120628
21:35 mercy
“Suffering
raises up those souls that are truly great; it is only small souls
that are made mean-spirited by it.” --Alexandra David-Neel
The
more I learn the more I discern my ignorance greater than my knowing
& have a concern that I will be forever on training wheels unlike
my now long dead son who I remember best having seen him arms folded
laughing in rush hour traffic on a bicycle two wheels self guiding
innocent of fear
I
have had and been held enthralled by bigotries unconscious to me in
private against the rich In public especially in service at hospice
I have come to a knowing the democracy of death too well reveled In
which all become equal rich or poor—meek & Those about to die
teach me best the value of life and humility this precious eternal
now
Grief
has haunted my life from the moment of diagnosis to witnessing his
drowning last breath leaving me behind bereft & while my
hypocrisies are many the greatest follows I could not accept then
the pain lingering until now in suffering
It
is said that pain is inevitable But suffering is choice—optional
It is not so much that the pain of losing my children plus many other
things I believed lost from infancy onward It is better said not
that I was internally infernally fearful I would never die and thus
finally rest in peace but that my suffering would remain infinite
We
are all equal at the end regardless the monuments erected for in time
all mountains are made plain as deserts & those remembered are
never dead by they who traverse the pain of life with courage
reconciling the pain tempered with the joy of having ever loved and
been loved in return by our beloved.
I
have a sense of bicycles & tricycles transfigured into sailing a
vessel solo in life So the training wheels are minus one thus a
catamaran where previously I sailed a trimaran Finally will I return
to myself sailing a dingy upon my back unknowing where I'm going at
night the stars blazing above and I once again returned to the
innocent trust of my course through eternity
At
the very end my vessel aflame children returned embraced all beloved
of The All
120630
06:22 trademark
Inwardly
He was a She
Savage
lioness & indolent King who baaed adoringly
of
Regal Divine Right reality this Oligarchic fiefdom we inhabit
Shrewishly
disappearing our employ playfully using all expendable pawned to the
grave
tearing guts out national assets imbibing the liquidity our soul's
sole purpose to survive
Who
is this beast--God, Inc.?! In drag of course playing with US
putting thorns in our soles all who listened in awed silent terror
sheheits feted breath horrifyingly
Kissing
us bye-bye have a nice life now
120630
13:51
I
am not a poet but instead, a doggerel Quote reporter/recorder of
sayings collected under bridges, in the orphan end of sing for your
supper food lines. Or with/for greater variety the best free food in
town known as: DUMPSTERVILLE'S!
All provisions supplied and inspired by those who like me have
nothing but a bit more which in love they share.
So
in some sense lets, just for the Heavenly Hell of It, refer to this
as the 1st post as from THE UNDERBRIDGE TIDINGS!
and I sole: Editor, Publisher, Newspaper Delivery Boy, and toilet
attendant; will rename myself Big John Snarky girly/boy reporter who
puts on his panties both feet first as situations might require sans
bra only worn on very special occasions.
An
exhibitionist I am not, but then what is a boyish looking girly going
to do? I already do all kinds of bizarre costume and acrobatic sexual
things for John my husband or trick or his tricks or anyone he tells
me to DO! Flex my mussels like Gov. Arnold "I'll Be Back" &
"I only killed them because they weren't 'nice people' like the
retarded or excuse me retired old flabby white assed journalist the
dummy with the camera, yah dat one? You know my dad was SS do you
suppose it is genetic? Yah I'd like to be President Too.
Why
John?
Well
let me share with you the legacy of "John" . . . Not John
the Baptist, St. John or the erstwhile writer about the Apocalypse
called THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS or, I think, maybe, maybe not the John
into whose care Jesus gave his mother The Holy Ever Virgin Mary . . .
. did he become a Saint before or after that?
No.
Not
those Johns but the ones what follows:
A
john is a customer for prostitutes who, if in African-American
neighborhoods, is called a "Honkie"otherwise simply know as
"Whitey.
Something
like the income tax & FICA withheld from those pay checks we used
to have.
There
was a time everything was done with CASH, no pun intended Johnny C.
And
I've known times when if the john I have in mind had a hand out the
window of an idling Ford Fairlane in 12 degree weather. And I'd been
framing, or roofing, four stories above having swept the snow off
first. . . .Well I'd bite his hand off--then carefully insert it into
his--how to say this nicely?--lower rear orifice? And send him/her
home to Congress where they service the CEO'S & those who pay for
their reelections. You know those folks who got all Da Money Honey
well they emptied FICA and now tell me I gotta go because they can't
cover their theft. Whores give a service politicians only service
their Slave Masters.
Like
the good Jew, not the one on The Cross, no not that one . . . the
other one who lowered his trousers mooning his executioner plus
murderer of his wife & children, their grandparents, sans tattoos
numbered among the 6 million. Well I'm that kind of Super Jew and
I'll be back.
“Beware
the fury of a patient man.”
--John Dryden
@
2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved
