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Dear Richard,

Someone told me God made yellow flowers first
and that every human has an urge
to keep a record of a life.
Obama's had a couple, I guess.
After all, he's just a man,
no more a god than you or I.
He can't walk on water, change
it into wine, or raise the dead.
Lotus don't spring from his anus.
Richard, I know alot is not
a word, and allot is no place to buy cars,
but who is this Raymond Bianchi?
Maybe he never read Ecclesiastes.
Please tell him the world hasn't changed.
Cigarette is still a French word.
Tell him I looked up "fascileness"
(Try it sometime) and if he needs me
I'll be stalking the Liberal Poets' circle
with my head stuck so far in my navel
all they'll see is ass. Harvest moon.
Tell him I accept his gifts of Gizzi
and Gudding (rhymes with pudding),
but I don't like Chicago. Oprah talks too much.

I felt that one coming

You Are Boggle

You are an incredibly creative and resourceful person. You're able to dig deep and think outside the box to get things done. You are a non linear thinker. You don't like following directions You draw your inspiration from the strangest places sometimes. You're constantly inspired.

What Board Game Are You?

On With The Show

I could write a thousand poems,
waste a lot of time focused on the show,
never utter things kept secret.
See the tree?
Ordinary meanings are vague and squishy
like boiled cabbage.
Mustard seeds, dark sparrows,
madmen rolling naked in ashes--
their shadows curse me.
Resist not evil, even the gates of Hell.
Shooting stars, dying suns,
words don't belong to anyone.
Whirling leaves, strings of beads,
foolish fantasies and savage dreams--
patterns that repeat in time
spawn sestinas and pantoums.
Have you seen the elephant?
You wake up in the morning,
the self you made,
and you are still you,
watching and reacting to nothing real.

Zazen

The polls are closed.
The vote is in:
I'm sick of politics,
it takes a village statists,
home-grown socialists,
big government, agendas.
I've got a plan.
I'd like to share the wealth--
shove the Buddha up
a Democrat's ass.
Don't get me wrong.
The elephant is past its prime
and staggers under the weight
of self-righteousness.
Neither animal can read
the Constitution that lines
the floor of its pen
where We the People
lies covered in excrement.
The polls are closed.
The vote is in.
Devotees dance and cheer,
shed tears--red, white and blue,
and chant the victor's name.
I'd like to join the party,
drop my pants
and moon Lady Liberty,
but first Shikantaza.

S.P.E.L.L.I.N.G. B.E.E.

Yesterday I found this spelling bee via Fritinancy.

The highest I got was 530 with a streak of nine. I think that was the first nine words. I tell ya, when they start tossing out those 50-cent words, my brain goes numb. What can I say. My ignorance is enormous. I think I'll go play some more. I mean it's not like I'm busy writing poetry or anything.