I am a jail man
An independent, full of freedom, crashed
There is no life. The natural. Just blackmail
Snow White's packed science destroys life
Snow white psychology’s ash, gives dark
Kills sun, Kills God. Hope dead, no faith. Die
Where is life? It’s exiled. Rulers, devil minds
Oh, humanity! Why do you block your life?
Why are you putting limits on my life? Why?!
I don’t accept any of these degenerations
No, never, all of them artificial dead science
Programming souls? Psychologist cheetahs!
Spiritual Tarzans! Earth, planet of the apes!
Hmm, psychology, deleted ancient wisdom
Hmm, today is a sin to read the father’s words
Psychological steel cage, my life is unnatural
I met with Adam. He asked, did you see Eve?
No, you can’t find her! Even Satan trembles
There is no longer a living natural soul here
This is a jail, a mentally limited, regulated world
Psychology, psychology! Innovation of death
Mental prison, unconsciousness, laughing death
People feel for independence
Switched off minds
My contemplation recognizes
My jail in this life
Monkeys, apes, gorillas---all so close to human
They can sleep in any bed a hotel has extra room in
Wearing glasses, reading matter in hand
~ Primate scholars, intellectual Tarzans
Monkeys are subjected to personification
When from the jungle they are on vacation
We talk of 'monkey business' and 'monkey shines'
~ While a 'barrel of mankeys' is a fine, funny line
Monkey see, Monkey do
If you're a monkey, happy birthday to you!
Feel the need to monkey around?
~ Your spouse'll make a monkey (out) of you
To throw a monkey wrench into this poem
~ Just go ape over it. That'll show 'em
Sunday afternoons,
or Saturday afternoons,
look and feel richer,
dense relational liturgy of mundane ritual,
often more sabbath quiet.
Quiet neighborhood school playground
celebrates more solitary visits
seeking silent sensory selftalk,
muse swings back and forth,
happy slides up elational,
processional,
then downright ecstatic.
Sunday's GratitudeGoRound
of a warm winter's sun
pretexting Spring's redemptive dance,
prancing across wet jungle gyms
of mythic pirate romance,
swinging Tarzans and Janes
flying rope to rope
bar to bar
beating outdoor kettle drums
of Sunday's sacred playground joy.
This light we bring to sabbath
Sunday's sun absorbs
full resolved through echoing play,
a child again
in love's sequestered Solar System womb
giving happy birth to weeks
becoming strong,
EarthBound PlayGround
ecstatically beloved
Queen Shabbat's weekly baptism
in love child's regenerativity.
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