Ranch Poem – “Asphalt Astronauts”

8/1/10

Asphalt Astronauts

On a Lucky Star bus in the Bronx.
I switch to a ball point pen.
The sloppy purple Pilot G2 produces
unmanageable letters and words.
You’ve got to have a Bruce Lee grip
on your Moleskin to write anything
with a Chinese immigrant at the wheel.

At dusk, the Expressway is free
from its usual cluster fuck of
rancid trash trailers,
parades of smoggy eighteen wheelers
and cursing commuters from Long Island.

The sun sets behind Manhattan.
All of the icons and skyscrapers
are mountains carved from
a sea of Blood Orange clouds.

I wonder if the City’s sidewalks
will produce a moment for me tonight.
A-this is really happening-top of the world-
unforgettable moment mass-produced
by a chaotic kinetic City of energies.

And yes, you are most definitely expected
to act out and rage on the street corners
tucked between Bushwick warehouses.
The thick rimmed souls sip wandering glasses
and sweat satisfaction all over one another.

These peacocks crave it all.
Most peacocks need the attention.
All peacocks belong in a flock of peacocks.
Some peacocks are really pigeons.

Elsewhere-away from the L trains,
Greenwich groceries and trampled concrete-
there is not as much of everything, everywhere.

Pick a pace, select a speed, vibe a vibe.
Rampant fetishization of capitalism by consumer tribes.
Everyone’s a photographer with F-Stop eyes.
The City is a Space with asphalt astronauts inside.

-RwmG

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Ranch Poem – Asphalt Astronauts

8/3/2010

Asphalt Astronauts

On a Lucky Star bus in the Bronx.
I switch to a ball point pen.
The sloppy purple Pilot G2 produces
unmanageable letters and words.
You’ve got to have a Bruce Lee grip
on your Moleskin to write anything
with a Chinese immigrant at the wheel.

At dusk, the Expressway is free
from its usual clusterfuck of
rancid trash trailers,
parades of smoggy eighteen wheelers
and cursing commuters from Long Island.

The sun sets behind Manhattan.
All of the icons and skyscrapers
are mountains carved from
a sea of Blood Orange clouds.

I wonder if the City’s sidewalks
will produce a moment for me tonight.
A, this is really happening, top of the world,
unforgettable moment mass-produced
by a chaotic kinetic City of energies.

And yes, you are most definitely expected
to act out and rage on the street corners
tucked between Bushwick warehouses.
The thick rimmed souls sip wandering glasses
and sweat satisfaction all over one another.

These peacocks crave it all.
Most peacocks need the attention.
All peacocks belong in a flock of peacocks.
Some peacocks are really pigeons.

Elsewhere-away from the L trains,
Greenwich groceries and trampled concrete-
there is not as much of everything, everywhere.

Pick a pace, select a speed, vibe a vibe.
Rampant fetishization of capitalism by consumer tribes.
Everyone’s a photographer with F-Stop eyes.
The City is a Space with asphalt astronauts inside.

-RwmG

17469_843510650740_2063532_n

Ranch Poem – “Misunderstood”

12/26/10

Misunderstood

How can it be that love is so misunderstood?
I was ten thousand ft above my life
when I was spoke to by manifestations of truth.
On a plane, on another plane-
one that is open to us all.
When the system and friends and rivals
push, prod and produce brooding negativity.
You can be the one who loves through it.
It won’t take long to see that emotion
is a personal gust of wind just passing through.
Love is the universal space which all exists.

Feel it like I do, know it like I do
Feel it like you do, know it like you do.
Feel it like love does, know it like love does.

No city, no region, no country is above or beneath.
No prison, no slum, no street corner is denied.

How can the soul be so misunderstood?
I have been young, pink and callow all my life.
There are things to learn and roads to go down,
But through the fear we can’t slow down.
Darling there is a God inside you,
sitting beside me, crystalized within you,
within me lies just enough fatty ego and our own key.
And when there is nowhere left to turn,
you will know where it will be.
And when the day gets you in a rush,
your soul is a rudder.
And when a thousand Me’s weaken,
remember that you are the sole witness.

Feel it like I do, know it like I do
Feel it like you do, know it like you do.
Feel it like love does, know it like love does.

No city, no region, no country is above or beneath.
No prison, no slum, no street corner is denied.

How can power be so misunderstood?
Cast your bread unto the waters against popular sentiment.
They know not of instant sainthood, of humanity
and would rather dismiss spiritual energy for material strength.
Things and roles tend to lead us astray.
When we get high externally it always fades away.
The cosmic spark of our awareness will forever stay.

RwmG

Ranch Poem – “No Longer Torn”

12/5/10

No Longer Torn

This has all been foreseen
the eternal arms race
the fields of financial volcanoes
the Devil’s industry
waterboarding our Mother’s green

It wasn’t magic or prophet
but human reason that called it
It wasn’t formula or metaphysics
but reality created from our nature

Temples rebuilt, Messiah’s reborn
our minds play tricks our hearts throw bricks
until our beliefs align – no longer torn

I had a dream that I was split in two
one part was alone stranded at home
the other waiting to enter salvation with you

What is it we are destined to be?
a race too accurate for it’s own good
a race that knows more than it should
a race where they feed us liberty
but the mind’s ain’t free

Towers rebuilt, Conflicts reborn
our hearts fear ourselves our minds fear the world
until our beliefs align, no longer torn

I had a dream that I was split in two
one part was alone stranded at home
the other waiting to enter salvation with you

RwmG

Ranch Poem – “Lush Minds”

10/30/10

Lush Minds

We all have different concerns
about how this is all going to end.
Cause others to fear and harm their fellow man.
Cause some to learn love and friend.

We all need the words left as clues
by our predecessors to this life. Trust me.
They are humanity’s perpetual oxygen for the soul.
Janis Joplin read alot, but didn’t want to tell nobody.

We all occupy this fool flesh, hysterical and warm.
Tenants of self discovery or of self indulgence?
Work. Crime. Order. Chaos.
Eternal faces lush minds. Gone faces and dead minds.

We all are surrounded by growing, expanding choice.
A cache warehouse landfill to scour and devour.
The consumer universe of countless web pages, bottled waters,
political ideals, gas guzzlers, MP3’s and concepts of power.

We all play a different gig every night
dominated by rules and adversaries.
And I’m a torn and inquisitive fool,
but I am not controlled by someone else.

RwmG

Ranch Poem – “Rejoicing”

10/19/10

Rejoicing

At an equestrian compound I sit
serenely at sunrise on the pond’s bank.
Birds swoop soft to catch the morning’s sweet air.
They chirp at the light and I think of sleep.

To the left of my bench perch a rooster
stands guard over a family of ducks,
his authoritative eye watches me.
A golf cart glides by on the road behind us.

I jump as the rooster’s call startles me.
The air raid siren rattles to a gasp.
Night had not slowed me. I felt surreal, strange.
Struck conciously deep in my lonely thought.

She said, “It won’t get any easier, I promise.”
Shameful spite echoed like far away thunder,
Living thunder can ignite entropy
and emerging adults from their frozen restlessness.

In this long summer we are starwealthy.
We dive from the bank like little white minnows.
Raging freaks dance in front of dusty fires
lethargy lost and purring synapses.

I’ve found that together there is never
really cause for anything but rejoicing.

RwmG

Ranch Poem – “Roar”

9/27/10

Roar

Midday sun rays drop through the open window
onto uneven bursts and streams of water.
Opalescent rainbow mist is created
by a chance combination of elements.
Nature meets petty human agency,
the juxtaposed joy of a mystic vision!
To exhibit this fleeting masterpiece
and have patrons join me in the shower…naked!
We are meant to serve art, serve creation
and EXPLODE from it and EXPLODE as it.
Like the mist, art is not always so thoughtful.
True beauty exists in community.
Talking with Dizzy I notice a change,
our fellows breaking habits to be brave.
Going alone. Always accident prone.
Escape irrevocable decisions,
discover real life in death of derision.
Find love instead of money, power and trouble.
We welp out loud in our sleep, our dog dreams.
A darkened desired for a light unseen.
We fear this blinding reality of ours.
How do we choose from this bag of tricks?
How do we know which news is good and bad?
They think day to day as we wait for tomorrow.
Soon our technology may create us.
But only a soul can experience depression,
feel the Blues and write “Sophisticated Lady.”
Where is Twain and Ginsburg when we read them?
They scream at us from Kindles and touch screens.
Sure is hard to watch raw, old ways fade.
Traditionalists make the best progress,
don’t be so quick to not grow from yesterday.
Gödel’s theorems exist throughout nature
in swirling survival matter and soul growth.
Do not be afraid of your own art.
Roar and make a sad world a paradise.

-RwmG

Ranch Poem- “Living Pitfalls”

8/19/10

Living Pitfalls

Do you follow your own advice?
It is simple to know what is right
but it is a riddle to do what is right

Face your mistakes with your head up
and loosen the chains of resentment
because you know there is no excuse

True motives deeper motivations
Often we can’t even see our own
and we choose like wild beasts

Liquor vs Cognition
Coke vs Sleep
Weed vs Potent Memory
K vs Whole Personality
Ecstasy vs Lasting Happiness
Painkillers vs Independence

Life is in the Prefrontal Lobe
It blooms beautiful like a rose and
nurtures us when we nurture it
Executive functionality is cure for the blues

Now I will not get down on my knees
asking for salvation or forgiveness
until I have found both from myself

The Lazyboomers must fight for agency
as each individual fights for direction
Avoiding disorders and living pitfalls.

RwmG