Fishtank : 1

414      O      2025

They’re praising Nazis, killing kids 

And I’m here eating ice cream.

Sitting beside a stream, looking at the stones someone has piled up, a log held above them. 

One day, the river’s gonna rise. Then the log will be carried off, to find it’s place along the shore.

Bob Dylan wrote: “Winter’s gone, the river’s on the rise!” 

Do you feel it? 

The times they are a changing and the Great Unknown

     —God, Love, whatever you name her!

is calling us back home.

Why are we taking selfies with the tribesman? 

           —Leave them be!

Why are we driving these cars? 

How come we don’t protect the needy? 

How come we still drop bombs?

I read Hiroshima

We brought Hell on Earth.

Why do we continue to do so?

Didn’t we also read of magical lands where there is Good and it will win?

Where sheep and lion play together?

I wanna sleep until it’s finished.

I don’t wanna pay my taxes. This country doesn’t exist. 

Cuz who owns the clouds, but that Great Unknown?

And how come these hills and valleys, and all the people in them, the herds and the hunters, the hedge and the tree, must bow to the ones who have money?

Is money God?

Blessed is he who has a million, and even more he who has a trillion

May he commit adultery and spit on the face of God

May his dominion grow upon the face of the earth

May his towers and factories, his armies and factions, 

Crush the heads of the children of all their foes!

And may all who stand against him and all who speak ill of his name

May they all be kept silent so we can more loudly proclaim

Long live he who has made himself king! 

May none ever hinder his fame!

      —I think it goes something like that in the Bible.

I’m here on this Easter week morning,

And I’m wondering where we’re going?

As we’re drifting down the stream of time. Am I the boulder or the log? 

And who was it that put us here and why? 

Doesn’t matter, the river rises, the seasons change and all is veiled in Winter 

Washed in white.

And poetry can soothe us, tho it means nothing!

It can be a salve to the wound

Music, My Girl, Medicine

They help me hide away

Cuz there’s nothing to be done about bombs in the hands of buffoons.

So I best not be giving it much mind. 

The whole world will burn before it learns

So I best be giving it my all.

We only get one chance at this, 

and there are bombs in the hands of baboons!

It’s time to set ourselves free

to speak the truth that sets free!

to love all people, and respect their life,

to see the fingerprints of the Great Unknown, pressed in the creases of their iris.

A reminder:

1. No person, no matter how small, shall not leave their mark on the Earth.