the
un-ambiguous horizon,
cows moving quietly
about the meadow

while I ride herd
from my hammock.

'At Your Window'

You buzz me,
like the best espresso,

or an overly ambitious

Like the shock of a young nun
dancing naked in a midnight mass.

Like lightning striking water
where I’m standing

peering thru the frosted glass
at your window.

'Writing Her A Poem'

I didn’t know it
at the time,
but she was drawing
my portrait
while I was writing her
a poem.

'It Made Me Wonder'

She sat on the grass
filing her nails
with a big emery board
closer to the size of
an ironing board
than an actual nail file.

And she had a bag
full of other stuff
in a support role.

It made me wonder
how men manage to get through life
with just a Swiss Army knife.

And a remote control
to change the channel.

'Valentines Day'

How did Mr. Valentine
get his own day
when I can’t even get
a window table
at the Broken Heart Café?

'Moving Earth Around'

An old red tractor
tearing up the field,
digging up the rocks,
filling holes,
moving earth around,
turning it over.

Like your therapist does
for 50 minutes
twice a week.

'Left Unspoken'

There’s something
to be said
for not saying
anything at all.

'An Autumn Day'

An old red barn
standing in a field.

An old chestnut mare
leaning on the fence.

An old oak tree
providing her shade.

An old creek bed
winding it’s way by the barn,

by the horse,
by the tree.

An old farmer
sitting on the porch,

half asleep.

'While I Was Watering The Roses'

A spaceship landed
in my front yard
while I was watering
the roses.

I gave the windshield
a squirt with my hose,
a good wipe with a squeegee,

and they were on their way.

'Two’s Company'

I got out of both sides
of my car.

Imagining I had arrived
at the party
with a friend.

'The Last Time You Walked By'

If I had
just a couple of minutes
left to live
I’d close my eyes
and breathe in the fragrance of
the last time you walked by.

'They Will Stand Together Gladly'

I watched you gathering weeds,
and cuttings, from the overgrown
stream bank,
choosing carefully the wild,
but dying, stalks and stems
knowing, by your movement,
by your style,
that you would somehow breathe life
into an arrangement to be made
of these otherwise forgotten
and decaying

They will stand together gladly
in a glass vase, in the sun,
on the floor, in the corner
of your day room.

'If You Follow In My Footsteps'

I left footprints
on the beach,
then walked backwards
in the same impressions,
leaving no trace
of where I went.

If you follow in my footsteps
you can only walk
to where they end,
then you’ll have to figure life out
on your own from there

my friend.

'Henry and Leopold'

The old bulldog
did a practiced imitation
of his ageing keeper,
but he still had a jump or two left
in his hind legs.
And a few frolics percolating
in his otherwise tired disposition.
Whereas the old man had all but
exhausted his own.

What they still shared, however,
was that common, but uncanny
physical resemblance
honed quietly, but carefully
through years spent living alone

And barking at the TV.

'4th Of July'

Everybody loves a parade.

Nice to see people all moving
in the same direction

for a change.

'The Demise Of Vanity'

She left herself
too long under the

And died an ignominious


She did a Google search
on herself

And discovered she didn’t

'In Poor Taste'

I was looking at
the back of your head
imagining it was attached instead
to someone else’s face.


He said “You’re getting better.”
She said “Whatever!”
He said “Don’t say “Whatever”.
She said “Don’t say ‘You’re getting better’.”

'Moss On A Rock'

A soft exterior.

Like a down coat
on a hard man.

'Afternoon Nap In The Grass'

you just relax.
Sleep peacefully.
Don’t worry about a thing.

And I’ll keep my eyes peeled
for snakes.

'Looking For My Brother'

I’ve been wandering around this graveyard today
looking for my brother.

I knew I wouldn’t find him here.
They burned his body
down to ashes,
and scattered them to the wind.

But I thought I caught a whiff
of his cologne.

'Silly Reasons To Smile'

Your teeth might like some fresh air.

The frown police are in the neighborhood.

Your life could actually be an audition
for a network anchor job.

'The Vultures'

A single engine plane
chased all the vultures away.

I was just beginning to enjoy them.

Even though they were hoping
I would die.


No matter how old
I get

I will piss
standing up.

'In Your Shoes;

It would be difficult
to walk a mile
in your shoes

since your feet are stuck
in the mud.


I didn’t brush my teeth
before bed last night.

It was my small way
of saying fuck you

to the world.


We can’t believe
everything we read
in the papers.

What we really need
is a newspaper
that tells us
what we can believe,
and what we can’t

in the other papers.


doesn’t give much
or turn to offer
some pretentious resignation
upon it’s departure.

It just walks
quietly through the door
with a furtive glance

and is gone.


The ubiquitous stares
of strangers
hunt me down
and stab me
like an arrow
pierces deeply
the tender
and vulnerable

of a disconsolate


He died
at the end of his life.

'Affordable Truck'

Shopping cart.
Rusted from the weather.
Utilitarian companion of the

An affordable truck
on it’s route across town
in the morning fog
in the emerging dawn,
in the anonymous cloak
of solitude.

The early riser
the 4 wheel driver
in search of sidewalk treasures
discarded like bad fruit
by those of us

who own too much.


I’m alive.
The wind stirs my soul
at times.
The beauty of life
an occasional


Read more at the "MUSINGS" page of The Old Coyote website

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Pieces Of Jesus

Never has there been a person divided into more pieces, for more purposes, than Jesus.

Never has there been someone as universally exploited, as loved and hated, as embraced and rejected. There is no other man, or woman, who even comes close. There has never been one who has elicited such contempt, and such sympathy, who has aroused such a volatile reaction, or provoked such personal change. And he disappeared, supposedly, over two thousand years ago. That’s a lot of emotion carried, uninterrupted, through a lot of years. You’d almost have to be God, or the Devil, to transcend time in such a profound manner.

Some call him a Pauper, and some call him a King. Some call him the Lord, and some call him a Servant. Some call him a Blasphemer, and some call him a Truth Teller. Some call him a Political Subversive, and some call him a Prophet. Some call him a Mystic, and some call him a Martyr. Some call him the Son of Man, and some call him the Son of God. Some call him a Sinner, and some call him a Saint. Some call him a Visionary, and some call him a fake. Some call him a Preacher, and some call him a Puppet. Some call him a Teacher, and some call him a Student. Some call him a Man of the People, and some call him a Man of God. Some call him Religious, and some call him Spiritual. Some call him Self Righteous, and some have called him Humble.

What other person in history, besides Jesus, has his own anti-character? There is Christ, and there is the long anticipated anti-Christ. What other historical figure’s name is used as an expression of anger, hostility, resentment or exasperation?
With whose life did time, as we now know it, begin again? We are living in the two thousand and ninth year ‘of our Lord’.

There have been many people who purport to represent Jesus, who profess to speak for him, or who even claim to be him. There are those who follow those who claim to be him. There are many who run to him, and even more who run from him.
And there are those who cannot even bear to hear, or speak, his name.

Is there another child in all of history who’s birth was so feared by the powers that be (King Herod), that he ordered all the male children, in and around Bethlehem, under the age of two, to be murdered to ensure that the baby Jesus would also be killed?

His birth has been celebrated, exploited, and reviled. The commercialism that has grown up around its remembrance has surpassed any expectation that even the most jaded Madison Ave. executive could have embraced. The credit card debt accumulated by average families around the occasion continues to give testimony to our having gone terribly off track in the supposed commemoration of his arrival on this earth. Ironically, the Christian belief system is based upon Jesus dying to pay our spiritual debt so that we could be reconciled with the one to whom we are in arrears. And we are now leaving Jesus completely out of the celebration of his own birth. Imagine, if you will, not being included in your own remembrance. True, nobody seems to know the actual date, but that is not even germane to the issue.

Jesus life, on the other hand, has been studied; it has been examined, scrutinized, and minimized; it has been stated, related, inflated, debated, imitated, devalued, debased and denied. His words have been used to support a particular point of view, and to refute that very same point of view. They have been printed in the bible, and on a plethora of posters and other Jesus junk that you can pick up in churches, or religious bookstores in just about any city or town in America, the world even, with the exception of a few countries that dictate certain religious expression to be anathema to the laws of the state.
His life and works are used as examples to be emulated; his parables are used, to this day, to communicate basic spiritual truths, laws of nature, and codes of behavior. His wisdom is quoted endlessly by those who know it belongs to him, and by those who don’t. Churchgoers use his early years in the church as evidence of the church’s importance. Non-churchgoers cite his teachings about the Pharisees, or his turning over of the moneychangers tables in the temple, as reason to avoid the institution altogether. But, people of each belief point to the importance of the underground church of the New Testament, which was formed secretly around the teachings of Jesus. It continues to this day. It is something the Institutional church acknowledges, but really knows nothing about. It’s funny though, how the small, invisible home gatherings of Christians (the underground church, if you will) aspire to grow, but in so doing inevitably, and predictably, end up joining the ranks of the existing institution; further evidence that man has a difficult time even getting out of his own way.

When Jesus was alive, some people were attracted to him, and some were not. A group of men, individuals really, began wanting to be with him, sometimes at great personal cost. They came to be known as disciples. He did not go around looking for these men, finding them and then appointing them as disciples. He just went about his life and people followed him, enthralled by his teachings, and the spirit he embodied. Many people were envious of him. Some pretended to know and love him, and some really did know and love him. Just like today, I guess.

He told the truth to people. He did not placate, assuage egos, or indulge dishonesty. He always spoke to the core of every situation, sometimes directly, and sometimes in parables. Many people did not like that about him. It made them uncomfortable, and it left them with no place to hide from themselves. As least that’s what the New Testament seems to indicate. Many people worship him today, in songs of praise, in the raising of hands, and in the speaking of tongues. Some people want nothing to do with the Jesus drug, but embrace him in spite of it all. Some people want nothing to do with him. Many people take parts of him that they need, or can use; his character, his persona, his imagined spirituality, but reject the totality of who he was (is). They do this because they have nothing of their own that compares. They pretend at spiritual, they play Jesus, rather than actually emulating him, rather than facing the vacuum of their own lives. They mix his teachings with their own compromises. They find it to be more comfortable than what his teachings actually require of them. They want the love, but not the selflessness. They want the enlightenment, but not the path to its attainment. They want the blessing, but not the sacrifice. They want the glory, but feign humility to acquire it.
People choose which pieces of Jesus they can live with, and which pieces to discard like leftover bones from a plate of well marinated spare ribs.

Some say Jesus Died and has been Resurrected, and some say he Has Not.
If the truth be known, however, he IS alive for some, and he is DEAD for many others.

Never in history has there been a person divided into more pieces, for more purposes,
than Jesus.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Deja View

-Regarding Tiger Woods, as you know by now I’m not someone who has worshipped at the altar of golf, and even though I have been critical of Tiger’s narcissism and mega-ego, I have wished him no harm. But he seems to be taking quite a beating lately because of his supposed extra-marital relationships. And quite frankly, I don’t really like to see someone get beat up when they’re already down, whatever the reason. Nobody knows his relationship with his wife except him and his wife.
I just have one comment, however, on the whole unflattering situation.
‘It seems as if the Tiger is lost in the Woods’.

-Global Warming. If you recall, I have been telling you since the very outset that this whole global warming fiasco is nothing but a fraud, a means for very wealthy and powerful men to accumulate even greater wealth and power, internationally. It is also a protocol to bring the UK, the US, and other wealthy progressive nations, to their respective knees. Look at the treaties we have, and are, being pressured to sign. Look at all the new taxes on products and services that you are being forced to pay to ‘accommodate’ global warming. Then take a look at exactly who has their hand in your pocket. Take a look at Al Gores recent Gazillion dollar income from his Carbon Credits business. Anybody willing to get their head out of the sand would be able to see the deceit, the manipulation, and the greed associated with the whole movement. They have even conditioned the children to believe that they need to save the world.
And now some in Congress want to investigate the leaking of emails that have partially exposed the fraud, rather than investigating the perpetrators of the fraud itself. But if they were to really look into things wouldn’t that mean that Congress would actually need to investigate itself?

-Well, Obama promised ‘transparency’ in his administration, and it is becoming quite apparent that he is interested not so much in what the people want, as he is in what HE wants FOR the people. He has become very transparent in that respect.

-Sarah Palin, as you may have noticed, has been on her never-ending book tour. I actually kind of like Sarah Palin. I think she’d make a good Den Mother for our country. And God knows the country could use a good Den Mother. (See Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts). No emails about sexism, please. I’m serious.
On the other hand, I also think Joe Biden would be a good Den Mother,
just not as good as Ms. Palin.
There you have it.

-I think Obama would be a good contestant on ‘Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader’.
He certainly sounds smart the way he reads all those grandiose clichĂ© laced speeches. However, he does need to work a little harder on trying to hide his arrogance with fake humility. Doesn’t come easy for him, I know.

-I like Obama too. Actually, I’d like him on his own never-ending book tour.
Anywhere but in the White House.

OK, I think I’ve angered enough people by now.