Thursday, November 21, 2013

Toby Hemenway - How Permaculture Can Save Humanity and the Earth, but No...

The Grammar Lesson by Steve Kowit

The Grammar Lesson A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does. An adjective is what describes the noun. In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz" of and with are prepositions. The's an article, a can's a noun, a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does. A can can roll - or not. What isn't was or might be, might meaning not yet known. "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz" is present tense. While words like our and us are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown. A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does. Is is a helping verb. It helps because filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz." See? There's almost nothing to it. Just memorize these rules...or write them down! A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does. The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz. Steve Kowit

Monday, November 18, 2013

Alice's Membrane

Red and White
striped umbrella
picnic table of the gods
millions of tiny people
slide into the aether
each movement collides
tugs the membrane
a web of conscious energy
hand in hand
dancing about
the rocket ship
made of dancing people
each cell
a being within a being
the long winded pompous ass
glaring lights
the umbrella spins
sharp pain
bodies spin with the umbrella
tea or coffee
chocolate please

Sunday, November 17, 2013

a motto

Travel farther Eat well Drink deeply Dance together Dance alone Live big Love often Life sustenance

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Butterfly's Kiss

A butterfly's kiss is a terrible beauty to behold.
When the heat has abated.

A truthful lovers kiss
passed and forgotten
till now...

A gentile touch
a soul arriving
kissed through the skin.

A quickening
truth dawns while the lover is gone
a new existences origin.

The cycle begins anew.

The butterfly lays its eggs
full of souls to be.
Hatch the caterpillars do
to eat
to ponder the life
the future body they will hold.

Fat satiated and contemplative
each a chrysalis to weave
metamorphosis begins.

Within its bed it will think again of life
to begin anew in search of fertile female
to bestow its soul.

Dedicated to Robin.

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

I think, at a child's birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.

-Eleanor Roosevelt

Oh the irony.  This quote opened my blog. I started this blog around the time my son was conceived.  Well I guess I gave my son curiosity in droves. On top of that he has a drive to do it himself unlike the majority of children that I have know. For a three almost four year old he is as curious as if not more curious than Curious George and as independent as George too.

He has such tenacity to live and strangely it seems that he has no fear. I guess that that is understandable,  as many times as he died and came back to life.

As his mother I wish to help him grow into a strong independent adult,  however I have no idea how to do this while still encouraging his language development. I'm told that his independence is hindering his communication because he is such a go getter.  It feels like to encourage his sucessful development I have to break his desire to learn and stifull his curious nature.

I'm at a loss.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Helpless and Trying

For all those people out there that suffer from post surgery depression and are trying to heal. 

Today is one of those days
tears stream down my face
though I don’t know why
my self seeming insignificant
death my waking thought
pain is so much less now
but I am helpless useless
I am surrounded by chaos
entropic disarray surrounds
bit by bit it will be cleaned
piece by piece I will win
day by day I will concur
this disaster that is my home
laundry that never ends
dishes that keep getting dirty
floors that are tracked filthy
trapped in bed
five minutes out at a time
the chaos envelopes
the dirt suffocates
when mom is down
the house falls to shreds
my son with my mother
medication that makes me
the stream of thoughts dark
Disney and Christmas music
trying to create levity
vent to paper stream of consciousness
dashed the hopes
keep loving my self
remember to breath and smile
put on the lovely mask
hold on to the gratitude
you will get well
life will go back to normal soon...

Sunday, October 27, 2013

Tea with Death

Death knocks upon my door
wishing to have tea and cake
to be regaled with stories and laughter

Azrael wishes to depart from doldrums
honeyed chamomile washing away solicitations
chocolate cake and tales read aloud drown bereavement

Cù-Sìth lounge across my grassy yard
snapping flies with their braided tails
following Yama downs the streets upon departure

The Reaper seems to be my friend
he courts me incessantly
not yet to cross with the ferryman

I am still alive
I am a pleasant distraction
the loneliness of his existence ebbs

One day I know I will don a veil with scythe and bull
to cross from mortality to another plain
but today I bake and brew to entertain Thanatos

May-hap on that day of transition
I will have tea with my Angel Grim
at his home on his plates

Oh my
It seems I care
for dear Death

Monday, October 7, 2013

The Mis-Adventures of Fluffy the Pink Bunny - The Stuffed Animal Mass Conscious

Maybe the stuffed animal mass conscious would be a good place to try.

10 minutes later...

Information overload. My stuffing hurts. That was terrifying. Is that what I am going into? I wonder if a stuffed animal can commit suicide?

Washing machines

It goes on and on.


Fluff and stuffing, that was only ten minutes.

The Mis-Adventures of Fluffy The Pink Bunny - The Second Awakening

Okay. I just got tosses in a box with hundreds 
of other stuffed bunnies. At least I am near the top.


Who am I? I am a stuffed pink rabbit that is for sure.
Wait maybe I am in a dream... feels to real to be a dream.

I am obviously not the only rabbit in the world...

I wonder if...
I think I am going to try and tap into the mass 
consciousness of rabbits everywhere.

One week later...

Well that was a complete waist of time. I just know rabbit 

history, law, politics, stories, myths and celebrities. Fat
 lot of good that did.

Who am I???

The Mis-Adventures of Fluffy The Pink Bunny - Intro and Hello World

Welcome to the Mis-Adventures of Fluffy The Pink Bunny. 

I am going to attempt to exercise this pink plot bunny that 

has been following me for years now. The original premise 

extended to only a college dormitory. I hope that the expanded 

story will pull at your heartstrings, make you roll over 

laughing and maybe make you think about the world around

 you. Thank you for your time and thank you for your support.

Fluffy's Mom

Hello World
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! I can't move. I cant move. 

I can't move. I can't move. Calm Down. Why can't I move. 
What's going on? Okay, calm down, calm down. Lets see 
what's around me? Shit I'm a... a... fluffy 
b...b...bunny! How did I get Here? Wait. What's the last 
thing I remember... I can't remember anything. Who am I? 
What's my name, When am I? I know that there must 
have been something before now.Okay, Lets see what's 
around me? Shit I'm in a sweat shop. How did I know that? 
How did I know that? Ahhh.Crap I'm in a sweat shop.Who 
am I? When am I?

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beholder

            What is beauty? If one were to ask ten people what beauty was, there would be ten vastly different answers. However, if one asked the Merriam-Webster dictionary what beauty was, it would read, “The quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit.” If beauty is quantified by the qualities that are attractive, what are these qualities? What makes someone beautiful?  Size and Skin, are the first things that come to mind.            Society's view of beauty is ever changing, and since the beginning of time, beauty was measured in size. A robust woman with large hips and large breasts was considered a healthy child bearing woman. If one looked at paintings as well as sculpture woman whom today would be considered fat were considered the perfect specimen for art. Slender woman were thought to be malnourished, boyish, and would not bear strong children with their slim hips and small breasts. However there have been women that have been slender that have shaped historic art as well, such as tree nymphs, which always, have been portrayed as slender woman.            Today there are many views of beauty, but there are two main views of what makes a woman beautiful when it comes to size at least. You have the Marilyn Monroe and Queen Latifah view and then you have the Twiggy and Paris Hilton view. Marilyn Monroe is considered the most beautiful woman of all time; she has curves in all the right places and is still considered a blond bombshell by almost anyone. Queen Latifah is a plus-sized woman and proud of it. Twiggy brought in the “thin is in” movement in the late 60's. Her style still dominates the fashion runways fifty years later. Paris Hilton is a blond socialite with a very thin, slender appearance, to the point where it has been questioned by the media, if she is healthy.            Beyond size, there is skin. Skin is the largest organ of our body and is always changing. Skin comes in all different shades and can be blemished or silky smooth. Once it was said that the perfect skin tone was the color of the inside of an apple. However, if one looks at history, skin tone and skin condition is a cultural phenomenon. In Europe and America over a hundred years ago, the saying about the flesh of an apple held true. Today, if one were to look at the Nacirama anthropological case study, one would find that in the last three decades or so, women have damaged their skin because of the desire to have dark tans. While black women's skin color varies from a pale milk chocolate to dark ebony, how can one skin tone be more beautiful than the next?            In India a woman whose face is pockmarked is considered beautiful because she had survived smallpox. If you ask any teenage girl what she hates most about puberty is, she will most likely say, “pimples.” Some people believe that body art on a woman’s body is ugly and trashy, while some believe that the tattoos are considered a beautiful expression. Piercing yet another form of body art is considered taboo by some and acceptable by others. It is a cultural perspective as well as a perspective of age.            So, how does one quantify beauty? Simply put, beauty cannot be boxed or bottled, it cannot be sold, and it cannot be quantified. Beauty is what we perceive it to be. Humanity is vast, filled with diverse opinions and a humbling amount of variegation. How can one person or even one group of people decide what is and what is not, beautiful? My view of beauty will be and is vastly different from that of my audience, the point is, “Beauty is truly in the eyes of the beholder.”

Humanities Lament

Humanities lament

Why O' Why
are we so sick

Humanity Declines
we break and break again
each thread
of the living web
in its place a spider
and an all consuming
web of dots and lines

Humanity Degrades
spires of tempered rock
prisms of burnt sand
greedy pursuit of
the brownish black gold
life blood of the planet
run a muck
defiling the garden
fouling the air
poisoning the water
gouging the crust

Humanity Diminishes
with each loss
we do decrease
into oblivion
Adieu sweet fish
Archaic lost tygers
Farewell Feathered Friends
Bye bye butter beans

Humanity Deteriorates
when will we learn
from history
rise an fall each order
monuments of culture
bone and leaf and rock
return to dust

Humanity’s Deferment
gardeners we must become
cultivators we are to be
rebuild the forest
reconstruct the sea
reestablish diversity

Humanities Demise
we can reach for the stars
live in the vast darkness
the stars will swallow us
consume our homes
dust we will be once more
lets leave a paradise
if we part 'fore then
to die is inevitable
so let us live

The Rain

A slight rumble begins
rattling the windows. 
Everyone is made aware 
of the environment outside.

It was to be a breathtaking tempest.

Drought had exhausted the land
this was the first water to fall in over a year.

The porch swing creaked, 
the screen door slams with a crash 
it banged against the house outside.

Electricity fills the air hair prickling
wind sweeps through ancient pecan trees.

Stars are peeking through billowing clouds, 
in the distance light flashes every few seconds.

The air thick with humidity
forms droplets of sweat on my brow.

Impatiently I wait.

Crickets and grasshoppers play a soft concerto
while birds caw and thunder rumbles.

The storm rolls in like an icy ghost on the back of our naps.

The wind sweeps over the porch and the intoxicating aroma 
of the sky’s spring and wet soil engulfs the air. 

The green and yellow leaves shiver 
when a gust of wind tries to uproot the tree.

Lightning explodes in the sky
hitting a transformer knocking power out across town.

Refreshing darkness follows.

A night within a night descends.

Total darkness brings on a blindness, heightening senses 
interrupted only by the brief blinding flashes of Zeus` furry.

The wind picks up.

Again, lightning strikes,

Like a small child

I count: 

The thunder’s closer than before.

A soft drizzle falls each of the pit pat of the drops
darken the ground in front of the porch.

The cleansing smell of rainwater
fills the air 
the ozone loses its dustiness.

Suddenly the tempest begins. 

The rain streams down.

The lightning rips with thunder following almost immediately. 

A harsh gust sounding like a banshee's sorrowful melody
shoots through the rafters.

The storm starts spitting water onto the faces of it's observers.

Soon all the senses are reeling, the smells of wet earth and lightning,
the sounds of the thunder and rain hitting dirt,
water pooling in small depressions.

The feel of raw power in the air arouses the mind,
while wind and water assuage parched skin, 
provoking one further towards something unknown.

As if something in the ether was pulling them 
into the oblivion of the rain.

Thor demands us to dance.
Ganymede seduces each of us to spread their arms wide. 

The water and the wind begging to cleans away 
the grime of the arid climate.

The storm no longer to be ignored wants us to be a part of it.

Slowly for miles around every soul will walk off of their porches into the rain.

Hair is soaked heavy within seconds.
Skin feels like polished slick stone,
yet warm all at once.

Lashes glisten with heavens tears, the taste of rain on lips is intoxicating
the wind chilling the body stands unmoving.

Clothes feel bulky and unnatural,
strip them off and become a part of the rain.

The soul begs for the redemption only water can fulfill,
it screams for peace, cleansing only a thunderous storm can accomplish.

Wishing the rain would go on forever 
to cool and purify every nuance of existence
it seems juvenile but wished for none the less

The rain craves the earth
just as mere mortals crave the water
the power of the mighty storms is intoxicating. 

As one begins to move to sway with the wind 
rock with the rain and the raw power is felt.

Soaked hair vain-fully tries to stand on end.

Lightning strikes mere yards away. 
The thunder is deafening.

The silence following the strike speaks more than the strike itself.

The ground is scorched the smell of burning loam
mixes with the smell of falling water.

Rain pours harder.

As quickly as it commenced
the rain began to ebb.

The clouds rolled away.
The sky clears.

Diana shines in all her luminous glory.

The stars which had peaked through the clouds at different intervals
now meditate in the puddles on the ground.

The grass glistens as if kissed by the pearl necklaces.

The storm rages under the pecans canopies.

Thunder rumbles gently in the distance.

I awake in my bed soaked in sweat.

Just a dream? 

Yet it felt so real!

A pile of clothes sit in a soaking puddle 
on the floor next to the window

Perhaps it wasn’t a dream after all.

How do we design life more creatively?

This is the age 
the age of knowing you 
the time of discovering secrets

it is the lucky star
kept close to your heart
the ray of sunshine 

the riches bound to
the garden of earth
at long last

it is time
to change the life 
to choose a path

no longer am I content 
to live in the shadows
of my smile 

it is time
to come 
and play

You are beautiful
It is time to F.L.Y. 

This is the age of knowing
who you are

The age of taking care of you

Relish in your accomplishments

be happy 

be healthy

be wealthy

Leave the past behind 
be Independent

Break the rules
Have a three-way
Build the passion
Turn me on
Live your dreams

Oh and by the way...
everyone’s job 
above all else 
is to protect the planet

to deliberately create

the life

of your dreams...

Absinthe Loneliness

alone in a room of strangers
lost in my memories as drinks are past.

Thinking of a cowboy I will never hold,
a lost opportunity to seem normal,
a dream never realized.

My mate a white knight,
with busted white armor, patched and worn,
his ballads do take heed.

A man in black with change in mind,
his lessons well I learned,
yet fantasy and reality are blurred.

Imbibe sweet nectar of the gods,
holds hostage wishing I would die.

A hundred bodies crowd me out,
my own mind no place of refuge,
alone in a green room of mist.

Absinthe holds my hand,
drips from my lips,
lovers past haunt me.

Divine sage rips my soul to shreds,
every atom sings,
my cowboy cries,
my mate hides,
my man in black howls in pain.

Tears run fast,
time is lost,
hope is faint.

Alone I sit,
Alone I cry,

Alone always alone.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Enter at Your Own Risk - a poem

Naked or Nude?

Make me feel something.
Make me feel nothing.
Let Me Feel
something and nothing

Truth be told
music starts
a mix tape of desire

Touch me.
Hold me.
Caress me.

Wool and leather cuffs
hands shackled to a cross.

a gentle stroke
a heavy flogger

Lick my hide with leather.
Stroke my skin with rope.

make me mew.
make me moan.
make me murmur.

Ecstasy and Agony,
The shadow of my words.

Make me climb the cross,
Scrutinize my response
Watch my heaving breasts
Monitor my dance
Note my breath
Read the sounds
Witness no distress
Discover excess empathy
Observe in silence

The Cruciation

Oh silly children
in bodies old and worn
in bodies young and new,

Watch the actress
modulate her voice
pain experienced
pleasure escapes.


Pain is the interesting thing.

I live in agony.

Mental dolor,
a past oft recalled.

Recreational torture,
a respite of nerves.

Physical suffering,
a body broken.

Healing tenderness*,
a body mending.

Which do you see on this actress?

Scale the cross,
hands unbound
others escape the room

gentle hands caress
warm bodies cuddle
cool oil spread

warm blanket engulfs

endearment flows


embraced on either side
the hot tub awaits

warm water surrounds
stars twinkle above

cold nipply air salutes
warm white robe envelopes

reality descends
nerves calm
performance ended

I feel nothing
sweet relief
agony abated
for now...

*archaic use - meaning painful and or sore 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

I Am Three

A poem for Ben

I Am Three.

This is my rocket ship
The world gave it to me
My Daddy and me travel the stars
He tells me the secrets of the universe

This is my fast car,
The world gave it to me
My Uncle Tom races with me
He tells me the secrets of machines

This is my throne
The world gave it to me.
My Uncle French Fry walks with me
He tells me the secrets of the grown ups

This is my safe place
Where I go to think
Where Mommy sings and signs with me
She tells me stories of the heart

This is my secret seat
It sits on the floor
         on a chair
              on the couch
                   on its back
rescued from a field of green
where I think about the world
where I think about humanity

The world gave it to me

I Am Three

The Travelers Poem

                I have seen the face of great beauty
                             through the veil of my most bitter tears.

  For I have been to the lonely places,
        and have seen the great emptiness
                             beyond the realm of dreams.

                  I have been to the borderlands of sanity,
           stood atop the gates
      and stared forth
               into the places of no return.

I have journeyed alone
      to the places of wonder
                    where no man
            should ever venture alone.

            I have known love
                      and betrayal
                  in equal measure,

                                      and still
                                  I hope.

I have fought the dragons
    that hold at bay the light of the new day,
         and I have stood in the light,
              bathing in the warmth of hope,
only to have the ground fall from beneath me,
    and to be plunged into such great darkness
         that I thought perhaps
              the sun itself to have been lost to the world.

I stand before you now, 
a child 
of lost innocence, 
and I am 
so very lonely, 
that my tears 
have long since
And Yet
I Dream

Dustin DB McKnight

Saturday, August 31, 2013

The Tattoo - a poem

Eight feathers fall from the catcher of dreams
   four braids of gold and silver wrap the hoop,
   sweat, blood and tears adorn the sinew.

Each feather holds an amulet of existence,
   each plait a marriage to show the bounds of life,
   sweat, blood, memories and tears.

Never to be caught within the band
   the banshees screams were called too soon,
   two feathers drip with fallen tears.

The sticky web within the halo binds
   tight the nightmares of lives cut too short
   while hopes and dreams alight of lives well lived.

A charm of hope that dreams may live,
   while nightmares stay at bay,
   my siblings are a blessed lot,
   they know not what I say.

In hope their dreams may be realized
   a talisman I wear.

Forever immortalized on living skin
   a spiders web of dreams I bear.

Thursday, August 29, 2013

Change is Fundamental

What happens to a person when they change?

I guess that the better question is why is change fundamental?

Change is a constant that can not be worked around. Society, science and religion state that change is unavoidable, yet most strive to go with the status-quo.

I am again trying to be more authentic. In 2006, my therapist suggested that I start practicing authenticity as a way to combat the very bad habit of stringing tall tales and pathological lying.

Making that change, I found some peace. I tried to live my life to the fullest and enjoy who I chose to become. To be authentic and truthful scared a lot of the people around me. To have someone as young as I was look at the seediest aspects of reality and willingly traverse those dark alleys seeking not enlightenment or riches but a better life for those brought there by desperation was a terrifying concept to my elders.

Is omitting information a lie or a kindness? As a citizen of The United States of America I have the right to not self incriminate. The right to omit information and be silent.
However in the omission do I continue to be authentic or am I lying not only to others but myself? In the last few years, out of fear, I slipped and started lying again. I started blaming everyone in my life but myself for my problems.

I find that the life that I have lived up till now has been rife with controversial thoughts and actions. In refusing to acknowledge these points in my life, I have dulled as a person. This change in me seems required by society because I have transitioned from woman-child to mother. Does the state of motherhood completely negate who I am, or just enhance it from a new perspective?

In seven years my life has changed immensely. I would not trade a single moment for a different experience, the daily changes have made me stronger.

I am learning not to fear society. I am changing from who I was to who I will be.

I am learning not to fear the boogie man. I am powerful in my authenticity.

I will make changes in my life to suit myself and my family. I will change every moment from who I was before. I will be Authentically me.