Saturday, May 18, 2019

It's been a while since I posted anything, but I want to repost a poem from last year. I came across it today and I made some revisions. I think it speaks deeply of the creative process.

What The Bard?

In a world of
stardom and logos,
of sprinting after
fulfillment and applause,
we still search for meaning,
for reasons of being,
and what is.
Too busy for long tomes
and in-depth treatises,
this generation finds inspiration
in the short and concise,
in song and verse
which dredge thru our memories
and confirm our being
and celebrate reality.

The bard unwraps the known world,
drawing hope out of the violence,
drawing meaning out of the hope.

Behind the rhymed words
and carefully crafted verses,
the essence of what is is revealed,
fulfilling the very human need
to connect with the Substrata of Life
in this dimension,
even if not understood,
even if still left with longing for clarity.

The bard journeys ever inward,
past the contradictions of everyday life,
skirting the ghosts of memories,
squeezing past every impending concept
beaming from the sun of the Knower
but yet to be revealed
on this fleshly plane
by some intuitive monad.

Into the cauldron of inspiration
the poet dips his mind
and draws out perceptions yet un-thought of,
and translates into human words their essence,
giving flesh to the bones of dreams,
creating truths out of holograms.

And thus, a thing is created,
a something out of nothing,
a Polaroid of time and existence
to titillate, to warm, to surprise,
to teach, to uplift, to shock,
yes, even to castigate or warn,
but always to share something
which Mind impels the soul and pen
to reveal to a humanity ravenous for meaning -
a thus is birthed a poem.

agd - May 2019

Friday, November 16, 2018

Happy Thanksgiving

We are all the One. Everything is connected. Love the ones you're with. Funny, I feel less and less nostalgic for the camaraderie of past years. I worry less and less about the resources I don't have or do have. I am not as motivated to accomplish anything, to complete any project, to make an impression. In 50 years, my name will not be spoken or thought of anywhere, joining the anonymity of billions of other souls. My art will have disappeared. My book(s) will not be read. My music will not be remembered. I will join the anonymity of innumerable souls.
No, I am not depressed - I take each day as it is, and only pray I cause no one any harm or injury. I watch the news to be informed, and I rejoice or cry with a thousand stories made public, shared just to be shared. And how many stories are not known, save by a few, or even a one? Yet, in the archival files of the Akashic Records, all is written, all is recorded, not for judgment, but because it happened. Nothing is lost. All is One.

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Why I Do What I Do

I wasn't born
in a trash heap,
but I heard of someone
who was.

He met a writer-philosopher
who came to observe life
in a trash heap in Mexico,
and the trash heap man implored:
"You write about me.
I was born in this trash heap.
I live my life in this trash heap.
I will die in this trash heap.
I will be buried in this trash heap.
Write about me.
Tell them: " 'I was here.' "

There's only One Life,
and you and I and the trash heap man
are each an integral part of it.

I do what I do
because I want the world to know
I was here.
Everyone does.
And yet, every one, every thing
that ever existed, exists or will be
is known in the mind of God, the Designer,
and loved in the Heart of Reality,
whether a queen or a trash heap man
a lizard or a microbe.

And the reason I write poetry
or create art,
or play the harp
is only because
built into my dna,
my bio-chemistry
urges me to purpose,
and it is purpose
that shouts out
to the world:
 "I am here!"

So forgive me
if I tease out from you
a compliment,
a thank you,
a purr or leg rub,
even a criticism,
or if I create chaos
or vie for attention
in any way,
judged saintly or vile.
I only want someone
to affirm my existence.
I only want to take a deep breath
and with confidence, breathe out,
"I am here."

So yes, I WILL smile at you in the street,
I WILL help you without asking,
send you a card just for the hell of it.
I WILL avoid the squirrel racing across the road,
and help the turtle reach the road's edge,
and not crush the furry caterpillar.
(But to hell with the flies, ticks and mosquitos!)

I WILL condemn your faulty thinking
but will try to heal your brokenness,
to make your day more pleasant,
to encourage your purpose.
For when you fulfill YOUR purpose,
you make MY life easier,
and the world is a better place to be.

agd - 7.15.2018 - Inspired by a story by Luis Alberto Urrea  during an interview on Krista Tippett's radio program "On Being"

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

The Fourth

The Fourth of  July, 2018
starts out hot, 80,
with humidity to match.
Ogden is silent,
the walk leaves me drenched.
Saw only one babbit
whilst my ears perked
to listen to the avian news
broadcasting in so many tongues.

All else lay silent.
A quiet start to a
celebratory day.

And these days,
tinged with dread
and uncertainty,
the world's instant news
and synchronous reactions
create ripples of energy
to augment the puppeteer's goals.
But do not give in to the fear.
Send a blessing instead.
Then go out and make a difference.

Today I'll wear my flag
and sing our anthem,
and pluck a hymn of thanksgiving.
The USA is still a wonderful place to be.

The Fourth be with you.


Saturday, May 19, 2018

A Royal Wedding

A Royal Wedding

I met Love today.
I saw him in their eyes,
in the wisp of their shared smiles
as they gazed perfectly
into each other's eyes
as they trothed each other
to a life in faith and
commitment and fealty.

I heard Love today
in passionate words
meant to stir our hearts
to fathom Love's power,
beseeching all ears
to step out in risk
and transform a tormented world,
to disburden the anguished,
and to banish poverty to the
archives of history.

I saw Love today,
in the giggles of lovers,
in their responsive eyes,
in their fearless touches.

I know Love today,
for I know God,
and God is Love.

agd - May 19, 2018 - The Wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

I Do

I asked the Beloved:
"If we are all One
in the Perfection of Being,
what separates us
one from another?"
He answered:
"I do."


Thursday, February 1, 2018

New Book of Poetry - "Seasons"

New author: Allen Dec
New book: My Poems - Seasons 

Publisher: Jafansta, Inc
Buy Now:

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Eternally One

Glorious is the moment we sit in the palace, You and I.
Two forms, two faces, but a single soul: You and I.
The flowers will blaze and bird cries shower us with immortality
The moment we enter the garden, You and I.
All the stars of heaven will run out to gaze at us
As we burn like the full moon itself, You and I.
The fire-winged birds of heaven will rage with envy
In that place where we laugh ecstatically, You and I.
What a miracle, You and I, entwined in the same nest;
What a miracle, You and I: one Love, one Lover, one Fire,
In this world and the next, in an ecstasy without end.

- Jalal-ud-Din Rumi

Sunday, November 26, 2017

If I Cry

I thought…
If I cry….

If I would just cry
from the pit
of my aching heart,

pour out tears
for the pained hearts
who perpetrate violence,
who find injustice
and not cooperation
a way of life,
who cannot cry themselves
to relieve their hidden pain
and be healed.

If only I would cry,
I thought,
perhaps hearts
will be lightened
and minds will be enlightened
and peace will be born.

Perhaps I cannot change others,
but I can change myself.
My tears cleanse only me,
laving the channels
of spirit and blood
so love will flow,
chi will circulate,
and the quantum center
of my fragile humanity
will vibrate and radiate
and heal the space I walk through
and the souls upon whom
I espy.

And that is sometimes all I can do.
If I would just cry.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Day of Rest

to the point of
for lack of peace
and quiet.

Radio yakking,
TV reacting,
traffic racking
my brain with
ratcheting noise.

no NPR,
no CNN,
close the doors,
secure the sashes,
draw the curtains,
find your home's sweet spot,
the quiet air,
stillness waiting ---
ready to wrap you
in its silent smile.

Now, rest awhile.

Saturday, November 4, 2017

"May I?"

I give her  a drag
on my cigarette.
She still loves the taste
after 80 yrs. of living,
bearing children,
raising 3 boys,
teaching us,
feeding us,
clothing us,
supporting us
as we stumbled into
our own lackluster lives.

Few words are shared;
her neurons,
once connected
to fulfill her daily tasks,
now disconnect one by one,
causing gaps in the memories,
not knowing what the fragments
mean anymore.
T.I.A.s are insidious events,
stealing away the
meaning of the familiar,
robbing you of the words
needed to share life,
erasing who you think you are,
making strangers of
your most intimate relations.

And it is only one way
of fading into oblivion,
as all we will.
So, say we all.
So, say we all.

Friday, November 3, 2017

Good Friend

Good friend,
good talks,
sharing space and air
and a cup of joe.

A memory of kindnesses,
gentle smiles
and meaningful words,
a shared faith
that wants to link arms
in a leisurely stroll
thru a sun-dappled park.

A shared faith,
a love for nature,
where orchids bloom
in sparkling hues;
another wonder shared,
a beauty revered.

Faithful service,
kind words,
a giving heart.

Thankful prayers,
good friend,
finally home.
Sink into its peace, and
God be with you
till we meet again.

R.I.P. T. LeFebre - 10.29.17

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Tricks 'n Treats

Tricks 'n Treats!

A clamor I hear
as chilluns draw near,
transformed by disguises,
no one realizes
who they really are.

One night to startle,
to beg and to bartle
for treats or tricks benign.

Dressed in rags,
some like hags,
still others heroes
or nutsy Neros,
they make their way

Through the village
festooned with fallish goods,
pumpkins, ghosts and
webs galore.

Tis a night for
for ridding our dwellings
of Lokis and Kokopelis,
and by a witches' broom
sweeping out the stale,
bored spirits so
our winter's hibernation
will rest secure.

Throw some candy to the moon,
and if it doesn't return,
the spirits will protect you
another sun cycle
til the next Eve of Hallows
once more compels us
to scream: