Category Archives: Society

Things More Grand Than Money

When they think they can just say sorry and make up for centuries of red hands then someone has to take a stand so sorry man,, sorry for the ones who are not here today to have their say, it is we who remain who must be the voice for their pain and triumph, fuck Trump and Mein Kampf, and all the years of human oppression, fuck the recession and the epidemic levels of depression leading to no other way out. When you tie your tie and button your collar higher, don’t forget there’s still a raging fire, a towering inferno too high to survive the jump from. You take pride in your flags because it shows another conquered nation defeated, but don’t get too conceited and forget the air on which your own blood relies, it comes from the trees and skies, H20 is more royal than any CEO or sovereignty and don’t forget spirituality and having the responsibility that comes with all that power, or the right to silence when those who are met with violence have no choice but to raise their voices in protest, and hail the civil disobedience, and civil unrest of the slaves of your great nation of corporations, but don’t doubt we won’t take a stand as a people against your plan, because there are things more grand than money on this land worth dying for.

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Filed under Earth, Enslaved, Environment, Freedom, Human Rights, Idle No More, Indigenous, Modern Slavery, Poem, poetry, Society, travel, writing


​Brave we are:

when the father is a ghost

when the head of a beloved doll rolls 

across the wooden floor 

of a vacant house

when the mother cuts her finger 

across her swollen lip,

when teeth fall

before their time is up.

Brave are the children

of the aging woman

whose reality forehadows the


When the child, so worshipped

falls sick, 

when there is a blackness 

darker than when they

put out the forest fires

in his head.

When bringing your child to the doctor

for mental malaise is as healing

as bringing him to the undertaker

on the street corner,

of an overpopulated city,

which gets glorified by how high

its towers rise,

and how far its people fall.

When I told my hero

of her braveness

she cried

and said she was nothing.

She was nothing,

dressed in denim on a hot

summer day,

to stop the U.V rays,

from making thymine dimers 

in her RNA.

Sodium channels

flood her face, submerging 

the pain in her smile.

A fist full of forgiveness

for the man who did this,

her hero of nothing,

paternal wolf, 

whose eyes eat the children,

whose lust burns the forests

into clay, which the rain,

makes maleable again-

shaping out this brave image

where we fit into nothing.

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Filed under Abuse, Addiction, Death, Depression, Disenchantment, Displacement, dreams, Loss, Medical, Overdose, Pain, Poem, poetry, Sex, Silence, Sobriety, Society, Sorrow, Soul, Suicide, Tragedy, Trauma, travel, writing

Razzle Dazzle

When I graduated as an owl,
they said I’d become too wise for my cage,
so they opened the door and I flew free,
but the world was an aviary.
They fooled this old wise one!

Nowhere is free of bars,
free of the warden,
time to check in,
click, cluck, click, cluck,
tick tock, tick tock.

They can’t simulate the seasons,
or give me reasons to fly.
It’s in my DNA to stray.
I know yes yes when the sun sets sets.
It’s time now to hunt and hunger,
clutching at the moon, slipping under,
If I’d not found my way into paradise,
I’d be another fool on the corner
with a spike in his wing, see, see!

Clutching, slipping, laughing.
Rusted decay bleeds through steel.
None of it is real. Who said it was real?

Fuck your silly falconry, you can’t just hold out your arm and expect me to come.
Where I go, when I arrive, depart, fly!
That’s eager eagle spirit trickery.
I am not a fool, see I’m not the raven.
Don’t you even know what I am?
I’ve landed in the wrong place again.

Let me be. Let me sleep.
This world was not meant for
those who are awake.
Creak, shut, slam.
It’s all a fucking sham!
No glam in enforced freedom.
Razzle dazzle me baby,
razzle dazzle me.

Written about the enforcement of scheduled living , work, enslavement to a clock and thoughts about my uncle who spent his entire life incarcerated. He told me “if I’d not escaped , “I’d be dead with a spike in my arm, meaning a syringe. That’s how my father died. A heroin overdose. It was always my uncle and my father against the world, they had only eachother. Snatched away as children from their parents and put into foster care, they were for their lives, eachother’s only living links to their own history. They fell by the wayside and then my uncle, by the grace of a loving spirit, broke free. He is now three years sober and celebrating his longest stint of freedom from jail and living in a world of recovery. He is studying social work and he works for the government and a major corporation for rehabilitating those who were imprisoned and in the prison of addiction. He is a shining example of how miracles happen. I am also reminded of a wise elder who said “protect your spirit, you are in a place that eats spirits.” This is a reflection of corporate life, where adherence to the routine (rules & regulations ) is valued over individuality, as a result many lose their sense of self and become automatons, cut off from the spirit. But as my uncle says the messages are all around us, who we are is written in the trees, flowers, animals, etc. They can’t take that away, they can’t tame the wild in us.


Filed under Bird, Bondage, Disenchantment, Enslaved, Freedom, Identity, Job, Modern Slavery, Poem, poetry, Raven, Repressed, Society, Time, writing