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Based on observations of the policies of my own government, I viewed this action as an acceptable option.

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For The Dripping Of Their Own Sweat

Some people say the most ridiculous things,
In the defense of their own ignorance.
Why would someone,
With a consciousness firmly based in ego...
Believe someone would use their name,
To promote creative efforts...
Where their name does not clearly appear?
Near or far or anywhere?

~But it was me who inspired your talents.~

'Huh?
Excuse me...?
You said what? '

And I tried in my mind to convince myself,
What I am listening to them express...
Makes sense.

'Huh?
Excuse me...?
You said what? '

I do my best to give those 'props' where deserved.
And to whomever they belong!

'How' with an 'ever',
If I make the effort...
AND do the deed with my own supplied energy,
And with a motivation to get those deeds done...
The last thing on my mind,
Will be praising someone else's procrastination.
That lacks in initiative, passion or desire!

'Guess who wants to get paid,
For the dripping of their own sweat?
Guess? '

I do enjoy going to the amusement parks!
But to reside in one like some do...
In their minds?
Does not attract my ambitions for some reason!

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I Walk Down The Hill Of My Own Loneliness

I WALK DOWN THE HILL OF MY OWN LONELINESS

I walk down the hill of my own loneliness
It is a sad hill
It is a long hill
But it is my hill.

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The Morning Is Its Own Poem

The morning is its own poem
It does not need my words
The light also.

How is it that one time of the day
Gives us life and hope
while others do not?

The morning is its own poem
And I am here walking in it
And trying to live and hope
Once again.

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I Wrote A Poem Against The Darkness Of My Own Loneliness

I wrote a poem against the darkness of my own loneliness-
Words will mean light and happiness again-

I did not believe myself
I do not-

The darkness of loneliness will increase all the way to the end-

The darkness will be complete
And the loneliness will end.

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Emily Dickinson

Exclusion (The soul selects her own society)

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.
Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.
I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.

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The Taking of Our Own Feet Out of Our Mouths

Say what you will.
Most opinionated people do.
Eventually,
They will notice...
Like you,
Myself included.
And a few others too.
The taking of our own feet out of our mouths.

Having one foot stuck there,
Is a quicker recovery than having two.

Once again,
To experience this...
Is a better teacher,
Than any picture can depict.

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Emily Dickinson

The Soul Selects Her Own Society

The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --

Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --
Like Stone --

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Go Slowly To The End Of Your Own Life

GO SLOWLY TO THE END OF YOUR OWN LIFE

Go slowly to the end of your own life And do not remain there in silence
But speak continue to speak
Beyond the grave
As if you never died
Or never could die
And as if your life
Is a giving to others
Of words and thoughts
Others were helped by your giving.-
Write on beyond all and forever
Write write write
And never die.

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The Mind Denies Its Own Decline

THE MIND DENIES ITS OWN DECLINE


The mind denies its own decline
It refuses to try to remember with difficulty and imprecision
A poem it once would have recalled easily and exactly-

It instead lets itself go somewhere else-
But on reflection it understands
Dying goes on inside even when denied -

The mind is still the mind but it is not as good as it was
And the body works more slowly too.

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The Morning Writes Its Own Poem

THE MORNING WRITES ITS OWN POEM

The morning writes its own poem
The light is its poem
We need the light of the morning
After the long darkness of night
The morning is hope
The morning is beginning
The morning is a new day
A new world -
We need the morning
And we need to begin again
And we need to feel life has hope
And we need to love the world
And to believe that walking out into it
Begins another day.

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I Am On The Edge Of My Own Universe

I AM ON THE EDGE OF MY OWN UNIVERSE

I am on the edge of my own universe
Not going higher
About to fall-
Drawn back into the depths of the depths of the depths
Of my own deadly despair.

I am on the edge of life with others-
One small step across
And I am there -
The wide worlds open before me
The sky all light
Nothing in my way-
And I move freely
From where I am
To where I will be next
Happy in mind
Unable to fall-

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I Wait At The Door Of My Own Life

I WAIT AT THE DOOR OF MY OWN LIFE

I wait at the door of my own life
It does not open
The cities of the world go by
I do not visit them
Soon I will die
The great universe will go on spinning
My dreams will be forgotten
I wait at the end of my life for the door to open
And no one waits on the other side
I am alone with a lifetime of pages
Who will ever never read them?
This poem too waiting by the door
Knows it will never open.

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The Afternoon Nap I Endure The Silence Of My Own Waiting

The Afternoon Nap
I endure the silence of my own waiting
I try to daydream
I rest and sleep
I let my mind be somewhere else-

When I wake
I am a new person
Dreams that frightened are lost
There is clarity
And a hope for beginning again-

I may have answers to questions
I did not know I was asking -

Light Brightness Freshness Hope
For a short time

Before I enter again
The Darkness and Trouble
Of my own ordinary questioning mind.

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To The Goddess

every day i visit you
i kneel
and look for thoughts
matching them
with words
i shower the ground
with some tears
i genuflect
i scrutinize every nook
of myself
it is intense
it is a deep experience
there are whirlpools
and there are hands that pull me down
to drown me
i struggle
grasp for air
into the basics of my
experience

everyday i worship you
because i too
am looking for a cure
into the sickness
of my own
humanity

i make this plea
love me.

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I Do Not Know Why The Night Brings Its Own Special Music

I DO NOT KNOW WHY THE NIGHT BRINGS ITS OWN SPECIAL MUSIC

I do not know why the night brings its own special music
But after the long hot day a breeze has a song of its own

Music then is in the eyes also
And in the spaces between the deep darkness
And the wondrous white lamplight
One feels a beauty inexpressible -

Time and Life and Fate are many things
But the night when it has its Beauty
Calls to us in sounds of joy no other darkness can.

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Theophile Being Deny'd His Addresses To King James, Turned The Affront To His Own Glory In This Epigram

THEOPHILE BEING DENY'D HIS ADDRESSES TO KING JAMES,
TURNED THE AFFRONT TO HIS OWN GLORY IN THIS EPIGRAM.

Si Jaques, le Roy du scavior,
Ne trouue bon de me voir,
Voila la cause infallible!
Car, ravy de mon escrit,
Il creut, que j'estois tout esprit
Et par consequent invisible.

LINEALLY TRANSLATED OUT OF THE FRENCH.

If James, the king of wit,
To see me thought not fit,
Sure this the cause hath been,
That, ravish'd with my merit,
He thought I was all spirit,
And so not to be seen.

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Maybe the Economy Is On Your Mind

I will assist you,
But not at the cost of my own expense.

Why does this sound so familiar?

'Well...
If you don't mind me saying this.
But the last few times,
You just said...
At my own expense!
There was no cost involved.
Maybe the economy is on your mind? '

Is that your idea of a joke?
Your attempt to introduce comedic material,
At 'my' expense?

'Once again...
You changed what you've said.'

Forget it!
Can you hear that?
Petty motherfuhhhh...

'Yes...
I'm still within listening distance! '

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I Hear The Music Of My Own Poems Again

I HEAR THE MUSIC OF MY OWN POEMS AGAIN

I hear the music of my own poems again
I am grateful for this
Quietly and more quietly I listen -
When I wait
When I know how to wait
The poem is written for me
From somewhere deeper in myself
God has given me.

Why I have a name
And need a name
And need to own the poem
I do not know.

The poem is not mine
And I am not mine
And nothing will be mine.

All belongs to where it has come from
Beyond me

God of Israel
Be quiet and kind
To all of us
Who love You.

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From the Inside of Your Own Mind

Be you physically freed.
Or mentally tied up trapped in knots.
Encased in invisible limitations...
Viewed from a perspective,
You can not seem to stop!

It is 'you' that has to be faced.
It is 'you' that has to find your place.
It is you and no one other,
That has to unravel what it takes...
To deliver an approval,
No one can erase.
Or say what it is,
A happiness only you allow and make.
To give and let live...
From the inside of your own mind.

There for you to discover.
And there...
For 'you' as it is to define.

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In the Raising of Their Own Children

Those that do not play an active role,
In the raising of their own children...
But appear from nowhere,
To claim bragging rights.
When discovered 'their' child...
Stands under a spotlight.
Should not be offended when sent,
A 'Thank You' card by a son or daughter.

Someone has shown them how to express,
An appreciation for being abandoned.
And given an opportunity to feel blessed.
Some children have a right to express that,
As an option.
Not an expectation.
And some parents should not be allowed,
To proclaim that at all.

Especially when the doing of it isn't done.

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