Oh, Rumi …

I used to write with you in mind,
mine worn and youthful, then.
Spinning a yarn, long winded nights
drum in hand, new to the craft.
Oh, Rumi, who really gives a fuck?
You, in your time? I am asking!
I could just as easily disappear into
death, like your circling followers!
Shams? Shit man, he called your bullshit!
Like Gabriel appeared to the man …
who thought he had written everything
that needed to be said about God.
Gabriel appeared as a bird, sipping
drops of water from a river.
The man – then threw his books into
the river, and people saved his words –
from drowning.

At The Labor Temple

23 June at 09:41 ·

Silver Spring, MD ·


… At the labor temple –


The mockingbirds are at war.

One dives from the 30-minute

parking sign, one perched on a

high security camera. They are

fighting over a small pin oak planted

by union hands and hearts.


Who represents the voices of the night?

The little voices who sing their hearts out

until they find a partner. Their class, the

songbirds – the whippoorwills, the loons

all the poets and song crafters who lift

inspiration from the air.


Lofty attempts to re-create what

nature provides, like that pin oak –

all mulched up and majestic.

Who represents the carpenter bees?

They are being trapped in mason jars,

to keep them from boring into the

fancy benches placed around the

workers memorial!


Who represents the crow?

Labeled ominous, being chased

by two smaller birds. They dart across

this neatly sodded land, held away from

a separate set of capital plans.

The solid black shadow of a trickster,

bell weather of doom …

Who placed that

on the crow?


Who represents the little birds?

Pecking and soaring the crows away?


At the labor temple, this morning –

around and around we go …


The Garden

20170601 – The Garden


Did you ever wonder why

Jesus went to the garden?

He was probably depressed –

and sick and tired of

not just the system,

but sick of it all!

He was probably pissed

that the souls of men –

were so greedy –

he was probably pissed

that prostitution –

and poverty walked

hand in hand …

so –

the man of few words –

in the world

of nature –

where birds sing and bees

hop flower to flower –

he went on

sabbatical –

he stopped for

a moment …

called his Dad,

his mother?

She was watching

her son die!

She was by his side

– probably

proud of her son –


worried sick –

most of the time.

His friends,

his partners –

his board –

the ones who

after he was gone,

would get it wrong …

do what he told them

not to do-

build churches so big –

throw stones –

argue –

fight …

So, now,

ask me –

why my

hair is long …

ask who

are my heroes.

( – If there is a criminal element

I am of it – if there is a soul in prison – )


ask about

power and greed –

ask why when

I was a child –

i cried when they

told me Jesus

died because of me.

Ask about

the holy ghosts

dancing – ask

about Wavoka

and Custer


ask me about Debs

and John Brown –

ask about the



and why i would

rather play music with

children or be a


to the ones who

everyone else warned,

is dirty




( – listen to the birds they will

teach you what they know – )

ask about Rumi

ask about Sufi

ask – why I heard

( – Allah and Buddha

were singing at the savior’s feast! – )

and now –

right now

in this moment

i and you

are here now.


Like Jesus-

like this

day …

and his flight

to the garden

and Buddha

and his river

and the mustard

seed, and science

and matter –

it’s all the same!

We are stardust…

and a reflection

is just an image.