Swimming Upstream

Struggling against 

the current of society’s 

seeming indifference 

Flashing neon signs 

point downstream, 

trying to obscure the 

pain and suffering 

of the well-traveled path 

Trying to harden 

our minds and our hearts, 

so we ignore the plight of others 

and concern ourselves with 

only our own comfort 

Trying to convince us 

the stream only goes one way 

and it is useless to fight 

But the path upstream 

is filled with love 

and that is the 

destination we seek 

30 Oct 2019

written as a collaboration with Zach's song "Volunteer"

A Hint of Humanity Was Asked, But You Denied Even That

Your mouth 

can muster the names

Muhammad Ali

and Bob Dylan

and not insist upon

Cassius Clay and 

Robert Zimmerman

You can oblige 

the change from 

Prince Rogers Nelson

to a singular moniker 

or even, for a time,
(insert image here)

Reginald Dwight

mourning the loss

of Norma Jean Mortenson

is not the way you 

would have described

“Candle in the Wind”

You don’t insist

that the butler in 

The Dark Knight

was played by

Maurice Micklewhite

You can call Robert Diggs 

by the name RZA

and Alecia Moore

by the name of a color

So why do you balk

when asked by a 

transgender individual

to accept their chosen name?

As if someone else

needed to ask 

your permission

in order to define

their own existence

2 Feb 2020

Watch it performed

Between Mountains and Skies

(For Zach and Gretchen)

Sitting between two 

majestic mountains, 

their sounds perfectly 

mixing in my ear, 

echoing, inspiring me 

I add my voice to 

their beauty 

and, though it lacks 

the melody whistling 

through the leaves, 

my voice has never 

sounded better 

than when it drifted among 

the mountains and meadows 

beneath the broader skies 

9 Dec 2019

Making God in Our Image

The Bible claims God created mankind in his image. Regardless of your belief, what seems extremely evident is that we have created him in ours. We have molded him into who we see in ourselves and who we want him to be. Through depictions of God as an old white man to depictions of his son as the only Middle Eastern white man of his day. I have heard people viewing a depiction of a God of color laugh or condescendingly remark “of course they would want to think of him as they are,” without a hint of recognition of history, geography, or self-awareness.

We want God to bless our country, as though somehow we rank at the top of God’s top ten list of favorite countries. We want God to help us pass a math test, or guide a favorite sports team to victory. We celebrate someone surviving a dangerous accident, claiming the hands of God reached out to save them, while neglecting to examine the reality that were this true, God evidently deemed many others unworthy of his saving grace. We even want God to support our hatred and we’ve convinced ourselves that he actually does.

I am not Christian, nor any other faith, but I grew up Christian and I can speak to my own understandingand interpretation of Christianity. Jesus was all about love--loving our neighbor, loving our enemy. Love, even when it was hard. Even when it was uncomfortable. Love. Jesus was a rebel who stood up against corruption, who spoke up for those whom society looked down upon. Who cared about the less fortunate, the poor, the sick, the needy, the stranger. His love had no geographical or societal bounds. No exclusion for skin color. No minimum salary. 

Fear, hatred, and xenophobia were not the marks of the Jesus I learned about. But those things rear their ugly heads all too often, under the proclaimed safety net of Christian beliefs. Over and over, too many Christians neglect or mock or attack the immigrant, the Muslim, the person of color, the homosexual, the transsexual, even doing so while specifically citing their religious belief as a basis for their verbal, or even physical, attacks. 

They have molded their faith to fit their hatred. 

The reason so many Christians speak out against homosexuality is not Biblical and it is not complicated. It is because they don’t like homosexuality. Many use religion as a justification for their hatred and disgust. If these words and actions were because they believed every word of the Bible, and every infraction they saw in the Bible, equally without bias, without contemplation, then there would be lots of “Jesus hates people who eat shellfish” protests outside Red Lobster. Christians would be protesting Kohl’s for their inclusion of clothing from more than one fabric. They would demand women were silent in church, and certainly not allowed to become pastors. But these, rightly so, are not their demands. Their "righteous wrath" does not land here.

People who covet their neighbor’s wife, tell lies, steal, are greedy, or work on the Sabbath aren’t equally ostracized from the church, even though those all made the big ten. In fact, Christians – to an alarmingly large degree – support a president who has broken and continues to break all five of those commandments, in addition to shredding all boundaries of human kindness, compassion, and decency.

No, the focus on homosexuality is not because of a perceived Biblical basis, it is precisely because these people don’t like homosexuality. It creeps them out. It disgusts them. It seems weird and wrong to them so they justify their disgust, their hate, their attacks on personal freedom and rights. The protests against homosexuality are not from a place of love, but from a much darker place. 

I’m not here to tell anyone what to believe. If someone builds their faith around love, if love for their neighbor doesn’t end with just the neighbors who look like them, pray like them, and love like them, then we will likely get along just fine. If, however, they have molded their religion to justify hating others, taking away someone’s rights or freedoms, or separating them from their parents as they seek asylum, then that isn’t their religion talking. It is just bigotry behind a mask.

23 Jan 2020

It Wasn't Me

Someone else 

It wasn’t me 

It’s not my responsibility 

The animal is already dead 

I didn’t put the price on its head 

They killed it before 

I sat down for lunch 

So what’s the harm 

in continuing to munch? 

My hand wasn’t on the trigger 

I didn’t slice into their liver 

I couldn’t watch 

I couldn’t do 

I only pay for someone else to 

29 Nov 2019

A Spoonful of Dogfighting Helps the Racism Go Round

We can’t just talk about racism when we have impeccable examples of character. You didn’t need the exemplary reputation of Jackie Robinson to deserve to play baseball. You didn’t need the innocence of a six-year-old to deserve to walk into a goddamn school. We can’t only talk about racism when you have glaring victims like the Central Park Five. You are allowed to sell cigarettes without a license and not expect to be killed. You can even cause harm, horrible harm, and it is still not the right time to be silent. Regardless of the crime, racism is not a just punishment. 

We can’t concern ourselves with racism only when the victims are clearly innocent. We need to look at racism towards the guilty as well. We need to examine cases where laws are broken and ethical boundaries are crossed. We need to look at who gets beaten for a traffic violation and who gets to grab a burger after a mass killing. We need to consider who sits in cages at our borders as our government steals their children. We need to look at the inequality in how laws are made and how they are enforced. And then, yes, we need to look at ourselves. At how we react. At what we say. At what we think. 

Because of how vile Michael Vick’s actions were, and how universally we abhor violence towards the particular animals in question, it offers us a chance to examine how hatred can intensify and magnify. How, as a nation, our unwillingness to forgive black men is a problem. It gives us a chance to examine both a court system and a system of public opinion that is unjust in how it hands out punishments, and whether even after those punishments are served, we ever allow a chance for redemption. 

I shared the Medium.com article, “It’s Time We Talk About America’s Inability to Forgive Black Men,” and the overwhelming commenter response was, “No, it isn’t!” 

Never the Right Time to be Silent

We were protesting violence 

when violence met us 

Gun in hand, firing 

We were standing up 

for people losing their lives 

when our lives were lost 

We were demanding 

our voices be heard 

when they were 

forever silenced 

We would not accept 

being treated 

as less than human 

when they made us 

less than alive 

We fell at Kent State, 

at Jallianwala Bagh 

Our blood spilled 

onto the streets 

of Orangeburg, 

South Carolina, 

Soweto, 

Tiananmen Square 

We are the casualties 

of nonconformity 

The system wanted 

us to remain dutifully 

quiet and complacent 

But it was never 

the right time 

to be silent 

10 Dec 2019

Watch the performance, featuring Zach on guitar

Never Perfect, Never Enough

Our voices can be

painfully loud

even without 

breaking the 

perfect stillness 

of our lips

Our disdain has words,

but it has silence too

Our tongues fly

sharply, bitterly;

daggers into the ears

of our victims

But the silence 

of a turned back

has broken the 

eager soul of 

more than we 

could ever count 

Sticks and stones

have broken bones,

but words and silence 

are why they’re thrown 

For how many 

are we willing 

to send the message:

You’re not like me,

you don’t fit in,

you’re not enough

Skins of the wrong shade,

love of the wrong kind,

prayers to the wrong God

Geographical boundaries 

that were crossed

somehow lessened 

their worth in our 

exclusionary eyes

Their disabilities 

give us discomfort

Their obesity 

fails to balance 

within the

acceptable range

of our delicate scales

They are never perfect,

never enough

We avert our gaze

Even if our lips are sealed,

our voice is clear:

they should hide 

In a closet, 

in a kitchen,

in the country 

in which we think 

they should reside

So we don’t 

shatter the illusion

that we are perfect

in our own eyes

28 Jan 2020

Trickle-Down Compassion

I’m glad 

you finally

want to change

your long-standing

dietary habits

the unexpected

doctor’s visit

brought fear

to your eyes

fear

that has trickled

all the way down

to your plate

the cholesterol,

the chest pains,

the fragility of life

Your life

felt important

to you,

but theirs 

never did 

2 Jan 2020

Your Leather Had a Previous Owner (An Angry Cow Haiku)

“No skin off my back”

Well, now that you mention it

Looks good on you though...

6 Aug 2019

Uncle George and Guy

Falling from the back

of a truck barreling 

down the interstate 

was a strange salvation

The hooks of the 

slaughterhouse would 

never pierce his flesh

Instead of the 

bloodied knife,

he was met, 

for the first time,

with loving hands

In a place called  

sanctuary, George

found his home

His worth no longer tethered

to the whims of a palate

or the profit from his death

One week later,

another pig fell

Different truck,

different destination

first to mass confinement

for quick fattening,

slaughter would come 

soon enough

But Guy, beating 

insurmountable odds,

found himself safe

in the same sanctuary

This scared, tiny piglet

would not eat or drink

until one night he slipped

into George’s room

and these two souls,

similar stories,

contrasting sizes,

have ever since

been inseparable 

Guy and Uncle George

Iowa Farm Sanctuary

And if that is not enough cuteness for you, here is a

Beautiful video: Uncle George and Guy, Iowa Farm Sanctuary

25 Jan 2020

When Money Talks, Not Everyone Gets to Listen

“The economy is great,”

Stock Market boasted

“Booming,”

agreed War Machine

“Time for another yacht,”

One Percent gloated

“I’m not seeing shit,”

hollered Minimum Wage

“It’s fucking cold,”

cried Homelessness

“I’m hungry,”

uttered Food Stamps

“They can’t afford me,”

Medication exclaimed

“I’m dying,”

gasped Environment

“Like we said, booming,”

Big Money reiterated 

Budget Deficit,

however, missed 

the entire conversation,

unable to hear 

beneath the trillion

dollars piled upon her

1 Feb 2020

Watch the poem performed with Blak Reign

The Obituary of Checks and Balances

Checks and Balances, age 232, departed this life and went to be with its makers on January 31, 2020. After suffering from poor health for years, Checks and Balances was found dead on the senate floor. Photographs show a knife in its back, which many witnesses were willing to corroborate but their testimony was declined as they were told the knife did not exist. Preceded in death by its beloved spouse, the late Integrity, and their children, Facts and Evidence, Checks and Balances is survived by four remaining children, Greed, Corruption, Indifference, and Party Over Country. In lieu of flowers, the bereaved ask that you send votes. Services will be held November 3^rd for those who wish to pay their respects to the dearly departed. 

31 Jan 2020

I’ll Take "White Fragility" for 600, Alex

White people, while adamantly proclaiming their lack of personal racism, completely lose their shit when they think someone might have just called them a racist.

And, I know, your brain has already flagged my first line, vehemently protesting that I didn’t make the statement conditional.

“Not all white people,” you shout.

As we always do, anytime we are challenged. 

The deflection allows us to kick back in our comfort, convinced we are never personally the problem. It is always someone else. 

Racism isn’t lying in wait, hoping someone comes along to flip the “I am racist” switch so it can pounce freely back from the 1960s, the time a lot of white Americans blindly think it somehow died. We killed King, but we eventually gave you a day off work, so racism must be a relic banished to the brief mentions in history books.

We are immune, we say. Although we live in a country that only reluctantly, through years of bloodshed, decided owning other humans should be frowned upon. A country that even then, when forced to abandon slavery, only shifted our racism. To segregation, lynching, voter suppression, gerrymandering, racial profiling, prisons. 

How can we grow in this country, as white people, and think our work is done? That we somehow avoid racism with our good intentions, like a backpack full of kryptonite that keeps it from coming within arm’s reach. That we should never be questioned. That we can never improve. There is no racist bone in our bodies, we contend, in a country built on the murdered bones of those whose bodies held a different hue.

Of course, we claim, history and culture hold no influence over us. No subtleties have worked their way unknowingly into the way we interact with the world. 

If we truly want to be anti-racist, it takes more than good intentions. It takes effort and examination, and that is often uncomfortable. And if we are called out on something we say, our first response cannot be spewing hateful words to show them how wrong they are that we aren’t a perfect person.

Our first response has to be to seek to understand how our actions or words could have appeared problematic, despite our intentions.

If we have built protective walls blocking any chance for self-examination, then we will end up as woke as Garfield

…after three pans of lasagna.

30 Jan 2020

Until His Sharpie Runs Dry

Lies raged unabated

Facts drowned with the tide

As they try to keep him in power

Until his sharpie runs dry

25 Jan 2020

When We Have to Rescue from Those We Love

(For Ace)

I hear praise for my work

offering sanctuary for the few

who, through serendipitous luck,

survive the deadly demands 

of your taste buds

But this praise rings hollow

when we sit down to eat

Your knife cuts their flesh,

I feel the knife in me

Who do you think we 

are rescuing them from?

25 Jan 2020

Watch it performed

written for Ace Wilde, and from his point of view, based on his own beautifully heartfelt words: