Truth Farmer

Muscles are aching. My body's undone.
Life's forsaking; friends, family shunned.
Why am I alone? What's the reason?
Please now be shown, why lonely season?

Dreams about Mama, ignoring my plight
That Truth Farmer, is not a fight.
But is a dear plea, a desperate hope,
To connect with thee, to somehow learn cope.

My unconscious, deep ocean place
Fights religious, barbaric face
That doesn't seek Truth, but only sameness
And makes many fools, in name of Holy bless.

I didn't create, the way things have been:
Christian's warfare, making sex a sin,
Or the Hell dogma, the childhood abuse,
But only delved & saw. Would not make excuse

For all the lies there, the inconsistencies.
I know it's unfair, and easier to kill me,
Because we were told, that it was true
And the stories old, were God through & through.

But we can still see, and learn to accept
That other lives can be; also true, correct.
As the world gets small, and other people love
Letting go our God's tall, single place above

Allows real love for all,
Not just a cruel sham.
We can get past appall,
And open real Truth's dam.


Truth Farmer
by Loveson G. Flower
Sunday morning, 8/17/97
home in bed

Cyber-Slave, Internet Junkie

Becoming an Internet Junkie,
Some stooge. Just a cyber-drugs flunky.
So much cool stuff to see -
Naked Babes interesting -

All designed to catch my eye,
Grab my time and my money.
Sitting there stuck like a leech
That attaches to skin in bowels of beach.

Sucking, sucking for all it's worth.
And my life becomes a dearth,
Of real life, healthy happening;
Lost in cyber tapping in;

To my brain, my time, my lusts.
Spider web's food I am because
I can't or won't seem to break free,
Leave the room and go to be.

The longer I stay right there,
Attached to leech sitting in chair,
My body and life disintegrates.
Time passes and fate won't wait.

By process of elimination,
I lose my discrimination.
It's easier to find life here,
In Cyber space that go out there.

Cyber-Life although illusion,
Has benefit of inclusion.
At least it seems like that to me.
If I pay my life, I guess it's free.


Cyber-Slave, Internet Junkie
by Loveson G. Flower
Saturday, 5:00 PM 8/16/97
at Le Boulanger, Menlo Park
Cartoon by Breen, Ashbury Park Press, 1997

Pinnochio's Strings

Recently started Internet.
Plunged on in and bit the bullet.
I can see why all the fuss.
Lot's to see. Information must

Fill up every question here.
It's better that swilling a beer.
Addiction's fiction that I see
Pretending something's real really,

And not just photons shooting past
The monitor's face to my eyes fast
So I can sit alone and surf
From here to far. But which is worse:

Answers to questions worthless,
Or questions of answers not mine unless
I let the controllers control
And become a little Pinnochio.

Dancing only on their string.
Chancing only to sing their sing.
Never venturing song myself
Of real life's stirring, as my own elf.


Pinnochio's Strings
by Loveson G. Flower
2:00 PM, 8/15/97
at Cafe Barrone, Menlo Park
Photo from: www.costumeshopper.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/59587.jpg

Past the Past

Dashing and bold adventure.
Would fasting or old venue be cure
To my boredom and ennui?
Is this overdone? Too much me?

Can't keep balance together?
Like plants weeping glance for weather.
Hoping for some rainy skies;
Groping for water's replies.

We have born our seed but now,
Must be fertilized somehow
With new moisture and sunshine;
Fairy dust's cure to be fine.

And not be one of most,
That goes straight from seed to ghost
Without thriving in between;
Growing up, my branches seen.

Don't want to just be potential.
What might've been then on trial.
But actualize talents fair,
All tracks realized with sent care.

Sent to loved ones known or not;
Anonymously shown lush plot.
For the seeds to have a chance,
For most to grow up so can dance.

To send their seeds near and far.
Bouquets to build peace not war.
And help human kind & more,
Reconnect with Ocean's shore.

To love the deep and ocean wave,
For wholeness seep and soul to save
From a Life of worthless time,
Transcending strife in meaning fine.

Each of us meaning must find.
Not be told, controlled our mind.
For we are unique each one;
And all can see light, become

All we can. All that we see.
Resurrected our dead be.
After our days in the fire.
Using soil our Soul's require

To reach our higher purpose.
To impeach fire's unjust
Destruction of healthy goals.
Seduction of wealth & repose.

But to fly past fear, desire.
Past the Past and Hell's fire.
Into Light, Love, Wisdom shown.
Into health with Self now known.


Past the Past
by Loveson G. Flower
Tuesday, 12:20 PM 8/12/97
Hobee's Town & Country, Palo Alto

Vision's Quest

Cleaned up the studio today,
Ready to begin.
Wherever, whatever plays,
Steady love or sin.

Cleared the decks, what the heck.
Time to let it loose.
I'm not crazy, and not lazy.
Can stand all opposed.

Whether stingy or being dingy,
I can take it all.
Have resources; and, of course,
My ability to fall.

And then to rise, with mind's surmise,
Of all the stuff that smells.
I can find out, what my mind's shout,
Of the stuff that kills.

With this method, of confessed blood,
I might really know
What's the price, of our world's ice,
That freezes growing's grow.

Maybe then I'll, find then awhile,
A way to say it clear.
Make some notice, addiction's motive,
And freedom's free way dear.

Is there someone, who might then come,
And open our heart's all
To the damage, system's savage,
Slavery and our heart's kill?

Hope to find them, and support them,
In the breaking out.
Nourishment of, their struggle's love,
And helping past their doubt.

Wish I could be, serenity,
And successful mouth.
But I realize, my faults and lies,
Might not pull north/south.

Can't speak language, of all's passage.
Barely know my own.
Want to learn now, and find somehow,
Vehicles past grown.

So can invest, and find success,
In the Vision's Quest.
To make difference, give hope a chance,
Help many make best

Use of their lives, not wasted lies,
But true connection
With their own Source, not slavery's force,
And blue ocean won.


Vision's Quest
by Loveson G. Flower
1:30 PM, 8/10/97
at Pizza Place, Menlo Park

Messenger's Message

Must here make clear, name's of nuclear
Family just born, whose health we're sworn,
To help live and survive, not just be born alive.
And have their own names. No confusing games.

Loveson is an Author and Sculptor.
Gaia's the Subject and our Mentor.
He/She writes new vision.
She/He is Love's vision.

It may be little confusing,
Like difference of Song from Sing.
Loveson writes and sings,
Gaia's songs played strings.

She/He's the object of our love,
The whole who enfolds us in Her/His glove.
A warm embrace so we can know,
She/He's responsible for our grow.

Loveson's here to sing the story.
Not for pride and not for glory.
An anonymous Artist,
Sculpting symbols of Heart's wish.

Don't confuse the clear message,
With the broken Messenger's passage.
He's nothing special, just someone;
Who jousts with windmills to be One.

And hopes others might also then See,
How their own wholeness might now be.
And if they can't We will be sad,
But for our cracked mirror's heart we're glad.

Loveson tries to plant seeds.
Gaia plants, grows, harvests needs.
We're just a strand in Her/His web.
Weaving coming leaving's instead.
You can be a find line too,
In Gaia's silky, woven zoo.


Messenger's Message
by Loveson G. Flower
Wednesday, 8/6/97
Hobbies

Almost Dead

Am at home,
Still can't come
Back to Life.
Grief for wife?

Which doesn't,
Wish isn't
Happening.
Pen no ring.

Cannot sing,
Nor can bring
Me alive,
Open eyes.

Almost dead.
In my bed.
Loveson lives.
Ego gives.


Almost Dead
by Loveson G. Flower
Tuesday, 1:30 PM, 8/5/97
at home

Smoke and Mirrors

Am stuck to this chair and don't know why.
Am I afraid to go there and see if I fly?
So we are born. Now what?
What's the next trick? Underwater float?

Guess I'm skeptical of all the commotion.
Would be more impressed with locomotion.
Is there a difference then from today?
Or is it smoke and mirrors play?

Broken-hearted is a great fix.
Is this what you call your best trick?
Would it be better just to survive,
Than all this set up for a dive?

Please, Critic
Have your say;
But in your disgust,
Please, don't slay.


Smoke and Mirrors
by Loveson G. Flower
4:30 PM 8/4/97
Cafe' Verona, Palo Alto

Post-Partum Blues

Post-partum blues are here. Hope can find some cheer.
All birthing's excitement, left feeling excrement.
Guess it is all a part, to give Loveson a start.
But I sure am blue. Wonder what to do?

Shall I go home to bed? Find a good book not read?
Travel far abroad? Make love to a broad?
Why's my inspiration, now just perspiration?
Is it just my mood, or unhealthy food?

Read her my love poem. Walked with her to farm
Past Gaia's dear plants. Some time with me to grant.
But so suddenly, she's gone and death we
Must now contemplate. Cruel, dark, cold heart fate.

It was all set up, our relationship
To end on a dime, at this ending time.
Now must integrate, find a new heart's gate
To open again, with new seeing friend.

Don't know when or where, or if can find care
In a person there, for our lives to share.
To have loved and lost, must be worth the cost.
But the bill's now due, and I'm surely blue.

Hope my account is full. Pay bill keeper's due.
My heart banks seem light, from this taking flight.
Loveson, here's your gift; for your wings to lift:
Broken-hearted mom, so that you could come.


Post-Partum Blues
by Loveson G. Flower
3:00 PM, 8/4/97
Cafe' Verona, Pala Alto

Nightmare's Fear

Having nightmares, something that scares
About's not clear: Vision & steer?
Realization, at end of line
Comes exploding, it's unfolding.

With my head ache, my body's sake
Which is hurting, sore and aching.
Cut and bruised scars, now with nightmares,
Wonder what's next? Pregnancy's hex?

But I'm in love, with our new son
And our daughter, Loveson's laughter.
Am I worried, in the flurry,
If it's not right? Is that our fright?

Somehow heart song, seems to go wrong
In my dream fear. It is so queer.
Keeps on waking, with me shaking
At end of line; can't, won't, don't find

What's important,
For our heart's chant.
Am ignoring,
Love's exploring?

Nightmare's Fear
by Loveson G. Flower
Monday 5:30 AM, 8/4/97
home in bed
Non Sequitor cartoon by Wiley, 1997. WWW.wileytoones.com

Time for Flying

Borning's over. Four leaf clover.
Feel real lucky. Perhaps found See.
Baby's real nice. Friends there nice twice.
Helped me through it, my birthing fit.

Now the Vision, is decision.
See it always, sleep and at play.
Muscles aching, from the baking
Brand new something. Has a nice ring.

Round and wholesome. Found my goal: One.
Express Gaia's, dream of flying
For all creatures, in their searches
For their fullness. Pull life soul's wish

From the ocean, and emotion
Tied together, like kite's tether
That let's flying, me not trying.
Just hold on tight, to string of kite.

Like my thinking, past my blinking.
Thoughts connected, to heart's section.
And the body, hold's the world key
For metaphor, to show all more.

Are we One now?
Born fine somehow.
Time for flying.
Mother's crying.


Time for Flying
by Loveson G. Flower
Sunday, 11:30 PM 8/3/97
home in bed

Vision's Symbols

Have been outside, of our dear womb.
Won't fit inside, of Studio room.
Been working solid, for week or so
With tourists did, my time then go.

It is some strange, to be display
And rearrange, my do and say.
They stop to talk, and ask me questions.
Sometimes I balk, my task and quest burns.

My hands are cut, bruised and bleeding.
But glands war shut, for use their freeing
Me to make new, Vision's Symbols.
Like a lake's few, streams ocean goes.

Every new one, many begets
Until the Sun, on wide Sea sets.
Evaporation, to white cloud fair
Water's motion, pours on mount there.

And down in streams, to Lakes deep blue
Feeds forest's green. Circle's then through.
Creative Life, is just circle.
Let go live strife, let's miracle

Occur each day. Symbol's then born
Come out to play, with wholes come more.
Time to go now, finish Labor.
Am so grateful, heart wish did pour.


Vision's Symbols
by Loveson G. Flower
6:30 PM 8/2/97
Cafe Barone', Menlo Park

Singing Fingers

Sweet guitar music, plays inside my whole.
Am some heart sick, for music's sounds enfold.
My dear piano, is just a distant friend.
Want soon to go, and friendship there mend.

Who knows how long, fingers will still bend
And play sweet love songs, for my heart to rend.
When I am crippled, will I be real sad
To not have sampled, sweet songs' feelings glad?

Have some tears here now. Guess I'm sad already.
Just when I learn how, my fingers leave real steady.
They have always served, me in many ways.
Don't get love deserved, for all the tunes they played.

All the lovely women, who fingers made feel fine.
And the knowledge omens, hands uncovered lines
Of many fields and learnings, turning page by page.
Helped uncover yearnings. Expressed and let go rage.

I will miss you fingers, if you must retire.
Guess I'll be a singer, to try and express my fire.
Just a voice untrained, to sing away my fears.
Must sing a new refrain, to carry through the years.

Thank you hands and fingers,
For all you've meant to me.
Loved piano and learn thirst,
Through you I was sent See.


Singing Fingers
by Loveson G. Flower
5:45 PM, 8/2/97
Cafe Barone, Menlo Park
Photo from: www.homepage.mac.com/annetics/.Pictures/ Image-1AEE754AFD7811D9.jpeg

Our Big Bang

Less than 24 hours, before Loveson pours showers
Of love into our life.
There's lots to do. The time sure flew,
In my role as wife.

The sculpture's grand. Made strong the stand,
And skeleton is fine.
Chrysalis black, around the stack,
Of the eternal bind.

Between the Earth; Sun, Universe
Connected at the heart.
We came from it. We're star's deposit.
From deep space came our start.

Exploding thing, the bold big bang,
15 billion years ago.
And all matter, even this chatter,
Expanding, spanning know.

Is Loveson's grow, our Big Bang now?
Time to break the fences.
Expanding fast. Grown-up at last.
Free to complete our dances.

Hello new world! May my love curl,
In spiraling, whole dances.


Our Big Bang
by Loveson G. Flower
5:00 PM 8/2/97
Cafe' Barrone, Menlo Park

Vision of a Broken Mirror

Turn on water connection; to Earth, Sun, Universe.
Spiraling inside ocean, all to then transverse.
Make maleness, fertile testes; filled with bright white beads
Somewhat hidden male seeds, to not offend thee.

Hair of ivy golden. Green blond, eyes See true.
Translucent web skin, fond spiders weaving's glue.
Backbone from the garden, stick and SunFlower stalks
With roots at the bottom, chakra spirals talk.

It starts and uncoils inside, up to higher reaches.
Spiraling energy cried. "Wake up" the sky beseeches.
Neck made of a pine cone, holds the head aloft.
Legs in dancer's pose. Arms reach out real soft.

As if to ask a question: "Come and dance with me.
You can wholeness become. Will you chance to See?"
I am but a Vision, of a broken mirror,
Who chose by decision, to heal his heart's terror.

All human creatures are mirrors, broken though they be,
Can reflect past their fears. Can show their own Light's See.
It may be just on one side; of the wide, sphere round.
But if you search inside, other mirrors are tied to ground.

Listen to each mirror,
Who is shining his/her Light.
Connect yours to all in sphere.
Soul's finding total sight.


Vision of a Broken Mirror
8/2/97
by Loveson G. Flower
at Cafe Barone, Menlo Park
(Description of sculpture created at Allied Arts Guild as metaphor/representation of Loveson's birth)

Sweet Dreams, Pleasant Dreams

Can't sleep yet, all keyed up.
Need to get, Paul to sleep
So we can, build our friend,
Our new baby; for love maybe.

We should pray, that we stay
Together, calm weather.
Just two days, Saturday
And Sunday, our Son's day.

Daughter's too. Else she'll sue
Favorites, and have fits
We deserved. Be reserved.
Not show off. Don't blow off

Anyone. No one's down.
But be humble, with love's mumble
Or clearly, and dearly
Be a friend, hearts to mend.

Feelings send, around the bend.
I'm so tired. Must retire.
Let's go sleep. Gaia keep
In her arms, loving charms.

Sweet, sweet dreams,
Pleasant dreams.
See you in,
The mornin'.


Sweet Dreams, Pleasant Dreams
by Loveson G. Flower
Saturday, 2:00 AM 8/2/97
home in bed
Baby Blues cartoon by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott, 1997

Let It Come

Why sit here and sip tea,
There's much to do to craft me.
Today the body and the spine,
And breasts beautiful and fine.

The arms must be shaped in an "O"
To symbolize the search for whole.
And ask the question in sweet romance
To all who see: "Would you like to dance?"

The face with SunFlower's dear seeds.
Eyes made from food for birdies.
Legs from branches of loved tree.
All natural textures for symbol, He/She.

Her/His hair made of long, green ivy
Growing, absorbing Sun and thriving.
An inspiration to come alive,
But perspiration now to survive.

And finish all in time for birth
Just two days left to find our worth.
What do we have inside, dear Paul?
Is it Loveson's cry for all?

Is it vision and our love?
Is it connecting to Above?
Let it come. We're almost there.
I love you so for all your care.


Let It Come
by Loveson G. Flower
2:30 PM, 8/1/97
Cafe' Barone, Menlo Park

Sour Apples

My hands are all gnarly. Sore, cut, bruised and barely
Able to still function. Guess need miracle's unction
To save my loved fingers, from arthritis' ringer.
And I wonder how long, we can still sing our songs.

And type and play piano, make love like Luciano
Pavoratti sings fine. Being crippled's unkind.
Have been blessed all my life, with good health and few strife's
In physical body, 'cept for little balding.

But now must endure, aging's slings and arrows
As body breaks down. That could make me frown.
Youth is wasted on the young. This old saying sings my song.
Guess I didn't waste my youth. Was real active if some uncouth.

Probably just Sour Apples.
Different stages in our grapple
With fate and destiny.
Death's late or sometimes early.


Sour Apples
7:00 AM 8/1/97
by Loveson G. Flower
home in bed