in my blackest moments - a poem for gary olson (an early poem by Gregory Hall  1946 - 2009)

 when the blackness comes there's nothing to do;

ti jean. jostling in the street

i realize i've met a mountain.

o the blink'll come; there's no doubt.

and when it comes, will… Read full post »

Nature is surrounding me

and the 'me'  that I had believed

and thought myself to be is slowly

(and perhaps mercifully)

being whittled away, like the rocks that turn

into sand from the constant pounding

of the waves. Could it be the 'egoic self',… Read full post »

Am I the only person on O.S. who is struggling with these ads from The Economist (you can't miss it - Big, bold red box eating up the screen acting as an impenetrable fortress to O.S. content)?  Yes, I have tried hitting the little 'x' on the left hand corner to close… Read full post »

DECIBEL ONE

“Blow Your Horn, Boy!”

when the very your of “your”

sets the brainwaves into separating links

of fire and diesel fuel.

Couldn’t remember if I paid off the milkman

who used to deliver bottles of fresh cold milk

early in the morning days lo… Read full post »

                (Bad Moon Rising...)

Has anyone else noticed that time is speeding up? That karma is becoming (as John Lennon prophesized) "Instant"? (Anyone remember Instant Karma? "Instant Karma's Gonna Get You...?" http:/… Read full post »

      I am so excited! I have been hoping against hope since the O.S. Editors began advertising under our collective humble postings that I too, like Metaness and others, would one day find a diagram of the lower intestine (the "Grand" Intestine, I like to… Read full post »

(I am reposting this, as I was truly touched by the comments I received so far on initial post; since then, someone posted multiple times today and so this got lost - Please don't forgot to comment at the end!)

  FIRST INSTALLMENT:

 1) A worm, when I ran over it on my… Read full post »

FIRST INSTALLMENT:

 1) A worm, when I ran over it on my tricycle at the age of 3.

 I was devastated at the time - wept at the scene of the crime, hunched over the pinky-squiggling death throes of the creature. I felt guilty for days, possibly weeks, which brings into… Read full post »

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"Beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing, there is a field.
I'll meet you there..." (Rumi)

With that said, while "10,000 Angels dance on the head of a pin" (this being the glorious diversity that I celebrate here on O.S.), Padraig and others who continue to (in my opinion) appropriately challenge t… Read full post »

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Language is essential lather,

an elaborate, smooth symphony,

gorgeous, cool fluff for fast

easy worship, a delirious  lie.

In his weak, black moment,

a boy is crushed by a mean apparatus,

as mother's milk sprays moon and mist

to please the raw and lazy tongue. Read full post »

A group of us were about to go to a club

to dance and have a good time;

we were all getting ready

in the house of an Asian man.

I was trying to find the right thing to wear.

Chose a coat at the last moment… Read full post »

Suffering comes in all shapes and sizes -

geometric lines sketched in chalk;

rainbow-hewn slicks of color,

muted cries beneath the dark.

The waiter eschewed my sincere musings,

offering instead a menu of thought,

my selection, now one of his choosing,

included tales of Abraham, Elohim,… Read full post »

 Lately I have been spending most of my ‘free’ time 

(for when is time really free?)

resting, sleeping, reading, watching movies, 

lying on the couch or in bed

faint-willed, my heart beating in aberrant 

patterns and rhythms, unmindful of any discipline,

impertinent… Read full post »

In the sterile landscape of hospital green

a woman stands over the bedside of her withered father,

who, strung loosely across the bed like spaghetti

     (and just as substantial),

asserts his view that he is immortal –

“I will live forever!” -

ignoring… Read full post »

Diamond madmen always pound rust,

fast and furious,

spraying delirious juice

through a thousand luscious forests.

beneath the bitter breast of summer;

sordid skin and white gowns

scream for worship in a shadowy garden

as sausage girls bare thei… Read full post »

There is a release in the execution

of a well-thought out plan:

The thrill of military precision,

the black and white squares of a chess board,

the pattern so certain and sure,

like the arrangement of streets in Old Paris;

like the narrow edge of a blade.

Read full post »

Revolutions aren’t easy.

They require an infinite solitude.

They demand perfect resignation,

each bit of resistance sliced

cleanly by the knife of doubt.

Revolutions aren’t easy.

The weak of heart can find comfort

in the numbing ring of the alarm clock;

they can go about thei… Read full post »

because you owned them:

    the carefully sorted boxes of memorabilia

filed and organized into sections

    indicating time; the remains of your mother

preserved in the back of the garage

    refusing burial; the CD collection

the books, dated… Read full post »

The grit of justification

forms a string of defense

against a bitter tongue.

A Samba band beats out

some lost rhythm

as strangers float by

one by one

or in pairs of solitude

blocking out the sun.

The sky drips down moist platitudes;

peeling pink letters fade;… Read full post »

Now O.S. Editor Kerry is soliciting photos of people showing their "Farrah Fawcett hair" and he is going to devote the entire front page to these photos - Huh??? On a related note: Given that, as of today, advertisements  (a "kinder, gentler" way of 'blog whoring', one with financ… Read full post »

frozen systems quivering

on the lower lip of a child,

lost programming that suggests

fragmenting of future applications.

once I watched a hand fall over a screen

with the finality of a funeral,

erasing traces of pornographic dreams

and daily calendar entries,

leaving only the wrinkled… Read full post »