John Steinbeck Was On To Something…

I am the flower of life

I am the entire universe

one grain of sand

and every star in the sky.

a single cell

and the sixty fourth tetrahedron

There’s infinity outside of me


infinity within

and it’s a sin

that we don’t see

that I am you

and you are me

he is her

and she is we


John Lennon was right


look into the light

I am the egg man

I am the egg man

I am the preacher man

but I am the wallflower

I am the chicken

and I am the egg

I am today


and yesterday

I am straight

and I am gay

I am hate

and I am love

I am Gandhi…,

but I am Hitler

the Arawak

and Columbus

I am bin Laden

and George Bush

the soldier

the suicide bomber

and the innocent villager

I am the Warsaw Ghetto

and I am Gaza

I am the prisoner

and I am the guard

the hangman

and the hanged man…

I am stardust

We are stardust

We are stars

We are…

All that is


And will be

We are God

And God is we

We are enslaved

But we are free

We are…

Sea to shining sea

And galaxy to galaxy

The Mayans



And Chinese

We are the yin and yang

And the birds

and the bees

And the trees

And the trees…

We must speak for the trees

“we’re destroying ourselves”

Isn’t a figure of speech

Now an eye for an eye

Makes a little more sense

Are you with me?

Or are you still on the fence?

When we hurt one another

We’re hurting ourselves

Look up at the stars

And see inside yourself

Far out?

Check it…

Time is an illusion


and we’re just the universe

expressing itself

through itself

through ourself

blood and guts

made out of stardust

spiritual beings

spiritually being time

and space

and the human race

running circles around

the universal reality

that I am God

that you are God

that we’re not godless heathens

and it’s treason

to believe their reasons

that we are not ONE

when we are

with the earth


and stars

and galaxies

and red blood cells

the black whole

connect the dots

emancipate yourselves

from mental slavery

rewind to a time

when our mind was free to see

that WE hold the power

that WE’RE in control

and our goal?







ONE Universal reality

that this is paradise

and we are ONE

so let’s stop killing ourselves

and all the universe




sing a verse

it’s a spiritual tune

that I can’t carry

in a bucket


fuck it

the point is that

I love you

because I love me

because I love the universe

can’t you see?

look into my eyes

and you’ll find


and nothing

and something

all at the same time



and Orion…

belt out a tune with me



sing out this tune with me

fly to the Sun

and the Moon with me

and then back to the earth

the earth…

the earth is our mother

we must take care of her…

and we are the earth

we are the world

and the whole universe…

I am

and you are

and we are…


and nothing…

and something

I won’t pray for you

I’ll pray to you

and me

and us

and I trust…

that preacher Casey was right…

call me maybe?

Do you remember the kid

burning ants with a magnifying glass

and melting little toy soldiers

at that pool party?

He’s a lawyer now.

And the kid that taught us

how to smoke pot from an old soda can

in the woods near the railroad tracks?

Oh, he’s a cop.

And that kid that used to get us beer all the time?

He’s a cop.

And that preacher’s son,

that good christian

who talked us into spending

that weekend at bible camp

where we sang songs about Jesus

and loving thy neighbor

and turning the other cheek?

He’s a Green Beret,

making a career of killing people

who look an awful lot like Jesus

probably looked back in the day.

And you,

what is it that you’re doing?

I heard you were in the city a while back

and I almost called

but I was busy

and life got in the way

and you were probably busy too…

and… these are all terrible excuses

I should have called

but I was afraid that seeing you,

talking to you,

being close to you

might make me start thinking

about us

about what might have been.

It’s been a long time

and I’m sure it would be just fine

but what if it’s not?

and I guess what scares me more is…

what if it is?

What if we don’t feel anything?

I guess I’m just not ready

to finish that chapter yet.

Oh, don’t get me wrong,

I’ve written volumes

since I fucked things up with you

but from time to time

I look back on that chapter

and I just can’t scribble that last period.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to,

I’m not sure I’ll ever want to.

We’re soul mates,

if I have to wait ten lifetimes

to get you back

I will,

but I’ll at least call

the next time

I hear you’re in the city.

And that’s a lie,

I’m sure I’ll find some terrible excuse…

so, since you were never one for excuses

and I know this might sound crazy

here’s my number…

Our Family (3/20/14)

Great Spirit, which IS everywhere

your name is sacred.

Paradise is here and now

so help us manifest our will

on earth, because this is heaven.

Thank you for this organic bounty

and for showing us that the strength is within us

to forgive ourselves and all of humanity,

and for keeping our souls free of material desires,

and deliver our minds to knowing

that we are all ONE.

For OURS is paradise,

the world,

the universe,

from and for all time

forever and always.


A Prayer to Saint Jim (3/20/14)

Kurt Cobain has been dead for twenty years now

and the roosters crow

and the dogs bark

and time stops for no one.

It feels like yesterday

I was seventeen

paying for gas with a jar full of pennies,

getting Rich’s cousin to buy us beer

and sitting around the bonfire

until the last embers cooled

but the radio played on

as we watched dawn’s early light

on the horizon.

Twenty fucking years,

and we were just kids

when he died.

And Janis and Jimi and Jim,

they’ve almost been dead now

for twice as long as they walked this earth.

And for some reason,

I woke up today

to my island alarm clock,

these chickens, dogs and crickets

providing the chorus

for this Sublime song

stuck in my head.

And I remember

the first time I ever heard Bradley Nowell sing.

It was July 1996,

I had just turned twelve

and I remember

because Annie was also twelve years old.

My sister and her best friend

were in the back seat giggling

as they listened to the disc-man

after taking the headphones back from me

while we sat in traffic

on Route 6,

on the Cape for summer vacation.

And Bradley Nowell has been dead for eighteen years now

and had already been dead for two months

as I listened to Sublime for the first time

in July 1996,

and felt bad for the Annie he sang about

and felt bad that he was dead,

and felt bad that I didn’t have a disc-man of my own

and all these years later

I’m older now than he will ever be,

forever twenty-eight

and stuck in time

with the younger Kurt Cobain

and Janis Joplin

and Jimi Hendrix

and Jim Morrison

in eternity



these folks who spoke to the teenage me

but I didn’t hear

what they were trying to tell us

until years later

when I closed my American prayer book,

and around the time that Amy Winehouse joined the twenty-seven club

I was twenty-seven too

and wondering if I should make it forever.

Did they all see the world

for what it really is?

Are we too far gone?

Fucked up beyond repair?

But then the rooster crows again

and grounds me in the present.

It’s still early here,

five in the morning

and I’m still half dreaming

and this is all an illusion anyhow,


So I put on my headphones

and let Saint Jim read me his poetry

over some funky beats

while the battery

on this i-phone 3 my brother gave me

when he got an upgrade

slowly dies

and I stare at the Buddha statue on the bookshelf

and dawn’s early light

creeps through the window.

As I try to meditate on Jim Morrison’s spoken word,

my mind keeps wondering…



I’m a badfish too?

Chickens (3/11/14)

“I love you” I say to the chicken. “Cluck, cluck” she replies.

She loves me because I feed her

but she’s ready to attack in a second, flat

if I’m accidentally positioned between her and her chicks.

The rooster tolerates me

because I provide him food.

That, and I think that on some level

he understands that it is socially acceptable

for me to kill him.

I’m sure that Mama hen knows it as well

but she would die

before she let anyone fuck with her babies.

I often wonder what they’re all thinking

and what they think of me.

Am I some sort of god to them

because I provide food

or an idiot they laugh at

as they devour the free chicken scratch?

The garden also provides them with food

as does the compost pile.

Do they think I’m a walking garden

or compost pile?

I don’t think they judge me,

but I do wish I understood

what they’re always clucking about.

My friends, the chickens.

Today I Picked Plumerias (3/10/14)

Today I picked Plumerias

for an hour

maybe a little longer

one by one

I dropped them into the wicker basket

and of the roughly one thousand I picked

all were beautiful and smelled of paradise

and the whole process was peaceful.

Yes, they were all beautiful

but none were unique

that is,

at least none spoke to me…

until one did.

I left with a basket full of plumerias

and the one, lone pink one

I held that one in my hand

and i smelled it

and sat admiring it’s beauty

but as i continued to hold it

it began to wilt.

What had made me smile

and breathe deep it’s aroma

now brought me to tears

as I dwelt on it’s mortality

and as soon as I got home

I placed the pink plumeria in water,

but that didn’t help.

So I sit here now

listening to the second hand

tick today away

watching as,

what this morning was a beautiful flower

now slowly withers and dies

and I’m left wondering

why it is that I destroy

everything of beauty that I touch,

wondering why I couldn’t have

just dropped the plumeria into the basket

with all the rest

allowing it to fulfill it’s destiny,

being sewn by skilled hands

into a beautiful lei.

Yes, today I picked plumerias

and I don’t know why

I couldn’t leave the pink one alone…

well, or the rest of them

for that matter…

If you have to kill

something so beautiful

to enjoy it’s beauty,

it’s not worth it.

Yes, today I picked plumerias

but from now on,

I will leave them to the bees

and admire their beauty

as I walk on by.

Blank Pages

Where does the time go?

another year older,

another year gone.

These winters are colder than I remember

and I no longer snowboard

and I no longer ski

and I sold my snowmobile years ago

and I’ve grown to hate shoveling

and these hill towns feel lonely

the “Happy Valley”


these country roads and orchards

these mountains and rivers

will never be the same

and I will never be the same.

My heart is lost at sea

my soul was sold in the desert

my memories are plenty

in the valley,

and I hate it.

I’ve thrown away my high school year book

my varsity letters and senior jacket

and piles of memories

and old photographs

from the day I was born,

from my first day of school,

from my 8th grade field trip to D.C.

and from my senior prom,

from Cartagena

from New Orleans

from Baghdad

from Haifa

from Haleiwa Town

and from Halawa Valley

and from that vacation to Maine a couple years ago

when we drove all around Sebago Lake

and stopped for iced coffee in Gorham,

and from that time in Strawberry Fields when I imagined…

One by one, every last picture.


Scented candles now disgust me

I was never a Yankee anyway,

they lost their allure when they went public,

but this was never really home

and it never can be again

I have an itinerant disposition now

and I’d rather die than stay here,

idly wishing for new pages.

There’s no looking back

glory days are a farce

so I try to erase pages with Irish whiskey

and re-write these last chapters

the ones that fucked up this book,

but you never can…

once pen hits paper,

it’s always something new

it’s always somewhere new

it’s always someone new

but I don’t want these pages anymore

so it doesn’t stop me

from tearing this book apart at the binding

and tossing the pages into the fire place

on this cold winter’s night.

Page by page

chapter by chapter

year by year

lover by lover

I erase my history

I erase my memory

I erase this coldness

with a baptism by fire

and quench this thirst

with the last of the Jameson

washing down a handful of government pills…

I wake up in a daze

my head pounding

my heart racing

but my mind clear.

On the table I find

a blank notebook,

a few pens…

and a one way ticket to paradise


Still and all, why bother? Here's my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone. -Kurt Vonnegut