Ranch Poem – “The World of Self-Reliance”


The World of Self-Reliance

When you look at these
people on the street
some slide on ice
some spread like fire.

You can see it
in their eyes.
The bluish discoloration
under that puffy
wrinkle of the previous
night spent altering
heart rates or
indulging insomnia,
only to wake from some
muck of a bed they made
to try and dress

You can feel it
in their grip.
The tight clench
of a developing country
made-European named-
(always) briefcase bag
filled with compiled
copies of decent writing,
bills piled up to be
put off till they reach 30,
and their third iBook
replacement of 2008.

Most of us walk like
the world is a lonely place,
where atrocities are forgotten
like the names of ex-congressmen.
The world of self-reliance
for the self’s sake.

Some will shift their
footing, keep their core,
and know that we-
a lovely landfill of
fridges and radios
and dildos and teddy bears-
are the heirs of
that revolution
based in the past
slowed by the present and
made for the future.




Ranch Poem – “This Way, That Way”


This way, That way

I see the way when I close my eyes.
That red, blue, and green starry sky.
A search for life’s bounty and the headwaters of grace.

I see the way when I think of death.
The billowing, the covering of it.
As it pours from Fate’s flame.

I see the way when we ride.
In and out, near and far, the right lane.
The right path on another fossil fuel journey.

I see the way when your eyes tear up.
The wetness, from all the mess they left us.
And in the involuntary way your face contracts.

I see the way right here playing loud.
The same way generations were defined.
The way vibrations can impact the soul.

I see the way but never expected to see it.
The direction that changed. The change of change.
And now that I know, I always will.

I see the way in a crowded club, the nexus between.
How she swings that backside to side to side.
And how a Suit and a Addict can dance the same dance.

I see the way outside just yesterday.
The constant movement, the rush.
I see it then, next week, tomorrow, and today.

I see it this way.
Some people are so ashamed.
Others are so damn mad.
Some people are sane.
Others just got it bad.
Some people cry and weep.
Others play it safe.
Some people take a leap
Others live as fakes.
Some people play music.
Others shoot craps.
Some people use it or lose it.
Others never remember to wrap.
Some people are here.
Others never were.
Some people fear.
Others got the nerve.
I see it that way.



Ranch Poem – “Back Seat Driver”


Back Seat Driver

I think sometimes. Well, more like
I don’t think, seldomly.
And those times are
few and far between
hiding harmonies
and blabbering busts.
Too late to choose to opt out.
A verdant vehicle for conception
and crashing
out of control somewhere
near my destination, but far
off. Trying to relate to different
folks, to different post-traumatic
every-bodies, to side-steppers,
to give them a reason
for joining in on the hunt
for the wave that’s coming
for the violent fairy tale
for the way cross’ that unbridgeable gap.

You wake up in the morning
expecting to speak to someone,
who knows you?

People can hear these words,
these master accidents.
Thoughts slide away,
while what you say stings ears
and holds like glue.
People can see this long hair,
this eloquent freak flag.
We won’t run away, we will
wait for some collective hallucination
to pull us through.

Confide within confidence
and original optimism.
Watching your tightest thoughts
deflate into flabby regrets.
No anchor in time or
space to move about

Highs and Lows differ
between those
with rags
and those
with crowns.
Real loss is only felt when
the ego is loved less.
Your public outrage
does not translate
to your private belief.
These text novels and
laptop realities alter
the ways we think.
And it’s like walking home
down an alley off of the street,
feeling the stories tower above,
thinking about them toppling down.

I personally would rather
rise to the occasion.
Abandon persuasion.
Keep my mind and
my knees shaking.
Let um lose all respect
as long as
I do what
I know is right.
Take the gavel to
the Judge.
Take the surrealism to
the idealism.
Stupid strength
fades out quick.
Be a smart driver,
destiny can take
a back seat.



Ranch Poem – “Familiarity”



Like a warm place to sleep,
it gives the human condition
a little relief.
The artists and tracks we scroll to
on our ‘Droids and ‘Pods.
Well, its often the ones
we’ve heard a thousand times
that we choose to settle upon.
It’s why Home is so appealing,
a place we don’t need to be
anxious, on red alert, questioning.
Hell, it’s even why so many people
are unable to leave a relationship
without everything blowing up
and going to shit.
We style our hair, dress ourselves,
eat, drink, think and act
in simple ways that we know well.
Often change seems like its enemy,
the anthesis of that which comforts us.
The threat of the newness, the revolution,
the shake up all but terrifies most.
No matter if the normal quo is
blatantly, painfully fucked up.
It is in our nature to settle on what we know
and fear what is unknown.

But some escape that primal urge,
some, like us, crave the uncharted,
the undiscovered, the unseen, the unheard
the freaky, strange and wonderfully weird
people, places, sounds, tastes, smells, feels
and moments like
To see things true,
you’ve got to see life as more
than a bunch of comfy, certain days.



Ranch Essay – “Indifference in Spring”

You could see the Spring coming on, bit by bit each day, until a glorious night of warming wind would bring it abruptly in one morning. You knew that the river was showing its true rippling face, that the ice had pealed off in splotchy layers. More things stirred along the banks now and within the always current. We could count ourselves lucky to have endured another dead season where foliage disappears and you try to ignore the death count from the flu and the black ice. Yes, this dim light is replaced once again by our solar landlord and things become longer. I am sure of positive daily developments when the spring is revived, like there is some guarantee packaged in that says, “all will be well.”

These warm seasons, however, retain a bit of fear alongside them. How quickly they reappear, how fierce the heat burgeons, how the land becomes tender for the sparks. Things are burning and we still renounce the seasons as we cloroflorocarbonate the ailing atmosphere. Its a mindfuck for meteorologists and we just scurry along in our sun dresses and jerseys and sandals chasing good vibes and sunshine events. Sure is hard to maintain any sort of care for the change in climate when you’re in pools, on patios, raging festivals and looking to make your immediate living something that maximizes pleasure.


Ranch Poem – “Fall and Rise”


Fall and Rise

Walking freely on the streets
Seems oddly precious for the first time.
Typing with cold and bare hands
I think of these lives then think of mine.

How fortunate I have been through it all.
But I could use some Spring time, since ill be gone.
The pavement and snow piles sparkle.
But I push the budding trees to hurry.

A crowded world, crowded jails, crowded ideas.
But there is still so much distance between us.
Some prefer to rise while others fall.
I wish there was a place for us all.

Some never stand up.
Others are one and done.
We will fall and rise
until we remain in heaven.

The powerful keep stealing under
The guise of saviors and governors.
But these social networks expand faster than any empire or caucus.
Love and creativity treated as a joke.
What is wealth when a world is broke?

Some never stand up.
Others are one and done.
We will fall and rise
until we remain in heaven.

As the eye blinks the mind travels miles
And yet so many remain stuck still.
They shake down our schools and unions, as they always have.
But the student and worker can no longer pay elitist debts.
Type, write and act more, think less.



Ranch Poem – “The Golden Door of the Future”


“The Golden Door of the Future”

We are in the midst of vast transitions.
All flawed systems being reconditioned.
A New Mankind coming to fruition.
Waking from a slumber of centuries
to crumbling empires, Broadband anarchy,
and Age-ending Mayan astrology.
We wait for the motion of what’s to come.
Unprecedented possibilities become
the hour when a new clarity is sung.
Our calls for people power won’t let up.
Feeling more evolved as it all builds up.
A status quo slowed world turned right side up.

Some have vowed to illuminate mankind,
unafraid to reveal what one might find
when we combine our hearts with one world’s mind.
Poets are priests of the congregation
seeing spirals of radiant information-
-the language of Truth’s enunciation.
Pioneers and revolutionaries
dance between mediums. Visionaries
inventing tomorrow’s sanctuaries
of sentient soul’s inner awakening.
Promoting profound empathy they sing
about art as a way of wondering.
Listening ceaselessly and focusing.
Those of us who refuse to stop thinking.
Music is ammo for the Reckoning.

There’s an inheritance of evolved love,
Prehistoric harmony’s push and shove.
A call on the origin to rise above.
Boundaries between things disappearing.
No longer out of tune, we are hearing
the living cell that is Earth endearing.
You must be a branching point for break through
Sense premonitions from Machu Picchu.
Grab hold of what is arising in you
and work the essentials of energy.
Outer and inner lives in harmony,
we learn to reflect within constantly.

Human sensitivity is rising.
More and more of us are journalizing.
Realizing as we are modernizing
that the future’s thread is transformed in us
and awareness is our new animus.
Reset the balance of your nucleus
‘cus life is not promised, not guaranteed.
We are pure potential tremendously.
Beyond the similes and vis-a-vis.

We fit ourselves into web frames on walls.
Strengthening personas but all in all,
when the community falls the world falls.
Hollow people gain the world but lose soul.
Bankers and senators hide in foxholes,
but for life’s grief there are no loopholes.
Ego has you convinced that you must fight
day and night against someone else’s right.
Our differences must heal, then we’ll unite.
All are intertwined in rocking delight,
Israelites, Buddhist, Christians, Shiites.
Judgment, shame and blame block out the sunlight.
See through the dark veil of nationalness.
Try so hard to overcome littleness.
Breakdown illusions of separateness.
Gotta protect, border and greet each other.
End self-absorption to serve another.
We’re beckoned to be ONE or the other.

We are a solid crew, an infinite troupe.
No longer will we yearn at dusk on stoops
waiting to be duped by special interest groups.
There is a surge of intention to strive,
to say YES to harmony and revive
the mind to stay hungry to change our lives.
The planet’s energies no longer will
support negative forces, dark and ill.
This is the Great Call, to will your own will.
To cultivate great opportunities,
do not be afraid to speak of unity.
Truth is a stance of the community.
The age of degeneration will end.
The advent of a world in which we mend
the broken order, rebuild and transcend.
Join the conscious movement of history.
Ring out the thousand worlds of old unfree
Ring in the thousand years of peace espirit.
A lasting transformation is at stake.
Gotta communicate to syncopate.
The Golden Door of the Future awaits.
Surrender briefly to uncertainty.
Wake up with a dream in your eyes and see,
we create the 21st Century.



Ranch Poem – “Against Shadows”


“Against Shadows”

Today I feel afraid.
Sitting in jail, I rarely feel fear.
There is a powerful dark energy
of confusion and panic
the likes of the comic book world.
Our world is where an anticipating audience,
unsuspecting and alive and good and
lucky to hold tickets to the midnight opening
on a July night to see the new Dark Knight,
packed into a loud and dark theater
can be preyed upon like expendable targets
by a young man of my age.
An aspiring neuro-scientist
slash villain psychopath murderer
who managed an appalling collection
of firearms, ammunition, body armor, smoke grenades.
Who simply surrenders in the parking lot
like he just lost some level in a game
to put down his controller and persona
after some hidden demon loosed mayhem.
It’s shit like this that convinces people
that they need to keep gas masks and 9mm’s
on them wherever they go,
as if they could somehow anticipate chaos.
Anxious to arm themselves against shadows.


Fort Hood Shooting