At the Momentum

It wasn’t so easy,

Being too soft.

She was the kind of song a

Warrior warbled, boastful,

Certain about what’s

Being left behind.

She might not have been

Successful enough to qualify

For any accolades, but, still,

She was gold.

Big, bigger, biggest yet:

The battle of buckling down.

Technology was talking

And told, through her, fanciful untruths.

This new irreverent sense

Of everyday life

Still showed all –

It was more acclaimed

And began to explain

The “Here We Go Again”

Nightmare on Busy Street.

Between babies bouncing to the beat

And the jump-off of daily routines

In effort

To evade the most important

Freewheeling terror ever,

The Everest

Of becoming your own father or mother,

That bacon and bread being brought home

With words alone,

Flipping rhythms

Of our internal, eternal selves,

Striking chords

And exploding in a million

Slings and arrows.

He’s special,

A King

In the limelight,


Dismantling fakes and labels,

Shrugging it all off

But the ancestral chip

Of his namesake

Tattooed from shoulder blade to shoulder blade,

Nape of his neck

Heavy with sweet sweat

From carrying a world of violent streets

On his broad brown back.

Real want,

Real mad,

Real fun.

Intensely critical crown –

Open stream –

Founder and protector –

His idealism is not to be dismissed.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.


"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." - anonymous




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