Again? Yes, Again.

Ok I am ready for you.

Jesus wrote, I go to prepare a place for you. Which seems really nice of him.

I don't know why that comes to mind but for the fact that I have been working on my new blog for the year 2010 and it is finally done.

I hope you like it.

Feel free to subscribe or just follow from time to time.

This year I want to bring more outside art to the attention of my reader, so I will include a variety of various and varying virtues, vanities, and inventions. I hope you enjoy.

And thank you so much for following me this year.

It was kind of a weird year, one which began with me leaving and ends with me returning.

It was a good year. Thanks

Toby

http://theamericanartist.blogspot.com/

The Last Poem

The Last Poem

On this day, the last day of the year

Joseph and his brothers celebrated together

He did not know his brothers would soon sell him into slavery

His brother too celebrated not thinking of the crime they would commit

they celebrated together in their father’s house for the last time

A year later the day was marked again in Joseph’s heart

and he looked out over Egypt

believing he would never see his father again

Imagine this miracle

On this day, the last day of the year

Husayn ibn Ali still lived

he ate bread with his wife and children

and with his extended family on this day

he pondered his grandfather coming at last to Medina years before

he pondered that miracle and was at peace

Ponder this also

On this day, the last day of the year

Nian Shou the beast which lived beneath the sea and the mountains

came out to devour the children of a village

and a child wearing red stepped on his toe

Nian Shou has hid every year after

An unexpected blessing

On this day, the last day of the year

Simeon celebrated the Rosh Hashanah

faithfully waiting on the promise of God

that he would not die until having seen the messiah

his whole life became a silent recantation of a prayer

and he celebrated this day not knowing

that this year was the last year of his waiting

Consider this promise

As we bring these verses to completion

we might wonder how many are left for us to write

we might wonder

but think on how unexpected the verses will be

each a blessing and miracle in itself

only he who has forgotten to take stock is without joy

let only he who has forgotten to celebrate be unfulfilled

We are all returning

says the Qu’ran

We are all returning

our arms full of blessing

We are all returning

having seen miracles

and promises fulfilled

Everyone But You

Everyone But You

I grow indifferent, I cross my arms

show me one more coffin

one more won’t make a difference

one more draped flag won’t change a thing

show me one more naked “eighteen” year old

you know the pose

your thinking of it now

she got paid what does she care

enjoy her

her eyes show wanting

she wants you to

she wants you

one more joint wont make or break the drug trade

one more hit won’t hurt

Mexico is a long way from here

it is they who are corrupt, not we

experts talk to you about the facts they found

percentage of people who agree

arguments for sanity by majority are sane

ravings inscribed into stone become proverbs

no matter how insipid or insane

what will it change

nothing either way

the cooperations buy our attention

billboards block vistas

give them what they want

package lies attractively

whatever will sell

justify their actions with scripture

Go ahead co-opt Orwell for your commercial

A CGI reincarnate Lumumba selling Diamonds for DeBeers

it is only a matter of time

even this poem is limited by those who read poetry

a certain soul

who prefers Russian lit to revolution

who can read about injustice and redemption

and not see it pass them on the street

keep writing you own stuff and keep reading mine

one day you will find a publisher

one day your audience will come to you

one day you will be rich and famous

you and I both

but maybe

there’s hope

maybe

this poem finds itself in the hands

of a crazy person, a miraculous patsy

this crazy person often thinks stuff is about them when it isn’t

like the FBI is following them or God sent them or that the weather girl is talking directly to them

you know directing them

telling them to do things

well this poem is

this poem is telling you kill one of the following people

Glen Beck, Paris or Perez Hilton, Joe Francis and/or Dick Cheney

kill them because they are dead already

and they are just are a cancer

because if you do. . .

ahh, forget it

weeds are weeds

kill one and five more will take it’s place

in a democracy the soil always the problem

you can go back to being crazy

I heard some disturbing things about government satellites and mind control

and don’t forget

Jesus is coming back

and he is hella-mad at everyone but you

Trappings

Trappings

these subtle belongings

revealed by imaginings

driven by the inner eye

tearless but not dry of tears

half in solitude but half haunted

softly sad

muted or stuttered

or bit off in grief

or trailing off into silence

or unnoticed

a voice over the radio

speaks of tragedy

a street musician song hits the walls of buildings

a dog shivering

in the cold

outside the grocer

a hollow

vacant window

a sound

hidden within

the darkness

the night

Don't Spare The Rod

Don't Spare The Rod

Faith:

it’s laborious rehearsals and revisions

an elemental component

We prepare for the day of preparation

Language and Translation/Expression and what is Understood by the Expression:

half of faith is faithlessness

the other is a trust accommodating indecision

and the shuffling of one’s feet

But not to shuffle forever, I mean you can, but wouldn’t call it dancing, would you?

Philosophy:

Thinkers claim they can run and stand still simultaneously

but they are liars

try and teach them but if they will not learn

make fun of them until they feel self-conscious

Theology:

Believers will say faith means feeling nice when the opposite is required

They take off their socks and put them away

and forget there was a hole in the toe

The uncomfortable but oft omitted admission: faith feels worse than the feeling one would seek to avoid by the application of faith

Religion:

The True Believers will say you don’t have faith because

you don’t spell your name the same way everyday

they are fools

avoid them

but argue heatedly with them

at every chance you get

The Act of Proselytizing:

When a preacher speaks of virtue

walk up to the podium and step on his toe really hard

If he apologize

then tell him his sins are forgiven

invite him out for a drink

and make sure he takes at least a sip of his beer

But if he keeps talking about virtue

then kick him swiftly

and don’t think twice

Do not assume that a good kick

is less essential than illumination

Or that a quick left jab

can’t bring repentance

In Jesus' name

Amen

Up the Coast

Up the Coast

we came up the coast road

competing with the Pacific’s

white waves

you were learning to drive a stick

and I was learning to teach you

to drive a stick

in the two front seats, we sat beside each other

like two books written by two different authors

but on the same subject

here and there we reference each other

fold footnotes into each other

like sand and blue sea water

you stalled out in the intersection of some costal town

and couldn’t stop laughing

some guy took the time to tell me

my muffler was unattached

and I told him we were taking it one step at a time

and you laughed harder

perhaps we are the same book

but different translations

and we simply need to hear each other out

to discover we mean the same thing

Easy off the clutch, easy off.

No see, you popped it again.

I thought that we might be a book of poems

but I don’t know

clearly we are histories

but I don’t know

sometimes I fear we are fiction

or horror

when you pulled from the intersection

the crowd of people smiled

I saw a man applaud

and you looked at me relieved but happy

and laughing

and the windows were down

so I think every one heard me tell you

that I loved you

The Priest and the Farmer

The Priest and The Farmer

On Monday morning

before the sun rose

the priest walked to the edge of town

to inquire about a farmer’s absence from church that Sunday

the farmer ducked his head

but it became apparent from the priest direction his intention

the farmer waited for the priest to greet him

but instead of returning the greeting

the farmer spoke these words

I know much of farming, it is my life much as God’s work is yours

I know from farming that the numinous pulse

that drives the seed to the surface is not a fear of the dark earth nor is it the want of water

but the love of light

the hope that it might grow

to be rich

or heroic like David or Samson

or old with someone by it’s side

or closer to the heaven of God or the God of heaven

The seed may not die out of it’s thirst for survival

striving against the terror of suffocation

but it will not bear fruit without expecting a state of fruition

without desiring it’s fulfillment

without trusting fruit will come in it’s own season

in its own time

And then he added

When I was a child

I could not imagine growing old

as a young man I began to understand my aging

and as I became a man I began to understand that I would die

perhaps as I am dying I will conceive of a heaven

but i, like you, have much work till then

The priest was taken back by farmers direct words

and he thought he moment before turning back around and returning to his parish

as he left the sun began to rise