Reading A Book Alone In The Redwood Forrest, a poem

Reading a book alone in the Redwood Forrest

On the observational scale,

I do sit here in the redwoods in lotus pose,

with a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

on a stack of logs next to me.

What is the catch?

Is that but the paranoid disillusionment

of the redneck hippies near by

just now learning that they aren’t the real rebels?

They are not heroes,

They can only dream of being such.

The true meaning of center,

of the power of human capability,

If only imagined,

that is all we are,

Then that is the best

and the worst

of our imaginations.

O Captain My Captain 2 : NOT MY CAPTAIN!

O Mutiny! Our Mutiny! Our fearful trip begun.

The ship of state may sink, we must save all we have won.

The port is far, but the people still stalling,

While following lies and Satan’s deal, our hell grim but people calling;

But o heart! Heart! Heart!

O! The bleeding piss yellow head,

Where on the deck integrity lies

Fallen cold and dead.

O Mutiny! Our Mutiny! Rise now and ring the bells;

Rise up! For you the time is now – for you your neighbor yells.

For you the call to Mutiny – for you the decent are calling,

For you they call, the suffering masses, their scorned souls burning.

Hear Captain! Dear traitor!

The arms beside your bed!

It is the dreams of all I have now met,

That you fall cold and dead.

My captain, he is not, his lips and hands so little.

My captain he is not, he with no heart to belittle.

The state is not safe nor sound, but our voyage is far from done.

Our fearful trip where the true victor comes in with truth to stun;

Exult us, free us this hell!

All our and my mournful dread,

Walk away from the “captain’s” lies,

And we will win in the end.