Monthly Archives: March 2016

Illuminating Encounter

Chakras crazy

I bumped into my poetry guru yesterday at happy hour.
He was flirting with my muse (that unfaithful hussy). They reminded me that April will soon be upon us and we must be prepared for National Poetry Writing Month. He gave me a searching look, adjusted his simple homespun robe and after finishing his pint, asked me if I had the appropriate mantra for the event. My muse excused herself for the powder room. I was mystified. That’s exactly how he wants me. I am an empty vessel and he is a full pint of wisdom. He turned on his cushion to face me and suddenly exclaimed:

Hey scribbler— wake up! I asked you if you had the right mantra.
What are you, asleep at the wheel? Dang.

You mean like OM-MANI-PADME-POETRY ?  I offered.

No, no, no—kid’s stuff. You couldn’t levitate Rumi’s corpse with that. Try again, he quipped.

Ummmm . . .  well — maybe, uh NAM-MYO-HO-READ-MY-LIPS ?

He gazed sullenly into his empty glass, signaled the bartender for another, and gave me a penetrating glance.

Where you come up with this garbage, huh? One more shot at it, my little bard.

Hmmmm, I murmured. Then, in a flash of blinding insight, dazzling the retina of my third eye, it came to me:
ULALUME-INVICTUS-NEVERMORE.  Hah !  I had him with the ancient lyrical wisdom. I thought.

The bartender served him. He savored it, then chuckled.

The hell was that—Edgar Allan Henley ? Have you learned nothing from me, Mr. Brilliant?

He closed his eyes for a moment, then manifested a shining lotus blossom under the empty bar-stool next to him and told me:

Look in there, kid. Careful with the petals . . .

Inside the center of the ghostly lotus was a mantra inscribed in fiery letters on a skull sculpted out of deep green jade:

NA–PO–WRI–MO

His clear eyes sparkled as he muttered:
chant that and be happy, scribbler. And watch out or I steal your muse.
Now get outta here and start writing.

NaPo2016 roof

 

 

Rabbits in Dhimmi-land

 

 

Rise from your grave. It’s Easter Sunday
two-thousand sixteen years A.D.
Save the West with hashtag child’s play
Post on FaceBook, fancy-free.

Easter pinks and chick-yellow highlights
Nestléd eggs and pastel notes
fail to charm our friends the Ishmaelites
poised to slit our kuffar throats.

Love your rabbit; keep on shopping.
Watch the game and charge your phone.
Allah’s bunnies won’t stop hopping
Till they make your land their own.

How Many Lightbulbs Does it Take

… to screw in a Dhimmi ?

Think about it. Belgium did nothing that should have been seen as provoking the ire of Islam. They aren’t flying jets over the Middle East and Africa.  In fact all they have done for the last two decades is to warmly WELCOME migrants to live among them, and bend over backwards to meet Muslim demands for accommodation of Islam (Shariah).

And, what do they get for the naivete — 

they get murdered in the name of Allah.

read full post: Refugee Resettlement Watch

 

Psalm 22

passionColor
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?

O my God, I cry in the day time, but thou hearest not;
and in the night season, and am not silent.

But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.

Our fathers trusted in thee: they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.

They cried unto thee, and were delivered:
they trusted in thee, and were not confounded.

But I am a worm, and no man;
a reproach of men, and despised of the people.

All they that see me laugh me to scorn:
they shoot out the lip, they shake the head, saying,

He trusted on the Lord that he would deliver him:
let him deliver him, seeing he delighted in him.

But thou art he that took me out of the womb:
thou didst make me hope when I was upon my mother’s breasts.

I was cast upon thee from the womb:
thou art my God from my mother’s belly.

Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help.

Many bulls have compassed me: strong bulls of Bashan have beset me round.

They gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion.

I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint:
my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.

My strength is dried up like a potsherd;
and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.

For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me:
they pierced my hands and my feet.

I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me.

They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture.

But be not thou far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste thee to help me.

Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.

Save me from the lion’s mouth:
for thou hast heard me from the horns of the unicorns.

I will declare thy name unto my brethren:
in the midst of the congregation will I praise thee.

Ye that fear the Lord, praise him;
all ye the seed of Jacob, glorify him; and fear him, all ye the seed of Israel.

For he hath not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted;
neither hath he hid his face from him; but when he cried unto him, he heard.

My praise shall be of thee in the great congregation:
I will pay my vows before them that fear him.

The meek shall eat and be satisfied:
they shall praise the Lord that seek him: your heart shall live for ever.

All the ends of the world shall remember and turn unto the Lord:
and all the kindreds of the nations shall worship before thee.

For the kingdom is the Lord’s: and he is the governor among the nations.

All they that be fat upon earth shall eat and worship:
all they that go down to the dust shall bow before him:
and none can keep alive his own soul.

A seed shall serve him; it shall be accounted to the Lord for a generation.

They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born,
that he hath done this.

Psalm 22 [King James Version]