On the Tips of Everyone

A Poetry Blog

Friday, November 23, 2007

Jesus is Money (by Aaron Smith a.k.a "Jigga")

Jesus is Money
By Jigga

Darlin’- Jesus is Money!
Tell me honey
What pleases us more than Jesus?
Spendin’ time… with the lord.

I mean holy shit,
He died for our sins
And we owe Jesus thousands,
In dividends.

Jesus invested his life,
In his stock, and bonds
It’s true, the good Shepard,
Tends to his flock.

I mean Jesus is an asset
Through the peaks, and valleys,
We place faith in our savior,
The one who knows the
True value of our labor.

We are told riches
Come from working harder…faster…
But if Jesus is Money?
He’s our corporate master.

Wage slavery is simply,
Business as usual - for Jesus
Cause baby, our time is Money,
Honey, I tell you Jeeesus is Money!

Are these dollars makin’ cents
I’ll be god damned if
Jesus doesn’t pay my rent!

I say what’s it all worth
Cashin’ in our values.
Who’s gonna turn the tables,
On our money lenders…Jesus?
Please - honey
We don’t live in Nazareth
We live in debt!

You say what’s the cost,
How bout, Jesus hanging on a gilded cross?
Baby, tell me the price,
Of priceless.
How much more Money shall we invest
In the lifeless.
Darlin’ our spiritual economies
Are in crisis.

There’s a great depression arisin ’,
And don’t look for Jesus
On no horizon…
Money can’t save us now.

Cause the TRUTH is
All the gold on your steeple
Is really the root of all evil,

Don’t turn the other cheek
Cause world’s gonna be,
Inherited by the meek

Don’t let ur hands
Remain idle,
Cause we don’t need no more,
We need to resist,
And pass-a-fist.

So rip down ur golden crosses
And through all your Money out.

Cause Jesus never bought-in,
He was only sold-out!

Friday, October 05, 2007

I Am, a poem by Mike Smith

I Am

I am able to see the sunlight reflecting off of the needles of the pine tree, winking at me

I am hearing the sound of the birds chirping, the rustling of their feathers as they take to flight

I am seeing the rabbit forage for greens on my lawn

I am feeling the warmth of the sun on my face

I am smelling the sweet pungent odor of the damp earth in the wind, letting me know, spring is not far off

I am looking at the snow covered peaks in the distance; their beauty changing majestically with the

movement of the sun

I am hearing the soft swish of fabric as my neighbor walks to her car

I am tasting the oats as they nourish my body

I am hearing the musical sounds of my daughters laughter

I am seeing the impish twinkle in her eyes as she does so

I am feeling the love my son has for me and I for him as we tell each other goodbye on the phone

I am able to see, hear, taste and feel these things and know that they are all connected

I am able to feel love for them all

I am at peace

I thank my Creator for this

Monday, October 30, 2006

Gabcast! 'Network_b' : On the Tips of Everyone #5

Monday, October 23, 2006


Hey everyone,

Bradley asked me to join this group, so I'm grateful for that. I'm a little unsure of what to post on here. From what I'm seeing, it looks like poems and announcements are mostly what's posted, so I'll post a piece soon.

Once again, thanks for the invite!

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Note to Self by bradley micheal albus

Ron told me once, "For every curse there is
a blessing, for every blessing
a curse. What's worse I have been given one
of each
to do with either as I choose.

God never exagerates. Things he says "come to pass"

The ability to recognize
anything at all. A few minutes ago
everything started making sense.
Just now; it stopped.

I'm walking up mountains here
just to walk back down
again. Over & over.
(When I get to the bottom, everything
is looking up)

It's good though, to wake up
in the middle of a dream
you can't remember. Waking up
and whispering to myself, "This poetry,
an ocean of seem. That ocean,
a poetry it seems. Either way,
it just seems, feels funny.
Have you driven a Ford lately?

I always imagined things differently.
(not that it's not)
Let me try and explain. I mean,
it's all over the papers. 20 dead in
Israel bludgeoned
to death by cucumbers. Who is responsible? Why
does everything feel like watching television, or
adding up vats of money
(at a quarter after)

Somehow I used to think
I was in to higher arts
what with all these crazy
women throwing crazy love darts
and bald men wielding bows and arrows.

What does it feel like to wake up
down by the river
under a rock
in a mountain blizzard? Warm, and cozy
except for
the -
it feels like -

What to do when grandma can't pay
her electric bill?
Buy her a comforter at K-mart
and maybe some votive candles.

I feel like a rusty clarinet in the basement.
Note to Self: CALL LILA

(that's why it gets hotter and hotter)

bradley micheal albus

Seven Mirrors by Eddie Dowe

Seven Mirrors


I expected to see myself
in the colored stone of the mirror,
in this slim kitchen
still a man, but I cannot be
here, I must be
in the doorway, staring
toward the dawning street,
the light spinning about me
and my arms stretched out
to adjust the angle of my life.


A little girl waits
at my doorstep, in black Chinese slippers
and an orange dress.
She reaches up to ring
and from the mirror of the glass door
she notices another little girl
reaching up to grab her wrist.


This in only one
of the seven
mirrors buried in my yard.


A man balances
on one foot
under the shadow
of a blue hat
a dozen bronze keys stratching
his hand
like the broken glass of a mirror.


The woman in the white slip
asks for a glass of water
and I walk toward my reflection
already leaning over the mirror of the sink.


The bed behind me is a mirror.
My wife lifts her skirt
and removes her high heels.
She makes room for me
under the sheets.


The suit in my closet
hangs like a black man from a tree,
a mirror beneath his feet
and his shoes
two shining leaves.

Eddie Dowe

Friday, October 20, 2006

Thoughts on Organic Zingers

the Evolution of Dolly Madison Zingers
I'm not at liberty to pursue this, my next million-dollar idea, whole-heartedly yet (due to potential legal entanglements with the parent company, Dolly Madison, basic physical production concerns, and simple time constraints that disallow the creation of a viable business plan, among other things). I do, however, want to introduce the idea to you because I have an unfounded and cheerfully naive view of human nature--that no one would DARE steal such an important idea. Also, I believe it's important to let you all know that it is coming, so you can rest easier and walk lighter in the knowledge that life is about to become so much more, well, organic, without having to give up that which we all love so much...I'm talking about Dolly Madison Zingers, and especially exalting the raspberry coconut variety with vanilla cream filling. There is but one distinct weakness to these wonderful little sponge cakes. They are not real. Up to now, I've just accepted this as an unfortunate part of life. I've recently come to see, however, that this does not HAVE to be the case.

More on this epiphany, coming soon...

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Eddie Dowe : 3 poems

Three poems by Eddie Dowe:

1) blazzle, after Harryette Mullen

2) the last song

3) bank robber's note

Gabcast! 'Network_b' : On the Tips of Everyone #4

open road to the soul (by bradley micheal albus)

an original poem by bradley micheal albus
the open road to the soul
lies somewhere in the begging bowl
it eats away it does

so until death takes its toll
body hedonistic, mind altruistic
let harmony & blessings be the goal

do the math, walk the path
it all adds up no matter what you take away
Nibbana Gate, OM Paragate, this day

Gabcast! 'Network_b' : On the Tips of Everyone #3

As it is meant to be: Poetry . . .

To submit an audio poem for critique call:
channel number: 3158
channel password: 1234
press # at the end of your recording to listen and / or publish your submission.
Also, don't forget to say your name at the beginning of your poem, along with the title, so that we can give credit to you as the author.
Gabcast! On the Tips of Everyone #2

Harmony & blessings

Sunday, October 08, 2006

a thousand ways of dying (by bradley micheal albus)

when we kiss, it's electric. A kind of stabbing.
when I think of you, it's hari kari inside
my heart palpates, murmurs.

It's a kind of slow death, torture. Maybe
a gentle crucifiction. Yes, the Japanese really know
how to die,
all this kama kazi jazz
(or maybe Russian Roulette)

My Soul is tying it's rope to your bumper as you idle away.

When you're gone, maybe I'll get chronic flatus
feels like jardia
or maybe systematic organ failure. But how
do you see yourself sexually? How
do you feel when you're the most turned on?

It's kind of sadistic, this falling in love
a thousand ways of dying
possibly becoming an angel or something
maybe being born again, or else
nothing ever having happened.

I can't get these pop rock songs out my head.

I mean, it's all been done before.
Getting trampled by elephants, death by
electrocution, or burning
yourself alive - it's all been done.

prostate, lung, and cancer of the breasts even
nickel and dime sized tumours
old age, drinking lysol liquid plumber maybe
quick, call poison control, I've got
flesh eating bacteria, or maybe a clogged anus. There's
suicide, self inflicted
chainsaw axe murderers depicted malaria
hanta virus, blood poisoning.

This itch, your words
my wounds they stitch
(up, up & the hair)

Falling off rocks, or off
the empire state building, the brooklyn bridge
drive by shooting, just an accident, or
you could die on purpose, too much sex maybe
or lose the will to live.
Tetanus death, a kind of rusty brown - no, lack of sleep
while operating heavy machinery.

A thousand ways of dying; choose one, dream on.

Food poisoning, maybe some arsenic in your milkshake.
Ebola, or like I said systematic
organ failure (already happened)
low blood pressure, high blood pressure.

I mean, it's all over the paper
knife wounds and dehydration
chemical wounds or some white powder in the mail.
You could crash in a train, drowning
or get hit by a car or get hit by a car
on a bicycle or get hit by a car
in a smaller car, it's like everywhere
you look there's
drunk drivers slamming into oncoming traffic, jacknifing
big rigs on gusty highways.

Then, there's getting the shit beat out of you.
Anemic, bullemic, all the starving children in Africa, who
malnourished could die of chronic obesity. Decapitation,
being buried
(still alive)
scooping up organs after traditional Japanese suicide.
It's too much pressure on the brain, kind of cannabalistic,
freezing to death, slipping
on ice maybe
busting a vertebrate.

Whatever you do, don't get squashed by a tractor. Coughing
up blood, tuberculosis bubonic
plague (all been done before) Don't be so lazy
think of something new
osteoporosis blood clot,
bed sores, Africanized bee stings,
Asian bird flu, charged by Rhinos on safari

I mean, it feels like some kind of mass extinction, this global warming, what with
giant meteors from outer space. Say the sun explodes,
you die in your sleep or maybe it's

exocution by the state (official)
carbon monoxide poisoning (boring)
nuclear holocaust (boom)
strapped in the gurney (?)

Kicked in the groin by religious
fundamentalists. I don't care what
they say. When we kiss, it's electric
(a kind of stabbing)
a gentle, slow death torture

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Country Music Poetry

Ready, Set, Smoke A Cigarette!

A beer in one hand,
A Bible in the other.
Drivin' to the prison yard
To visit my ole mother.
Those welfare checks
Were a government tease.
They got you mostly everything
'Ceptin' what you need.
Knockin' off the corner store
Seemed the thing to do
To equalize the landscape,
To back off the screw.
So, momma, I don't blame you-
For doin' what you did.
I'm gonna always love you
'Cause I'm your only kid.
This here cake is meant for you
And all that is within it,
Bless the holy name
Of sweets and 90 minutes
Of filing through the steel
Blowing away shavings,
I'll meet you at the tracks
Just beyond the bayou.
I'll bring whiskey and a Bible
Slake your thirst in a revival
We all gotta do what we all gotta do.

Love Poem to my Wife

If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt

If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt
And amphibious Alisa,
I would ever so gently
Put you in my pocket
With a folded, wet paper towel,
And we would down to the Reservoir
And spend all afternoon
Sliding underneath rocks
And playing Marco Polo,
If you were a Bolivian Spotted Newt.

That's good, huh?

Master of all I survey...

Saturday, September 16, 2006

I will not moderate, Sam I AM...

...but I WOULD love to contribute! Let me know what's next--

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

another metaphysical poetry blog

This is how a posted blog might look.

This is a test of the blog.

Harmony & blessings,
Love & light
bradley micheal albus