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radical druid Posts

How Bold and Beautiful: cancione

If you would sing of beauty,
and would celebrate its worth,
do not forget the lost and wretched
living on the earth.

For if you take away the dirt,
the dregs, the mud, and slime,
you’ll find not much of what is left
is really that sublime.

For beauty comes from harmony
with each part of the whole.
There is no non-essential piece;
each atom plays a role.

And what is beautiful to some
looks pitiful to those
who merely glance at the outside:
at houses, jewels, and clothes.

But what is truly beautiful
is plainly on display,
and lives but for a moment.
It dies and fades away,

But that is beauty, sure enough,
a temporary thing
that suffers winter ’til it finds
rebirth in the next spring.

You cannot cage the beautiful,
nor keep it hid away;
there is no dungeon strong enough.
It will not, does not stay.

If you would sing of beauty,
know your song is just a dream,
and like its object will not last
nor ever more than seem.

25 APR 2025

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Let Us Be Unbound: canzone

Canto I: Happenstance

It happens once, and you can act surprised;
the second time, maybe you didn’t see.
But by the third occurrence, if your eyes
don’t register it, you are either blind
or willfully avoiding it. Disguise
that as you wish, but it’s on you:
if you don’t know, you’re telling yourself lies.

You may seek out forgiveness, but the facts
are plain enough; you just don’t want to see.
Maybe you’re just too comfortable, or set
up to somehow make a profit. Honestly,
when you avoid your share or part of blame
you’re not absolved. You don’t keep dignity
or get to play the victim for your friends.

What is the point of playing at this game?
When everyone else loses, do you win?
Who cares what team ends with the highest score,
or which side live with might-have been?
We are all still connected, just the same,
and end together, just as we begin.
There’s no escape from it, my friends.

Canto II: Coincidence

It seems so obvious, and yet our eyes
deceive us if we see no malice where
the crowds around us suddenly are thinned
until we stand alone, and must do battle there
against an enemy, no longer shy
or hesitant to strike or play unfair.
What can we do, except defend ourselves?

You may believe your wounds are just mistakes,
that no one sought to hurt you. But your blood
still spills, and for each move you try to make,
you can’t pretend there is no pain or fear.
Maybe it’s just bad luck, an unfair shake,
or your opponent doesn’t realize
their actions – as they cause your bones to break.

How do you still convince yourself you’re free,
and that your life is surely not at risk?
What further evidence could surely be
enough to show you of the game afoot?
When recognition comes at last, you’ll see
the error of your ways, but far too late,
when all along, you’ve fed your enemy.

Canto III: Enemy Action

It comes at night, and never in the day,
for sunlight melts dark shadows all away;
we all must sleep, sometimes, and in our dreams,
we are equally vulnerable and brave.
There is no hiding now, we must arise,
and stand against the beast before it grows.
We cannot hesitate now, goodness knows.

You may not understand, but make a choice:
a life in shackles, mute, without a voice,
or reaching out to something else quite new
that you may fear but need to try to do.
The time is now, the hour is growing late,
and you must learn to fight. It is your fate
to stand, and not to kneel, against the beast.

What good is your compliance with a smile?
How long before the malice visits you?
While there is life, you must start to resist,
or you betray all others who exist
and understand there is a better way.
The enemy grows strong as you delay;
there is no time to simply think and pray.

25 APR 2025

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Inside the Henhouse: byr a thoddaid

The danger isn’t always so clear;
sometimes, it can amplify our fear
in ways we do not recognize, or see,
subtly in disguise.

We seem easily surprised by this,
wishing it were all lies.
While we were sleeping, it crept in;
destroying our sweet might-have-been.

24 APR 2025

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Uncertain Eternity: bref double

Pretend we will not meet again on some bright future shore;
once they are gone, the things we love are gone forever more.
But then again, there is no me to miss them when they go;
I likewise will just disappear at some point, even though

I’d like to think eternal thoughts, and in some future, know
the secrets of the universe, and say, “I told you so.”
My energy may linger on beyond this mortal coil,
but there is nothing past the grave except some worms and soil.

Quite honestly, that is enough; one life is enough time
to figure out just who I am. The pressure is sublime,
but keeps me honest, truth be told, and there’s some good in that.
More, and I’d be self-satisfied, and grow lazy and fat.

What would you do with endless time, nothing to figure out?
Not much more than we’re doing now, of that there is no doubt.

23 APR 2025

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The Sellout: brag

It’s hard to explain, but here’s living proof:
he’s the piped piper pumping undisputed truth,
a loud clarion shout to disenfranchised youth,
wrapped up head to toe in a bright angel suit.

It doesn’t make much sense, but then again, what does?
You never see the bees, but you can hear the buzz:
there’s no real use for reason, just believe because
it’s the way to get along, and everybody does.

Either life or destruction, doesn’t matter much,
when you can turn into gold everything you touch;
morality is just an inconvenient crutch.
Set it on automatic, you don’t need no clutch.

We’re all really flying, thanks to magic wings;
and parachutes, we don’t need them stupid things!
Who knows what the future or tomorrow brings?
Who cares, it’s a miracle each time he sings.

He’s the master of disaster, the true overlord,
who promises the life we want and can afford.
You won’t get left behind or be the least bit bored;
and those who disagree, in prison or ignored.

It’s hard to explain, but this is what you get:
and it’s too late for apologies. Have no regret.
The best part ain’t even started happening yet;
just keep your eyes on his channel on your TV set.

23 APR 2025

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For Art’s Sake

Maybe it’s because I’m a musician, or due to having been read to a lot before I started to read for myself at age 4, or because my family seems to be filled with generations of marvelous storytellers. Maybe it’s because I’ve studied for many years the bardic traditions of the Druids. But if seeing is believing, then hearing is belonging.

For me, audio books are both a natural progression and a journey backwards in time. By this I mean that anything I read, in my head I imagine either reading it aloud or having it read to me. It becomes a conversation. Granted, it would be difficult to have a conversation in real life as long as the Lord of the Rings trilogy. You’d have to stop for meals, a couple of naps, restroom breaks, and the endless stream of diversions that inevitably break up a three-day encounter with another person. Even if you reduced or compared it to that most modern of contrivances, the binge watch, it would take quite a chunk of time – and the rapt attention of both parties – to commit to, engage in, and successfully complete such a talk.

That’s one of the reasons why I’ve started several novels but never finished them. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to talk to me for that long. So, I keep it short – missive like this one, poems, songs. It’s not that I can’t extend an idea or premise out beyond the horizon – and anyone who’s talked to me in person knows I am capable of extemporaneous speech for quite a while. But sometimes, it’s better to take medicine – or poison – in small doses. Think of it as an inoculation against the doldrums.

One of the reasons I don’t play live music much anymore is the absence of a conversation. Again, maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the people who come to the places around here that are available for gigs, where like in a casino, the band is an amenity like the all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s a loss-leader, as far as the venue is concerned, because people aren’t really coming in to see the band, but to eat, hang out with their friends, or get drunk. A live band in those kinds of situations needs to be more like a juke box, pumping out familiar sounds at a chat-enabling volume, not placing too many demands on the royal ear, so to speak, and definitely not presenting anything confrontational, controversial, confusing, or confounding. Consider yourself part of the furniture. Or worse, a mere player in a tribute band, actively pretending to be someone you’re not, someone completely different, someone worth listening to.

There are music venues that are not like that, of course. But they are becoming harder and harder to find. Odd, because when you consider the performance rights dues that a venue has to pay to support cover bands, radios, or juke boxes, original music is much cheaper. And since the patrons aren’t coming to see the band anyway, from a purely objective point of view it doesn’t matter what they play. So long as it is comfortable, right?

But art is not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to show you something, make you feel something. A live music event is an experience: a specific time and space coordination that exists only now and involves absolutely everyone in its presence. Performers, promoters, patrons, bartenders, wait-staff, and even random passersby. It is a feast for the senses. And too many people these days seem to be too satisfied with pre-processed, microwaved, and poorly presented fast food that looks nothing like the pictures on the menu.

So many people are dying to simply talk to another person. Or to be heard. And yet we isolate ourselves more and more, not demanding greater physical or emotional interaction because we’re taught it’s unsafe, unsanitary – or maybe just “insanitary”.

Maybe that’s the problem. The conveniences we have demanded are now mandatory, and the entire might of civilized society is conspiring to keep us from actually touching each other.

So, if you can’t see live music, or a live play or dance recital, or poetry reading, go to the library on the weekend and watch the faces of children during Story Hour. Let their joy seep into your pores a little. Maybe you’ll remember what it’s like to be part of a tale, story, legend, myth, or history. Instead of just watching it go by or swiping left.

23 APR 2025

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The Bright Pearl: bob and wheel

The world is filled with ancient stuff;
it came alive before our time
enslaved it, chained to days and hours,
and thought its might could humbly serve
our desire.
We thought we knew the way:
might, right, and fire,
And so hastened the day
when our kingdoms expire.

The world is always new and bright;
it births each day despite our work
to cage and bottle energy
and dole it out to better serve
their masters.
We think we rule alone.
Despite each new disaster,
pretending the unknown
is just hell’s ever-after.

The world is what we make it, yet
its underlying stuff persists
far past our lives and then beyond.
It does not care much for our whims
or dreaming.
We think we know such much:
that being is in seeming,
and jewels we can touch
for only us are gleaming.

23 APR 2025



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