The Funeral

A few of us went to Sid’s Funeral.
While not particularly close,
We all did volunteer work
For the same small businesses.

Parish priest, Father Joe,
Had never meet Sid,
And spoke of him
In a truly dull monotone.

Father Joe, noted Sid’s 168 bowling average,
His love of family,
Not withstanding that Sid had no family.
Droning on, Father Joe announced
He would now read from 2 separate notes,
Written by people who knew Sid quite well.

Father Joe was not a gifted reader,
But the humor in his recitation was delicious.
Not that he related humorous events,
It was his complete unawareness
That he was reading two completely disparate
Descriptions of the same deceased.

Having stumble through the first tribute,
Which informed of Sid’s love for animals,
And his connoisseur-like sensitivity to French wines,
Father Joe began the 2nd eulogy.

It was here we learned that old Sid
Had been a Budweiser devotee,
Fearful of Cats and Ducks,
And left money for animal experiments.

Whispering, to the friend seated next to me,
I noted Sid’s fall from 9.5 to 3.
3 signified excellent urine control
And no outstanding warrants.

Father Joe closed by offering all a beneficent smile.
Bowing his head, maybe in prayer,
He consigned Sid to his next big adventure.

You've been here

Do you recognize the situation?
Doesn't it juxtapose different background sounds,
Yet still feel familiar?

Perspective comes to spread its light
Only long after the scene is played.
Aah! To know before the dance has started,
That the melody follows a course you’ve played
Countless times before.

Perform the part. The Director
Does not allow a path back ...yet.
First there must be joy and sorrow,
Then follows.... awareness?

Compassion

Compassion, the simple man
Believes, suggests forgiveness,
Sympathy, maybe empathy,

A more complex person
May not have the grace
To recognize he does not understand,
Mistaking it for surrender.
Is compassion more and less than either?

Sad when a tree falls to the axe,
Exhilarated by the “enemy’s” failure,
Indifferent to the postman’s reality.
Always, always unable to stand clear.

Imaginary Friends

Imaginary Friends

“Alice, that wasn’t very smart” Rebecca intoned
To an empty space in the corner of her room.
Six year old Rebecca had an invisible friend
Who rarely complained, needed Rebecca’s
Somewhat critical insights, and was always ready to play.

Now Rebecca has children of her own.
She has put away Alice....
For an imaginary friend who comes with emissaries.


Every Sunday morning, and occasionally on Tuesday nights,
The lead emissary explains the nature of this new friend
To Rebecca and 200 others.
He exhorts his flock to offer love and money,
And points out the reasons things happen.
According to the almost Very Reverend Cal,
This imaginary friend loves you.
He will always love you and cherish your good deeds.

Of course the “friend” insists Rebecca abide by some covenants.
Surely she can avoid dancing, gays and other sinners?
Rebecca has been taught, and understands, that planned parenthood,
Sex education and contraception are the devil’s tools.
These nefarious activities, when practised
Cause the “friend” to become very angry.
Such anger produced 9/11, The Great Depression and Slums.

From his pulpit, elevated high above his congression’s pews,
Almost Very Reverend Cal recalls the miracle of a believer’s death.
Surely the ‘Friend” allots space on his right for such soldiers?

Nonbelievers can be forgiven, if they repent and “bend the knee”.
Of course people given over to Satan’s ways are beyond recall.
Hell is their destination.

Do you have an imaginary friend?

The Gift

Perfect!

This flawless morning
I feel guilty of trespass.
I fear my steps will collapse the virginal beauty,
My very presence seems intrusive.

An outgoing tide undresses
Miles of glistening,
Unmarred, Pacific coast beach.

Easterly winds forestall any swells,
Erase the familiar sounds of ocean challenging shore,
Turn banners and flags into
Beseeching arms, reaching to embrace
Ocean and sky.

The problem with poor people.

With the IRS insisting he triple his payment,
Which would force him to quit his new job and go on “the dole”,
John, was up-against-it
And looked to the congressman for help

What he got was something else.
Pay a little bit more per month,
Than the government is demanding”
The assigned 33rd ranked congressional assistant recommended.
That way you’ll pay it off sooner.


“Meeting the governments demand would leave $9000.
How do I live here on $9000 a year, asshole?” John screamed.
“It means welfare, and the son-of-bitches get shit!”
The 33rd ranked assistant was outraged.
“Is this how you reward my efforts,” he harumphed.
Fleeing his office he asked that the police be called to eject John.

33rd ranked assistant hid in a distant cubicle until John was removed.
“It’s will take a big raise to keep me around here,” he thought, self-righteously.
A few people, although not particularly interested in his harrowing experience,
Were willing to sit still long enough to hear part of this story, offer sympathy and a “hah”.

Only one of his fellow employees asked about the poor nut, John.
One, only one, voiced a query, “Who could live here on $9000?”
“Not my problem” said the 33rd ranked congressional assistant.