I can see the overpass.
As my bus approaches that part of town
I become more anxious.
I do not want to go there.
Crowds grow larger and less friendly.
Streets are not as well maintained,
Sidewalks are cracked, trees are few
And kiosks have replaced windowed stores.
Beggars and cripples are everywhere
An angry sun hi-lights the feeling
Of incipient violence.
I must get off the bus.
This not my part of town.
We will come to the last stop
And I will be left, conspicuous,
Among people who do not like my clothes.
Why are these people so shabby?
A smell of unwashed bodies
Pervades the bus as the driver opens the door.
I, the sole passenger, rise and exit.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Hope
Can it work?
They are excited,
Even as they play down the probabilities.
It’s an alternative, something to do.
Tomorrow I fly, and test.
We can explore this option.
Is it ignorance that
Allows my spirit to lighten?
Such good friends.
Serious men, reaching,
Taking my hand and screaming,
“You’ve got to test”.
They will go home,
My problems are not theirs.
So what! They are here now,
And want to help.
Climbing,
Christ this is going to be hard..
And scary.
I don’t know.
Can their ideas make it worse?
You bet.
Time isn’t ours; others will not agree.
I will have to learn.
Do I understand the questions?
Where will I find the talent?
What about the cost?
Am I still tough enough?
They are excited,
Even as they play down the probabilities.
It’s an alternative, something to do.
Tomorrow I fly, and test.
We can explore this option.
Is it ignorance that
Allows my spirit to lighten?
Such good friends.
Serious men, reaching,
Taking my hand and screaming,
“You’ve got to test”.
They will go home,
My problems are not theirs.
So what! They are here now,
And want to help.
Climbing,
Christ this is going to be hard..
And scary.
I don’t know.
Can their ideas make it worse?
You bet.
Time isn’t ours; others will not agree.
I will have to learn.
Do I understand the questions?
Where will I find the talent?
What about the cost?
Am I still tough enough?
Yankees
Let me confess,
Born and raised in Brooklyn
The Bronx was a place of mystery.
Overcrowded with wall to wall 3 story walkups.
I think Columbus would not have visited.
Nope, the borough was creepy.
The stadium was in a lousy location
Even the subway stop, not close to being underground, was nuttin.
But that is far from the worst the Bronx had to offer,
Including the strange way the natives spoke.
That honor belonged to the Yankees,
Those bullshit, white-bread, pinstriped Yankees and Mel Allen.
Mel was their lead play by play guy.
Always the Yankees were in deep do-do.
Poor bubbies, “don’t stand a chance”, he would lament,
Right after Yogi hit a “White Owl Wallop”. Gimme a break!
Brooklyn had Red Barber, a southern gentlemen,
Who called a game right. Taught Vin Scully.
But the “Bronx Bomber’s” what kind of nickname is that?
Sounded like they wore leather flight jackets.
Anuddah thing. We had a band “The Dodger Filharmonic”,
6 piece dixieland.. They were great.
Yankees put gravestones in center field,
What the hell are ya celebrating wit gravestones?
Time and again my beloved Bums
Would lead the National League,
Winning the pennant to confront the Yankees
And proceed to break our hearts
Five times we met ‘em
Five times we tumbled.
It was humiliating.
They owned us, those too-grand-to-take-a crap creeps.
Until 55,
When I changed Dodger luck by betting against them!
Yeah, that’s right. Took me 10 years to figure it out.
Cost me 20 bucks, but we were a Winnah!!
Born and raised in Brooklyn
The Bronx was a place of mystery.
Overcrowded with wall to wall 3 story walkups.
I think Columbus would not have visited.
Nope, the borough was creepy.
The stadium was in a lousy location
Even the subway stop, not close to being underground, was nuttin.
But that is far from the worst the Bronx had to offer,
Including the strange way the natives spoke.
That honor belonged to the Yankees,
Those bullshit, white-bread, pinstriped Yankees and Mel Allen.
Mel was their lead play by play guy.
Always the Yankees were in deep do-do.
Poor bubbies, “don’t stand a chance”, he would lament,
Right after Yogi hit a “White Owl Wallop”. Gimme a break!
Brooklyn had Red Barber, a southern gentlemen,
Who called a game right. Taught Vin Scully.
But the “Bronx Bomber’s” what kind of nickname is that?
Sounded like they wore leather flight jackets.
Anuddah thing. We had a band “The Dodger Filharmonic”,
6 piece dixieland.. They were great.
Yankees put gravestones in center field,
What the hell are ya celebrating wit gravestones?
Time and again my beloved Bums
Would lead the National League,
Winning the pennant to confront the Yankees
And proceed to break our hearts
Five times we met ‘em
Five times we tumbled.
It was humiliating.
They owned us, those too-grand-to-take-a crap creeps.
Until 55,
When I changed Dodger luck by betting against them!
Yeah, that’s right. Took me 10 years to figure it out.
Cost me 20 bucks, but we were a Winnah!!
Repeat the Hour
Awaking earlier than early,
Thanks to the intervention of the god
Whose job it is to offer us a brief reprieve,
When two in the morning repeats itself.
Let me assign this gift,
Replay an hour that I should have handled better.
Perhaps that time I did not support you,
Gave you satire when a hug was called for.
What of the call I did not make,
A hesitation when action was needed,
An impulsive thrust
Instead of a reasoned reply.
With the hour retrieved
I could make resolutions
That would surpass the recorded transactions
Of the hour not well spent.
And the rub?
What of the other hours,
All of the time remaining,
Wherein I might achieve or lament?
What of those resolutions?
Of what value beyond a momentary vision,
Or is it all an illusion?
A false belief that arises once a year?
Thanks to the intervention of the god
Whose job it is to offer us a brief reprieve,
When two in the morning repeats itself.
Let me assign this gift,
Replay an hour that I should have handled better.
Perhaps that time I did not support you,
Gave you satire when a hug was called for.
What of the call I did not make,
A hesitation when action was needed,
An impulsive thrust
Instead of a reasoned reply.
With the hour retrieved
I could make resolutions
That would surpass the recorded transactions
Of the hour not well spent.
And the rub?
What of the other hours,
All of the time remaining,
Wherein I might achieve or lament?
What of those resolutions?
Of what value beyond a momentary vision,
Or is it all an illusion?
A false belief that arises once a year?
Real Americans
Man wants his country back.
Seems it was stolen by a Black Muslim.
Told me the Muslim wasn’t born here.
Didn’t talk like no black he knew.
Why this Muslim wasn’t born here,
No sir, born in Africa.
Wants to give all our money
To black terrorists.
Man want to raise our taxes
Maybe remove “In God We trust” from our coins.
For sure he is a socialist,
He’ll destroy our capitalist system.
Yes sir, that African is pure evil.
Hates whites, all the whites.
Wants to take away our medical care.
Kill all the old people.
Man likes that black music
They like him in France.
Christ, you know what that means.
Those people hate us.
That Muslim killed all those folks
At Fort Hood.
Comes from the same village as Obama.
We’ve got to take the country back!
Figure he wants to take our guns.
No sir.
Some black drug fiend robs me.
My AK47 set him straight, fair and square.
Reagan had it right.
We’re the people on the shiny hill,
Or something like that.
It’s time for us real Americans to stand up!
Seems it was stolen by a Black Muslim.
Told me the Muslim wasn’t born here.
Didn’t talk like no black he knew.
Why this Muslim wasn’t born here,
No sir, born in Africa.
Wants to give all our money
To black terrorists.
Man want to raise our taxes
Maybe remove “In God We trust” from our coins.
For sure he is a socialist,
He’ll destroy our capitalist system.
Yes sir, that African is pure evil.
Hates whites, all the whites.
Wants to take away our medical care.
Kill all the old people.
Man likes that black music
They like him in France.
Christ, you know what that means.
Those people hate us.
That Muslim killed all those folks
At Fort Hood.
Comes from the same village as Obama.
We’ve got to take the country back!
Figure he wants to take our guns.
No sir.
Some black drug fiend robs me.
My AK47 set him straight, fair and square.
Reagan had it right.
We’re the people on the shiny hill,
Or something like that.
It’s time for us real Americans to stand up!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
The Best American
Sam, a teacher, mindful of the difference between
Listening and lecturing, believes in moderation,
Recognizes the limits of his knowledge
And the danger in mass approval.
Knowing herself to be a minority,
Sarah forswears the easy, vituperative onslaught
When truth is inconvenient and
Accepts the possibility of error.
Fearful of rejection
Both unwilling to surrender their patriotism
To the scoundrel who demands
Condemnation of things alien.
They take responsibility for their actions,
Allowing for real failure
And something better than success;
A sense of self.
Both believe we can learn from others.
They believe when you say the President
Should not address school children
You are talking about skin color.
Listening and lecturing, believes in moderation,
Recognizes the limits of his knowledge
And the danger in mass approval.
Knowing herself to be a minority,
Sarah forswears the easy, vituperative onslaught
When truth is inconvenient and
Accepts the possibility of error.
Fearful of rejection
Both unwilling to surrender their patriotism
To the scoundrel who demands
Condemnation of things alien.
They take responsibility for their actions,
Allowing for real failure
And something better than success;
A sense of self.
Both believe we can learn from others.
They believe when you say the President
Should not address school children
You are talking about skin color.
Be Reasonable
No doubt she was pretty,
And very well dressed.
18 years old and anxious.
She really wanted the job.
New York in 1961 was an integrated city.
Betty was a negro,
Applying for the receptionist job.
But we had a negro in the company.
My boss, the corporate controller,
Was from Georgia.
I had no such excuse.
“Maybe we should interview Betty”, I said
We had spoken to 7 applicants.
One of those certainly will be acceptable
This was not a racist outfit, our buyer was negro.
What would we be prove by hiring another?
It was late in the afternoon.
“Why not go through a fast interview”, my boss suggested.
“That way we wont have to ask Betty back
And take more of her time knowing the out come.”
I raised no objection,
Went through the motions of screening,
Telling Betty I’d get back to her.
Two days later I called to tell her someone else got the job.
And very well dressed.
18 years old and anxious.
She really wanted the job.
New York in 1961 was an integrated city.
Betty was a negro,
Applying for the receptionist job.
But we had a negro in the company.
My boss, the corporate controller,
Was from Georgia.
I had no such excuse.
“Maybe we should interview Betty”, I said
We had spoken to 7 applicants.
One of those certainly will be acceptable
This was not a racist outfit, our buyer was negro.
What would we be prove by hiring another?
It was late in the afternoon.
“Why not go through a fast interview”, my boss suggested.
“That way we wont have to ask Betty back
And take more of her time knowing the out come.”
I raised no objection,
Went through the motions of screening,
Telling Betty I’d get back to her.
Two days later I called to tell her someone else got the job.
Protest
I will disagree, but gently.
There is no need to push
Dialogue until enemies are created
Out of old friends or strangers.
Yet if I meet with intransigence
Must I leave my disagreement unspoken?
Or if said, not carried to clarity,
Allowing others to guess as to the depth of my conviction?
Must I allow a right to go unprotected,
Accept a subservient position for want of confrontation?
Or bring less then my full compliment of alternatives
To a battle worth fighting?
15 people walked.
They held signs demanding union contracts.
Every year since I’ve lived here this happens.
Workers chant slogans for 8 hours, then go home.
I’m not sure it is effective.
Hotel guests aren’t especially disturbed,
Although a few late sleepers
Might not care for the 8 AM wake-up.
I recall the women’s march on Washington.
One million women came,
Voiced their concerns
And went home.
Members of congress congratulated the ladies,
Noting that the women were not unruly,
Presented their protests and petitions
And hoped that Barbara would soften the President’s position.
A sad commonality joins these protests.
If the goals were modest
And the means exemplary,
Failure was the result.
If the means must justify the means
Both protest cohorts were well satisfied.
Weather cooperated and inconveniences
Held to a minimum.
What of inconvenience?
Would Martin or Gandhi approve?
If the issue you profess matters
Then self congratulations is not the goal.
Your position must matter to the opposition
Who must care, made to see your arguments existence
Feel the possibility of loss,
And their weather turning cold and stormy.
There is no need to push
Dialogue until enemies are created
Out of old friends or strangers.
Yet if I meet with intransigence
Must I leave my disagreement unspoken?
Or if said, not carried to clarity,
Allowing others to guess as to the depth of my conviction?
Must I allow a right to go unprotected,
Accept a subservient position for want of confrontation?
Or bring less then my full compliment of alternatives
To a battle worth fighting?
15 people walked.
They held signs demanding union contracts.
Every year since I’ve lived here this happens.
Workers chant slogans for 8 hours, then go home.
I’m not sure it is effective.
Hotel guests aren’t especially disturbed,
Although a few late sleepers
Might not care for the 8 AM wake-up.
I recall the women’s march on Washington.
One million women came,
Voiced their concerns
And went home.
Members of congress congratulated the ladies,
Noting that the women were not unruly,
Presented their protests and petitions
And hoped that Barbara would soften the President’s position.
A sad commonality joins these protests.
If the goals were modest
And the means exemplary,
Failure was the result.
If the means must justify the means
Both protest cohorts were well satisfied.
Weather cooperated and inconveniences
Held to a minimum.
What of inconvenience?
Would Martin or Gandhi approve?
If the issue you profess matters
Then self congratulations is not the goal.
Your position must matter to the opposition
Who must care, made to see your arguments existence
Feel the possibility of loss,
And their weather turning cold and stormy.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Silly
If humor separates us from most of our cousins,
Embraces the moment as potentially absurd,
Lets fly with a gesture or statement
That carries the thought to fantasy, it speaks to possibility.
There is a universal theme,
Found in all human cultures,
At least until the age of eight,
That resists accepted reality.
A picture of a polar bear
And a sled dog hugging,
Punctures the walls of my enclosure,
And lays waste to limitations.
Surely it is the “practical”
That informs our judgment,
Renders “silly” unhealthy
In the hands of anyone past puberty.
Rather “silly” is opening the window
On a cold day, letting an overheated room cool.
It allows for the de-sanctification of ideas,
And the recognition that we take ourselves far too seriously.
Beyond clearing a path for honest dialogue
“Silly” allows for the “what if”.
Essential, should we wish to explore,
With a child’s willingness, to imagine.
Embraces the moment as potentially absurd,
Lets fly with a gesture or statement
That carries the thought to fantasy, it speaks to possibility.
There is a universal theme,
Found in all human cultures,
At least until the age of eight,
That resists accepted reality.
A picture of a polar bear
And a sled dog hugging,
Punctures the walls of my enclosure,
And lays waste to limitations.
Surely it is the “practical”
That informs our judgment,
Renders “silly” unhealthy
In the hands of anyone past puberty.
Rather “silly” is opening the window
On a cold day, letting an overheated room cool.
It allows for the de-sanctification of ideas,
And the recognition that we take ourselves far too seriously.
Beyond clearing a path for honest dialogue
“Silly” allows for the “what if”.
Essential, should we wish to explore,
With a child’s willingness, to imagine.
Beach walk
Floating free from the restrains
That wall our daily lives
A stranger, who would not hold out a hand
Might pass without comment.
Or we could choose to acknowledge,
Perhaps go further,
Insist that he engage,
For he is essentially impartial.
He will not have experienced
Your frown or the way your body leans.
He cannot recognize your history,
Know of your failures, or triumphs.
This may be a moment of extravagant potential,
A time to try on new clothes
That lay hidden in a dusty closet,
Or fearing rejection, move quietly away.
It could have been Emerson’s effulgent morning,
Dry, clear , except for scattered, innocuous clouds.
Foot traffic on the beach walk is light.
Rosie and I followed our accustomed path.
A woman, old enough to need the cane
Held across her chest as we greeted each other.
“I hope you are not going to hit me”
I smiled to this stranger.
“Not if your good” she responded.
“I’ve not hit my dog today” I countered.
“Do your plans include beating her later?”
“I’ve no plans for today.”
We parted without past or future,
Without knowledge of each other
Beyond a recognition that we shared humor,
An altogether permanent comprehension.
For that moment the universe offered a gentle touch.
I was tempted to call the day “good”
And start back to home.
It’s hard to improve on 100%.
That wall our daily lives
A stranger, who would not hold out a hand
Might pass without comment.
Or we could choose to acknowledge,
Perhaps go further,
Insist that he engage,
For he is essentially impartial.
He will not have experienced
Your frown or the way your body leans.
He cannot recognize your history,
Know of your failures, or triumphs.
This may be a moment of extravagant potential,
A time to try on new clothes
That lay hidden in a dusty closet,
Or fearing rejection, move quietly away.
It could have been Emerson’s effulgent morning,
Dry, clear , except for scattered, innocuous clouds.
Foot traffic on the beach walk is light.
Rosie and I followed our accustomed path.
A woman, old enough to need the cane
Held across her chest as we greeted each other.
“I hope you are not going to hit me”
I smiled to this stranger.
“Not if your good” she responded.
“I’ve not hit my dog today” I countered.
“Do your plans include beating her later?”
“I’ve no plans for today.”
We parted without past or future,
Without knowledge of each other
Beyond a recognition that we shared humor,
An altogether permanent comprehension.
For that moment the universe offered a gentle touch.
I was tempted to call the day “good”
And start back to home.
It’s hard to improve on 100%.
Problem solved
We don’t state the problem properly
Then proceed to make the conumdrum worse.
That in turns leads to rants,
Condemning those who did not support the misstated cause.
There is too much difficulty seeing.
Shore lines are indistinct
And we insist on judgements
That add sound, not clarity.
This spring all the pigs in Egypt were slaughtered.
An attempt to forestall Swine Flu.
It worked. No cases of Pig caused flu were reported.
How's that for a metaphor for the human condition?
Then proceed to make the conumdrum worse.
That in turns leads to rants,
Condemning those who did not support the misstated cause.
There is too much difficulty seeing.
Shore lines are indistinct
And we insist on judgements
That add sound, not clarity.
This spring all the pigs in Egypt were slaughtered.
An attempt to forestall Swine Flu.
It worked. No cases of Pig caused flu were reported.
How's that for a metaphor for the human condition?
Sneakers
I’ve have one pair of sneakers.
Pablo has 20.
Both Pablo and I have two feet.
Is there a question here?
Pablo’s sneakers do not fit me.
They will fit someone.
He should give away 19 pair,
Or 18 if he can justify a 2nd pair.
So many sneakers.
Morning coffee, walking the dogs
Cutting the grass, changing a light bulb,
Rainy weather, a pair for protest rallies.
How do such things happen?
Maybe sneaker police would change things.
People with excess sneakers
Would go to vigorous re-education.
Some people believe Pablo is certifiable.
I do not share that view.
I think with his first donation of a few pair of sneakers
He would feel the call and be saved.
Pablo has 20.
Both Pablo and I have two feet.
Is there a question here?
Pablo’s sneakers do not fit me.
They will fit someone.
He should give away 19 pair,
Or 18 if he can justify a 2nd pair.
So many sneakers.
Morning coffee, walking the dogs
Cutting the grass, changing a light bulb,
Rainy weather, a pair for protest rallies.
How do such things happen?
Maybe sneaker police would change things.
People with excess sneakers
Would go to vigorous re-education.
Some people believe Pablo is certifiable.
I do not share that view.
I think with his first donation of a few pair of sneakers
He would feel the call and be saved.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Man with coin trick
Securing his bike,
He smiles at my feeble joke.
(No, I really wont steal his bike.)
We stop at his request.
He removes a gold colored coin
From his pocket, and makes it disappear,
Then has it reappear
From the back of his neck.
Rose barks and I clap.
Our performer, an old man, with thick lenses,
And a wrinkled cherubic grin
Is my reason for offering kindness today.
He smiles at my feeble joke.
(No, I really wont steal his bike.)
We stop at his request.
He removes a gold colored coin
From his pocket, and makes it disappear,
Then has it reappear
From the back of his neck.
Rose barks and I clap.
Our performer, an old man, with thick lenses,
And a wrinkled cherubic grin
Is my reason for offering kindness today.
Annie
“I have a good idea”, she said
In a way emblematic of her 8 years.
Antipodal to both mother and father
Annie is unapologetic for her existence.
Her father would assume
He was sitting in someone’s seat,
Her Mother thought it inappropriate
To ask for a raise.
Annie travels lighter,
Carries much less baggage.
A place at the table, an ear of a friend,
A less tortured path.
Foolish and absurd
Is the 70 year old
Who speculates on the trajectory
Of a child’s life.
I’ve tired of monopoly.
Having more property than another
Is a pathetic way to judge your existence.
It excludes your humanity.
Rather notice the joy of
A dog racing nowhere,
Or Annie, enjoying the day
And her latest good idea.
In a way emblematic of her 8 years.
Antipodal to both mother and father
Annie is unapologetic for her existence.
Her father would assume
He was sitting in someone’s seat,
Her Mother thought it inappropriate
To ask for a raise.
Annie travels lighter,
Carries much less baggage.
A place at the table, an ear of a friend,
A less tortured path.
Foolish and absurd
Is the 70 year old
Who speculates on the trajectory
Of a child’s life.
I’ve tired of monopoly.
Having more property than another
Is a pathetic way to judge your existence.
It excludes your humanity.
Rather notice the joy of
A dog racing nowhere,
Or Annie, enjoying the day
And her latest good idea.
Mr Clean
Standing with wife and carriaged baby girl,
A clean shaven young man
Told the union rep
“Without Walmart groceries would cost 3 times as much”.
Mr Clean stood at the edge of the ocean beach walk,
Behind the Del Coronado Hotel,
He was in his element,
Looking earnest and sounding hollow.
Another enlightened soul
Secure in the safety of his latter day Teddy-bear,
Wife, baby, hotel, beach,white.
Maybe he thought the conversation meaningful.
If the union rep, a much bigger guy,
Had entered Mr. Clean’s space
And put his foot on the smaller man’s sandal
An argument might have ensued.
For then the safety net would have been penetrated,
Subsumed by the question confronting him.
What wisdom could he speak to his antagonist,
On a field he need play without armor?
Might he realize that his lie was not big enough?
Could he imagine something else might matter more?
Had he not noticed the destruction of community?
Without “the other” what would test his pristine certainty?
A clean shaven young man
Told the union rep
“Without Walmart groceries would cost 3 times as much”.
Mr Clean stood at the edge of the ocean beach walk,
Behind the Del Coronado Hotel,
He was in his element,
Looking earnest and sounding hollow.
Another enlightened soul
Secure in the safety of his latter day Teddy-bear,
Wife, baby, hotel, beach,white.
Maybe he thought the conversation meaningful.
If the union rep, a much bigger guy,
Had entered Mr. Clean’s space
And put his foot on the smaller man’s sandal
An argument might have ensued.
For then the safety net would have been penetrated,
Subsumed by the question confronting him.
What wisdom could he speak to his antagonist,
On a field he need play without armor?
Might he realize that his lie was not big enough?
Could he imagine something else might matter more?
Had he not noticed the destruction of community?
Without “the other” what would test his pristine certainty?
Words
Your thoughts, silent and invisible, cannot be judged
Yet your words not merely predict action,
They are in themselves action,
And reaction tells of their value.
Is my “good morning” pleasing,
Does it suggest my recognition of your presence
Or do you hear a voice
Prerecorded in a meaningless sound bite?
If I express doubt,
Is it a preamble to an inquiry that we both may share
Or have I fired the first volley
In a war that may rupture any attempted dialogue?
I may exhort followers to destroy the temple
And watch the fires burn.
I may plead for a good man
Not knowing he will rise and consume me.
I may tell those I love
Of my desire for their happiness,
Without bringing a present,
And expect to be believed.
Rid yourself of “you know” and “well”.
Recognize the silence that needs filling.
Know too the one that speaks truth.
Above all, offer compassion.
Yet your words not merely predict action,
They are in themselves action,
And reaction tells of their value.
Is my “good morning” pleasing,
Does it suggest my recognition of your presence
Or do you hear a voice
Prerecorded in a meaningless sound bite?
If I express doubt,
Is it a preamble to an inquiry that we both may share
Or have I fired the first volley
In a war that may rupture any attempted dialogue?
I may exhort followers to destroy the temple
And watch the fires burn.
I may plead for a good man
Not knowing he will rise and consume me.
I may tell those I love
Of my desire for their happiness,
Without bringing a present,
And expect to be believed.
Rid yourself of “you know” and “well”.
Recognize the silence that needs filling.
Know too the one that speaks truth.
Above all, offer compassion.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Let us Pause
In this corner, wearing blue trunks,
Stands the professor, looking appropriately outraged.
In the opposite corner wearing red trunks,
Looking altogether righteous, the cop glares
This fight, viewed by fans everywhere
Will almost certainly prove justice can triumph,
While assuring reason,
Can not overcome “The Fog of Bores”.
But wait! Our esteemed referee,
Having shown early prejudice,
Has recovered his fabled balance,
Now calls the pugilists to center ring.
Both fighters and their legions of supporters,
Seem ready to mumble, but not rumble.
It seems possible that neither camp
Will throw chairs or bombs.
“Sometimes a good cigar is just a smoke”. (S, Freud).
Stands the professor, looking appropriately outraged.
In the opposite corner wearing red trunks,
Looking altogether righteous, the cop glares
This fight, viewed by fans everywhere
Will almost certainly prove justice can triumph,
While assuring reason,
Can not overcome “The Fog of Bores”.
But wait! Our esteemed referee,
Having shown early prejudice,
Has recovered his fabled balance,
Now calls the pugilists to center ring.
Both fighters and their legions of supporters,
Seem ready to mumble, but not rumble.
It seems possible that neither camp
Will throw chairs or bombs.
“Sometimes a good cigar is just a smoke”. (S, Freud).
Euphoria
Wondering if an idea could work
I hold it to the light and shrug.
What are my choices, what lies unseen?
Why are my needs convoluted?
The idea, shared with the unimpressed.
leaves another thought stranded.
I jump, as always, this time as a believer.
The work takes me to a comfort zone.
Now come the righteous, perhaps self-righteous, knights.
Their only wish, to save the day.
Swords drawn with aphorisms that stretch for miles.
But fail to bring insight, only quotidian pronouncements.
Time I move on, maybe?
To not test the waters is anathema.
Is failure the lesser evil? Or is walking away?
Most often I walk.
Progress, a slight lightening of the overcast.
Pieces fall in or out.
Mistakes spotted in the clarity of second vision.
May becomes October.
Last minute changes destroy all lucidity.
Few days left, much climbing ahead.
The stage begrudgingly set.
Who will come to my party?
So many show up. Why?
The question delights me. I am euphoric.
The results bring tiny new questions.
Where to go, how to get there.
Was it really worth the effort ?
Did the means justify the means?
Oh Yes! I float on a quiet following sea.
I can’t fly, but maybe for this moment, I am transported.
It is time to hear other voices. Inhale deeply.
Today I can forgive myself yesterdays sins.
I think success or failure end at the means,
But it’s awfully nice when the rocket flies.
I hold it to the light and shrug.
What are my choices, what lies unseen?
Why are my needs convoluted?
The idea, shared with the unimpressed.
leaves another thought stranded.
I jump, as always, this time as a believer.
The work takes me to a comfort zone.
Now come the righteous, perhaps self-righteous, knights.
Their only wish, to save the day.
Swords drawn with aphorisms that stretch for miles.
But fail to bring insight, only quotidian pronouncements.
Time I move on, maybe?
To not test the waters is anathema.
Is failure the lesser evil? Or is walking away?
Most often I walk.
Progress, a slight lightening of the overcast.
Pieces fall in or out.
Mistakes spotted in the clarity of second vision.
May becomes October.
Last minute changes destroy all lucidity.
Few days left, much climbing ahead.
The stage begrudgingly set.
Who will come to my party?
So many show up. Why?
The question delights me. I am euphoric.
The results bring tiny new questions.
Where to go, how to get there.
Was it really worth the effort ?
Did the means justify the means?
Oh Yes! I float on a quiet following sea.
I can’t fly, but maybe for this moment, I am transported.
It is time to hear other voices. Inhale deeply.
Today I can forgive myself yesterdays sins.
I think success or failure end at the means,
But it’s awfully nice when the rocket flies.
Mother on Her 90th birthday
I find the warmth comforting.
The meal paid in advance
And my space tranquil.
I have grown round and peaceful.
My children are older than my minds eye.
I am still a liberal and think, I think.
So many gone, but more have come.
They will enjoy the party.
I will rejoice in the role of matriarch.
Lou would have happily shared the occasion.
He would dance with great grandchildren.
He was a wonderful dancer.
What became of the painted red ducks?
Was the apartment really so many years ago?
Phil never got his bike.
Will there be a Jew left after me? I think not.
The children have lost that resource,
Traded for houses, cousins gone.
These are such good times.
I have been carried far from want
I believe my family cares.
The meal paid in advance
And my space tranquil.
I have grown round and peaceful.
My children are older than my minds eye.
I am still a liberal and think, I think.
So many gone, but more have come.
They will enjoy the party.
I will rejoice in the role of matriarch.
Lou would have happily shared the occasion.
He would dance with great grandchildren.
He was a wonderful dancer.
What became of the painted red ducks?
Was the apartment really so many years ago?
Phil never got his bike.
Will there be a Jew left after me? I think not.
The children have lost that resource,
Traded for houses, cousins gone.
These are such good times.
I have been carried far from want
I believe my family cares.
Parade
Tents, flags and family dogs,
All part of the colorful median strip
That, until his morning,
Showed verdant green.
Military and school bands
Salute my country
With drums and horns
As they step briskly to their march.
A small town with 10,000 visitors
Celebrating the unlikely 231st anniversary
Of a people who would not tolerate
Decisions made by others.
A terrific day for the sellers
Of snacks, Uncle Sam caps and rides on Segues.
I marvel at the waving folks in convertibles
Who seem to have wandered into the line of march.
My favorite contingent remains
The “Precision Marching Lawn Mower Moms”
They perform with an air of silliness
Adding a delightful insouciance to the day.
Locals, like me, could point to
And wave at friends and neighbors
Who proudly represented such groups
As the garbage collection company.
Of course most every politician,
From within one light-year,
Managed to share handshakes and execute hi-fives
With us humble folks.
Even those as cynical and crusty as I
Could look at the watchers and paraders
And feel at least an “Oh, what the hell”.
All part of the colorful median strip
That, until his morning,
Showed verdant green.
Military and school bands
Salute my country
With drums and horns
As they step briskly to their march.
A small town with 10,000 visitors
Celebrating the unlikely 231st anniversary
Of a people who would not tolerate
Decisions made by others.
A terrific day for the sellers
Of snacks, Uncle Sam caps and rides on Segues.
I marvel at the waving folks in convertibles
Who seem to have wandered into the line of march.
My favorite contingent remains
The “Precision Marching Lawn Mower Moms”
They perform with an air of silliness
Adding a delightful insouciance to the day.
Locals, like me, could point to
And wave at friends and neighbors
Who proudly represented such groups
As the garbage collection company.
Of course most every politician,
From within one light-year,
Managed to share handshakes and execute hi-fives
With us humble folks.
Even those as cynical and crusty as I
Could look at the watchers and paraders
And feel at least an “Oh, what the hell”.
Now
When I touch the keyboard time begins, again.
Morning fog surrenders its embrace,
Somewhere a voice will bellow “action!”
And we, actors, renew our journey.
Could I but stay my hand
Allow nothing to change;
Void the anticipated next chapter
And so remain untethered, outside of time.
Alert, without thought.
Aware of a stupendous nothingness
That exists, omnipresent,
And abides my suspension.
Morning fog surrenders its embrace,
Somewhere a voice will bellow “action!”
And we, actors, renew our journey.
Could I but stay my hand
Allow nothing to change;
Void the anticipated next chapter
And so remain untethered, outside of time.
Alert, without thought.
Aware of a stupendous nothingness
That exists, omnipresent,
And abides my suspension.
Monday, August 24, 2009
The Romantic
If I could assign roles
I should be able to solidify the distance between us,
Leaving behind specimens of noble savages
Needing to be maintained and dusted.
They’re not contagious,
Touching is not required, but suggested.
I can attribute beautiful simplicity
And profound ignorance to biographical sketches.
What must not be done is listen,
And know how slim the separation.
Nor should I hear a compound thought
For that might assail my defenses.
I encourage their journey,
But return to my enclosure
When evening comes,
As darkness may dissolve barriers.
They are not of my place
And the walls were not built to be scaled.
Like Sisyphus, they may reach
But can not hold or share this space.
I should be able to solidify the distance between us,
Leaving behind specimens of noble savages
Needing to be maintained and dusted.
They’re not contagious,
Touching is not required, but suggested.
I can attribute beautiful simplicity
And profound ignorance to biographical sketches.
What must not be done is listen,
And know how slim the separation.
Nor should I hear a compound thought
For that might assail my defenses.
I encourage their journey,
But return to my enclosure
When evening comes,
As darkness may dissolve barriers.
They are not of my place
And the walls were not built to be scaled.
Like Sisyphus, they may reach
But can not hold or share this space.
Poor
Not withstanding church doctrine,
And the example of St. Francis,
And limiting my thoughts to this life,
Being poor is overrated.
Chances are the poor will not: live as long,
Look as good when interred,
Visit Paris in the spring
Or have a bridge named after them.
The poor will not concern themselves with;
Care of a 2nd home,
Flight connections to exotic ports of call,
Or adverse changes in capital gains rates.
Sun shines first on the mountain tops.
Sun shines last on the mountain tops.
But in the deep valleys
Days are short.
And the example of St. Francis,
And limiting my thoughts to this life,
Being poor is overrated.
Chances are the poor will not: live as long,
Look as good when interred,
Visit Paris in the spring
Or have a bridge named after them.
The poor will not concern themselves with;
Care of a 2nd home,
Flight connections to exotic ports of call,
Or adverse changes in capital gains rates.
Sun shines first on the mountain tops.
Sun shines last on the mountain tops.
But in the deep valleys
Days are short.
Sump Pump Man
He watches,
Avoids the plumbing that
Surrounds the pump
And climbs down into the brackish water.
It is quiet in the holding concrete enclosure.
He has climbed into a 1,000 tanks
Found the cause and effected a cure.
He takes much pride in his work.
I’ve been doing this too long, Al thought,
Lowering himself, carefully, into the sump pump pit.
Been to this house maybe 15 times.
Now the kid gets to look at my work.
Tonight he has brought his grandson, Jayden.
Al has temporary custody while
Cindy, his daughter, works out her problems,
2000 miles away.
Jayden is a big 6 year old,
Shows none of Al’s asian blood.
He’s interested in what his grandpa is doing
And where staircases in our house lead.
When finished all is clean and neat.
No small accomplishment when dealing with refuse.
Al never leaves a bill,
But one will come in a week.
Avoids the plumbing that
Surrounds the pump
And climbs down into the brackish water.
It is quiet in the holding concrete enclosure.
He has climbed into a 1,000 tanks
Found the cause and effected a cure.
He takes much pride in his work.
I’ve been doing this too long, Al thought,
Lowering himself, carefully, into the sump pump pit.
Been to this house maybe 15 times.
Now the kid gets to look at my work.
Tonight he has brought his grandson, Jayden.
Al has temporary custody while
Cindy, his daughter, works out her problems,
2000 miles away.
Jayden is a big 6 year old,
Shows none of Al’s asian blood.
He’s interested in what his grandpa is doing
And where staircases in our house lead.
When finished all is clean and neat.
No small accomplishment when dealing with refuse.
Al never leaves a bill,
But one will come in a week.
Brooklyn
I’m from the Heartland: Brooklyn.
We provincials recognize Manhattan
As the home of pseudo sophistication,
Never to be confused with heart.
Brooklyn, a place of subways and accents,
Not home to giant corporations,
But home to thousands of first generations.
Not a bad place to begin.
Two and a half million people and no ball clubs.
There is a sense of motion,
Of a dialogue that is 400 years old
And constantly changing.
Clothing to fit every religion,
Beliefs of every shape and size.
The “downstairs” for The City,
More worker than boss.
There is no music or drug unavailable
Somewhere in Brooklyn.
Tomorrow’s judgments will be rendered,
Here among 100 neighborhoods.
We provincials recognize Manhattan
As the home of pseudo sophistication,
Never to be confused with heart.
Brooklyn, a place of subways and accents,
Not home to giant corporations,
But home to thousands of first generations.
Not a bad place to begin.
Two and a half million people and no ball clubs.
There is a sense of motion,
Of a dialogue that is 400 years old
And constantly changing.
Clothing to fit every religion,
Beliefs of every shape and size.
The “downstairs” for The City,
More worker than boss.
There is no music or drug unavailable
Somewhere in Brooklyn.
Tomorrow’s judgments will be rendered,
Here among 100 neighborhoods.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Anti-love potion 69
There’s got to be a way, she thought
My son’s love has got me distraught.
I fix him up with a nice girl, jewish to.
He tells me not to help, he’s found a love that’s true..
I’m desperate to pry him loose
My pain is like an infected tooth.
His girlfriend’s not refined,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
She jumps on him when he forgets.
She makes him spend, so he has debts.
He’s gone to the bank to get a line,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
I hear her mother is not very nice,
Never washes her hair, maybe has lice?
Thinks her child is better then mine,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
I tried potion 68 on his last love.
She had a face just like a dove.
After a little poison she didn’t look so fine,
Now its time for anti-love potion 69.
It will shrivel her head and triple her waist
My wonderful son will leave her in hast.
He won’t sing of her being so fine a wine,
Not after some anti-love potion 69.
Then he’ll return, his mother’s boy.
He’ll forget her , bring me nothing but joy.
We’ll talk and he’ll toe the line
Or I’ll introduce him to anti-love potion 69.
My son’s love has got me distraught.
I fix him up with a nice girl, jewish to.
He tells me not to help, he’s found a love that’s true..
I’m desperate to pry him loose
My pain is like an infected tooth.
His girlfriend’s not refined,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
She jumps on him when he forgets.
She makes him spend, so he has debts.
He’s gone to the bank to get a line,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
I hear her mother is not very nice,
Never washes her hair, maybe has lice?
Thinks her child is better then mine,
Time for anti-love potion 69.
I tried potion 68 on his last love.
She had a face just like a dove.
After a little poison she didn’t look so fine,
Now its time for anti-love potion 69.
It will shrivel her head and triple her waist
My wonderful son will leave her in hast.
He won’t sing of her being so fine a wine,
Not after some anti-love potion 69.
Then he’ll return, his mother’s boy.
He’ll forget her , bring me nothing but joy.
We’ll talk and he’ll toe the line
Or I’ll introduce him to anti-love potion 69.
Memorial
Not a restful place for a service.
Just yards up from a crowded public beach
A group of mostly seniors, not dressed for swimming,
Meet to honor Sheila.
There is no designated spot, beyond “near the swings”,
Where twenty people gather
And listen to memories
Of closeness, love and the feeling of loss.
Turning, as I leave, to face the ocean
I am struck by the juxtaposition of children, bikinis,
Life guards. A vitality just 10 feet and one thought away
From Sheila’s memorial.
She chose the place,
Fully aware of the celebratory ambiance
That her friends and family would experience.
What a thoughtful way to say good-bye!
Just yards up from a crowded public beach
A group of mostly seniors, not dressed for swimming,
Meet to honor Sheila.
There is no designated spot, beyond “near the swings”,
Where twenty people gather
And listen to memories
Of closeness, love and the feeling of loss.
Turning, as I leave, to face the ocean
I am struck by the juxtaposition of children, bikinis,
Life guards. A vitality just 10 feet and one thought away
From Sheila’s memorial.
She chose the place,
Fully aware of the celebratory ambiance
That her friends and family would experience.
What a thoughtful way to say good-bye!
Cheney
I consider myself a patriot.
I believe in the greatness of America.
I have used my gifts for my country’s good.
I could not do less.
My life has been dedicated to the American dream.
I fear we are becoming weak.
New leaders do not see the dangers
That I fought to subdue.
Some claim I wanted the Iraq war.
That it would enrich me.
That my choice of suppliers and contractors
Was influenced by Mammon.
Others argue that I presented false choices,
Ignored salient factors
And tried to unduly influence studies
That might otherwise find the need to fight unsatisfied.
I did not seek exemption from military service
To avoid harm’s way.
It was my need to learn and thereby
Help our great country through perilous times.
I applaud your personal virtue,
Your wish to perserve the planet.
But we, as a great nation, must make choices
That first protect our shores and way of life.
So yes, God bless America!
Let tyrants and terrorists
Fear our wrath.
For we are the righteous.
I believe in the greatness of America.
I have used my gifts for my country’s good.
I could not do less.
My life has been dedicated to the American dream.
I fear we are becoming weak.
New leaders do not see the dangers
That I fought to subdue.
Some claim I wanted the Iraq war.
That it would enrich me.
That my choice of suppliers and contractors
Was influenced by Mammon.
Others argue that I presented false choices,
Ignored salient factors
And tried to unduly influence studies
That might otherwise find the need to fight unsatisfied.
I did not seek exemption from military service
To avoid harm’s way.
It was my need to learn and thereby
Help our great country through perilous times.
I applaud your personal virtue,
Your wish to perserve the planet.
But we, as a great nation, must make choices
That first protect our shores and way of life.
So yes, God bless America!
Let tyrants and terrorists
Fear our wrath.
For we are the righteous.
I Accuse
Josephus sold out to the Romans,
And his followers died.
Historians may be grateful,
They learned much from his writings.
Dick Cheney sold America to Haliburton,
Hundreds of thousands died.
His perfect war, at the perfect time
Made him, a wealthy man, wealtheir.
His treason was not unique,
Just blatant and expensive.
There is a great lesson here,
But then why bother, we’ve heard it before.
And his followers died.
Historians may be grateful,
They learned much from his writings.
Dick Cheney sold America to Haliburton,
Hundreds of thousands died.
His perfect war, at the perfect time
Made him, a wealthy man, wealtheir.
His treason was not unique,
Just blatant and expensive.
There is a great lesson here,
But then why bother, we’ve heard it before.
Two strollers
One Fox Terrier in the stroller
A second leashed, walking alongside, sniffed Rose’s butt.
I spoke to the Terrier's care-giver,
Doing everything but exchanging photos.
Fifty feet down Orange Avenue
Another stroller was being pushed
With great effort, by a small woman
Wearing an aged, oversized,
Slightly frayed brown Army winter coat,
Gloves, scarf, and boots on this warm summer day.
Her face was deeply lined, hard, and decidedly unhappy.
Her stroller held an overflowing
Large black garbage bag,
With a small brown dog wedged alongside.
Pulling Rose, I hurried past the woman.
A second leashed, walking alongside, sniffed Rose’s butt.
I spoke to the Terrier's care-giver,
Doing everything but exchanging photos.
Fifty feet down Orange Avenue
Another stroller was being pushed
With great effort, by a small woman
Wearing an aged, oversized,
Slightly frayed brown Army winter coat,
Gloves, scarf, and boots on this warm summer day.
Her face was deeply lined, hard, and decidedly unhappy.
Her stroller held an overflowing
Large black garbage bag,
With a small brown dog wedged alongside.
Pulling Rose, I hurried past the woman.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Street People
Move quickly, don’t look at them.
Sun still up at six o’clock,
Coats, cushions off long dead couches,
Plastic sheets laid out for five.
20 feet off the highway entrance
On a once grassy incline
They are overdressed
There are two shopping carts.
Three squares and a shower before sleep
Are not on their busy agendas.
Safety and maybe some sleep
Are as good as it gets.
Needles, rock-gut are not visible
Maybe a sharpened kitchen knife
Lie among the detritus.
Who will say tonight’s prayer?
Sun still up at six o’clock,
Coats, cushions off long dead couches,
Plastic sheets laid out for five.
20 feet off the highway entrance
On a once grassy incline
They are overdressed
There are two shopping carts.
Three squares and a shower before sleep
Are not on their busy agendas.
Safety and maybe some sleep
Are as good as it gets.
Needles, rock-gut are not visible
Maybe a sharpened kitchen knife
Lie among the detritus.
Who will say tonight’s prayer?
Expletive Deleted
No matter how outraged, no matter how justified,
Or how good it feels, “fuck” cannot be used.
Thus the “Supremes” have decided.
And who can question their wisdom.
That holds for “fucked”, “fucking” and “fuck-up”.
How many sexual outrages were committed
Under the influence of a screamed obscenity?
Change “fuck” to “intercourse” and rapes drop 50%.
Of course army sergeants will have difficulties.
Basic training is conducted under the “fuck” commands
Changing “fucking recruits”, idiots, push-ups, etc
To “intercoursing recruits”, seems a little weak.
What is the need for the offending adjective or adverb?
Why a fucking disaster?
Others might counter, does the description “fucking disaster”,
Set off primal desires?
It’s the lewd, coarse edge to the word
That makes “fuck” anathema to gentle, right thinking, people.
Children should be protected from such vulgarity,
Or is that poverty and abuse?
Or how good it feels, “fuck” cannot be used.
Thus the “Supremes” have decided.
And who can question their wisdom.
That holds for “fucked”, “fucking” and “fuck-up”.
How many sexual outrages were committed
Under the influence of a screamed obscenity?
Change “fuck” to “intercourse” and rapes drop 50%.
Of course army sergeants will have difficulties.
Basic training is conducted under the “fuck” commands
Changing “fucking recruits”, idiots, push-ups, etc
To “intercoursing recruits”, seems a little weak.
What is the need for the offending adjective or adverb?
Why a fucking disaster?
Others might counter, does the description “fucking disaster”,
Set off primal desires?
It’s the lewd, coarse edge to the word
That makes “fuck” anathema to gentle, right thinking, people.
Children should be protected from such vulgarity,
Or is that poverty and abuse?
Dogs in a basket
Did Moses look as cute as these pups?
His basket, woven of twigs,
Might not have been any larger.
What hope had that weaver for her progeny?
I’ll pretend I don’t see it.
A dog in a basket, maybe two,
Half-hidden by foliage near the brick wall.
Perhaps it will be gone when I return.
Damn! basket still there,
Mom and 8 pups inside.
A tag, attached to mom’s collar ,
Explains the nine dogs arrived from Mexico
In the hope that they might find homes.
A gift from the poor to the wealthy?
I hesitate,
If left, most, maybe all, dead by morning.
Babes a week old, or less.
Mom malnourished, feeding starved pups.
There was choice.
They exist because I see them.
There are far too many mutts,
Be quiet and gone.
Would Kitty Genovese have lived?
What made the dogs my business?
Someone put the dogs in a nice laundry basket.
Stopped their car and placed the dogs with care.
I need only call Animal Services
Police will hold them until tomorrow
A vet will examine and decide their fate.
If healthy they will live.
I have a phone.
What’s the downside?
Sick pups carrying disease?
Make the call, make the god-damn call!
His basket, woven of twigs,
Might not have been any larger.
What hope had that weaver for her progeny?
I’ll pretend I don’t see it.
A dog in a basket, maybe two,
Half-hidden by foliage near the brick wall.
Perhaps it will be gone when I return.
Damn! basket still there,
Mom and 8 pups inside.
A tag, attached to mom’s collar ,
Explains the nine dogs arrived from Mexico
In the hope that they might find homes.
A gift from the poor to the wealthy?
I hesitate,
If left, most, maybe all, dead by morning.
Babes a week old, or less.
Mom malnourished, feeding starved pups.
There was choice.
They exist because I see them.
There are far too many mutts,
Be quiet and gone.
Would Kitty Genovese have lived?
What made the dogs my business?
Someone put the dogs in a nice laundry basket.
Stopped their car and placed the dogs with care.
I need only call Animal Services
Police will hold them until tomorrow
A vet will examine and decide their fate.
If healthy they will live.
I have a phone.
What’s the downside?
Sick pups carrying disease?
Make the call, make the god-damn call!
We Have Found the Enemy
We have labored to find the source.
Billions here, billions there.
Until today nobody seemed to find the culprit.
But it now is clear.
We have the U.A.W. to thank for the mess.
They, the auto workers, are the villains!
Albeit theirs is a small, nay tiny,
Share of the trillion we will pay.
Yes, A.I.G received 140 billion, ... and counting,
And the bankers have used half of a 700 billion fund.
We have no idea were the money has gone,
And dare not ask, for asking speaks of interference.
But we commie bed-wetters, will ask for
And soon demand controls,
This leads to enforcement, which spells SOCIALISM,
Religion of the devil.
Yes, yes! what do the unions bring but demands?
Whereas a free market brings better mouse traps,
Universal wealth and equal opportunity.
In the words of the famous Alan Greenspan,... “oops!”
Billions here, billions there.
Until today nobody seemed to find the culprit.
But it now is clear.
We have the U.A.W. to thank for the mess.
They, the auto workers, are the villains!
Albeit theirs is a small, nay tiny,
Share of the trillion we will pay.
Yes, A.I.G received 140 billion, ... and counting,
And the bankers have used half of a 700 billion fund.
We have no idea were the money has gone,
And dare not ask, for asking speaks of interference.
But we commie bed-wetters, will ask for
And soon demand controls,
This leads to enforcement, which spells SOCIALISM,
Religion of the devil.
Yes, yes! what do the unions bring but demands?
Whereas a free market brings better mouse traps,
Universal wealth and equal opportunity.
In the words of the famous Alan Greenspan,... “oops!”
Toby
First graduate from The Habilitat Treatment Center,
Toby had spent 3 years in the program,
2 in treatment, his last year as an employee.
With endorsements and blessings in place,
He would start working in my business on Monday.
As board chair of the program I had spent time with Toby since his admission.
Reviewing budgets and fund raising brought us in frequent contact.
As with just about all the 150 people living within The Habilitat’s sheltered embrace
Toby had a long history of self destruction. Unresolved sexual ambivalence,
Drugs, and the inevitable thievery had lead to jail time.
Paroled to the Habilitat, on condition that he stay clean,
He adjusted well to the verbal pummeling of his ego.
Encounter games, reprimands, kitchen duty seemed to help.
When Raphael, my exiting bookkeeper , said Toby was ready,
I, a true believer, accepted him as a full time employee.
How clever, how quixotic! Toby would thrive.
I chose to disregard evidence that he did not understand our billing.
Pointing out some curable errors, I finished preparations for a month long trip.
I failed Toby because to do otherwise would have inconvenienced me.
No London, no Paris.....
Toby was bright and had made it through a tough rehab program.
But he had come from a womb,
I offered a job, some encouragement and ... some distance.
Upon returning I found Toby had floundered and sunk,
Stealing very little, and leaving a clear path to his door.
The problems he had created were handled without the police.
Toby returned to the program.
Toby had spent 3 years in the program,
2 in treatment, his last year as an employee.
With endorsements and blessings in place,
He would start working in my business on Monday.
As board chair of the program I had spent time with Toby since his admission.
Reviewing budgets and fund raising brought us in frequent contact.
As with just about all the 150 people living within The Habilitat’s sheltered embrace
Toby had a long history of self destruction. Unresolved sexual ambivalence,
Drugs, and the inevitable thievery had lead to jail time.
Paroled to the Habilitat, on condition that he stay clean,
He adjusted well to the verbal pummeling of his ego.
Encounter games, reprimands, kitchen duty seemed to help.
When Raphael, my exiting bookkeeper , said Toby was ready,
I, a true believer, accepted him as a full time employee.
How clever, how quixotic! Toby would thrive.
I chose to disregard evidence that he did not understand our billing.
Pointing out some curable errors, I finished preparations for a month long trip.
I failed Toby because to do otherwise would have inconvenienced me.
No London, no Paris.....
Toby was bright and had made it through a tough rehab program.
But he had come from a womb,
I offered a job, some encouragement and ... some distance.
Upon returning I found Toby had floundered and sunk,
Stealing very little, and leaving a clear path to his door.
The problems he had created were handled without the police.
Toby returned to the program.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
The Second Inquisition
The Second Inquisition
Before there was thought, there was God.
Before the beginning there was God
Superstition, Magic, and God.
God in all shapes and sizes.
The alternative to science and tears.
If there is no answer.... it must be God.
In all things, at all times, there is God.
Our strength and frailty,
Success and failure are from God.
Morality, beauty and love are from God.
Does not God choose
Who dies and joins God,
Who lives and must wait for God?
If the victor feels Gods embrace,
What of the runner who places second?
What of the infant, victim of an
Anti-personnel weapon?
If the ultimate singularity is God
Does evil spring from God?
If not, can evil exist?
If there is no evil can there be good?
Before there was thought, there was God.
Before the beginning there was God
Superstition, Magic, and God.
God in all shapes and sizes.
The alternative to science and tears.
If there is no answer.... it must be God.
In all things, at all times, there is God.
Our strength and frailty,
Success and failure are from God.
Morality, beauty and love are from God.
Does not God choose
Who dies and joins God,
Who lives and must wait for God?
If the victor feels Gods embrace,
What of the runner who places second?
What of the infant, victim of an
Anti-personnel weapon?
If the ultimate singularity is God
Does evil spring from God?
If not, can evil exist?
If there is no evil can there be good?
The Lake
A square ungainly pontoon boat
Moves quietly off the floating dock
Into the afternoon sun
Joining a haphazard flotilla enjoying a last Saturday
Before the high lake surrenders to winter’s foreclosure.
A light breeze invites a gentle chop
As we navigate the small lakes perimeter.
There is something of a French impressionists painting
In the ease and comfort of our progress.
We occasionally nod, an adults passive salute,
To others similarly occupied.
Norfolk pines climb the surrounding hills,
Their scent settles on the water.
Beyond those hills
Blackened mountainsides bear witness to last year’s fires.
If we could hold firmly to the lake,
And the safety and grace this afternoon brings,
We would stay here forever.
Moves quietly off the floating dock
Into the afternoon sun
Joining a haphazard flotilla enjoying a last Saturday
Before the high lake surrenders to winter’s foreclosure.
A light breeze invites a gentle chop
As we navigate the small lakes perimeter.
There is something of a French impressionists painting
In the ease and comfort of our progress.
We occasionally nod, an adults passive salute,
To others similarly occupied.
Norfolk pines climb the surrounding hills,
Their scent settles on the water.
Beyond those hills
Blackened mountainsides bear witness to last year’s fires.
If we could hold firmly to the lake,
And the safety and grace this afternoon brings,
We would stay here forever.
Acapulco
In a looking glass we can catch
A distorted vision of natives selling shiny objects
In exchange for survival.
They do not swarm and drive us into the sea.
Acapulco is rich in tourists and hope.
Young couples avoid endless procreation,
But wish rather to share in the prosperity.
Ten miles of sand, smooth, and fine,
Pristine in the first eastern light, but not deserted.
High rise hotels and condominiums
Hover like vultures at the beach edges,
Strain to devour the ocean view,
Vie for more of the preeminent panorama,
We dance and dine,
A week of epicurean delights should
Produce more guilt than I can bear,
But I seem to be managing.
A distorted vision of natives selling shiny objects
In exchange for survival.
They do not swarm and drive us into the sea.
Acapulco is rich in tourists and hope.
Young couples avoid endless procreation,
But wish rather to share in the prosperity.
Ten miles of sand, smooth, and fine,
Pristine in the first eastern light, but not deserted.
High rise hotels and condominiums
Hover like vultures at the beach edges,
Strain to devour the ocean view,
Vie for more of the preeminent panorama,
We dance and dine,
A week of epicurean delights should
Produce more guilt than I can bear,
But I seem to be managing.
Rhoda
Not talking about her death.
Rhoda & I spoke of changes.
Her young sons, Fords forgiveness of Nixon,
The tragedy called Vietnam.
Elliott died of cancer 10 years earlier,
Rhoda was expected to follow
Before Summer gave way to Fall.
Long before her 32nd birthday.
There must have been anger and fear.
If so, they were prohibited from that time and place.
Though only 4 years my senior
I viewed her more as an aunt then a friend.
But on that day,
She allowed me to be her friend,
Someone who had stopped by
To say “Hello”, but meant “Goodbye”.
No tears. Sitting in the small living room,
In Dark brown armchairs on that late afternoon,
Comfortably ignoring the sand
Leaving her life’s hour glass.
Idiot words, that I could not speak,
Never demanded audience.
I was grateful then
And remain so 40 years later.
Rhoda & I spoke of changes.
Her young sons, Fords forgiveness of Nixon,
The tragedy called Vietnam.
Elliott died of cancer 10 years earlier,
Rhoda was expected to follow
Before Summer gave way to Fall.
Long before her 32nd birthday.
There must have been anger and fear.
If so, they were prohibited from that time and place.
Though only 4 years my senior
I viewed her more as an aunt then a friend.
But on that day,
She allowed me to be her friend,
Someone who had stopped by
To say “Hello”, but meant “Goodbye”.
No tears. Sitting in the small living room,
In Dark brown armchairs on that late afternoon,
Comfortably ignoring the sand
Leaving her life’s hour glass.
Idiot words, that I could not speak,
Never demanded audience.
I was grateful then
And remain so 40 years later.
Justice by Deconstruction
Pictures of the lovely children
On their first birthday... priceless
What could compare ? Who shall set a value?
Perhaps the same 12 fools.
Her wedding gown in for dry-cleaning
Stolen in the robbery.
Surely the loss far exceeded the $3000. cost.
Indeed the money could never be enough.
How, the plaintiff's attorney asked,
Could there be enough money to assauge the loss,
Hours, days, weeks spent shopping,
Now the beautiful garment was gone.
Memories of the glorious night,
Gone without the magic gown.
How could the marriage survive?
What of the unborn children?
Yes, there were the pictures and video,
But only a philistine would think
Such synthetic images could
Hope to mitigate the damage.
No! Certainly the emotional distress
Caused by the loss would never completely heal.
Obviously, a superior security system,
That included “armed” response, should have been in place.
Now the 12 jurors will value the priceless,
Teach that Dry-Cleaner he must pay for this outrage,
Repent!
And ease the suffering of the lawyer bride.
On their first birthday... priceless
What could compare ? Who shall set a value?
Perhaps the same 12 fools.
Her wedding gown in for dry-cleaning
Stolen in the robbery.
Surely the loss far exceeded the $3000. cost.
Indeed the money could never be enough.
How, the plaintiff's attorney asked,
Could there be enough money to assauge the loss,
Hours, days, weeks spent shopping,
Now the beautiful garment was gone.
Memories of the glorious night,
Gone without the magic gown.
How could the marriage survive?
What of the unborn children?
Yes, there were the pictures and video,
But only a philistine would think
Such synthetic images could
Hope to mitigate the damage.
No! Certainly the emotional distress
Caused by the loss would never completely heal.
Obviously, a superior security system,
That included “armed” response, should have been in place.
Now the 12 jurors will value the priceless,
Teach that Dry-Cleaner he must pay for this outrage,
Repent!
And ease the suffering of the lawyer bride.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Coming to Rest
“There must be something”,
Will read an unrecorded epitaph
That, avoiding commentary,
May explain Bob’s calling.
But I write of his journey
From terrestrial to ethereal and back.
A painful voyage at times
Searching for and hiding from Bob.
No child losing faith in his church
And seeking another that might reconcile
What he saw with what he felt,
Found a God responsive to his needs.
Accepting, practicing and finally leading
Fellow believers by prayer and sermon
Bob left the business world
To take his place on a modest pulpit.
A casualty of a beatific fall
Bob joined another church,
And found with success
An old nemesis, politics.
He rejoined the world of Mammon
But retained a spiritual need.
Now, not quite a Buddhist,
He appears at rest.
Is it an illusion?
Is there still the cat
That makes incomprehensible, incredible leaps,
Cartwheeling his life in terrifying directions?
Will read an unrecorded epitaph
That, avoiding commentary,
May explain Bob’s calling.
But I write of his journey
From terrestrial to ethereal and back.
A painful voyage at times
Searching for and hiding from Bob.
No child losing faith in his church
And seeking another that might reconcile
What he saw with what he felt,
Found a God responsive to his needs.
Accepting, practicing and finally leading
Fellow believers by prayer and sermon
Bob left the business world
To take his place on a modest pulpit.
A casualty of a beatific fall
Bob joined another church,
And found with success
An old nemesis, politics.
He rejoined the world of Mammon
But retained a spiritual need.
Now, not quite a Buddhist,
He appears at rest.
Is it an illusion?
Is there still the cat
That makes incomprehensible, incredible leaps,
Cartwheeling his life in terrifying directions?
Where did I leave my glasses?
When did I see them last?
When did I last see with them ?
I’ve lost lots of things,
Scarves, socks, hats, books, even a child.
Not to worry, the kid turned up.
My glasses, not yet.
I visualize a small prosperous village in India.
Whose chief export is replacement pens for me.
How many files have I misplaced,
Some never recovered?
Remember the warehouse in the “Search for the Holy Grail”?
They’ve a large space devoted to my stuff.
I expect to be stopped at the pearly gates.
They’ll want receipts for thousands of hats and ear-muffs.
If lost ideas count, mine might require
A separate storage planet.
When did I last see with them ?
I’ve lost lots of things,
Scarves, socks, hats, books, even a child.
Not to worry, the kid turned up.
My glasses, not yet.
I visualize a small prosperous village in India.
Whose chief export is replacement pens for me.
How many files have I misplaced,
Some never recovered?
Remember the warehouse in the “Search for the Holy Grail”?
They’ve a large space devoted to my stuff.
I expect to be stopped at the pearly gates.
They’ll want receipts for thousands of hats and ear-muffs.
If lost ideas count, mine might require
A separate storage planet.
Airport
She was not happy.
Our lady in white, composed and attentive,
Preceded her captive son
By six feet and two planets.
Walking with as much indifference as he could muster
Her reluctant companion moved forward like a snake,
Body half raised sliding along the stone floor
His baseball cap at 90 degrees.
His father would be advised of the boys latest outrage.
Maybe this one was serious.
I recall a time when I looked out a 20th story window
Being baad was cool, being caught not so much.
Our lady in white, composed and attentive,
Preceded her captive son
By six feet and two planets.
Walking with as much indifference as he could muster
Her reluctant companion moved forward like a snake,
Body half raised sliding along the stone floor
His baseball cap at 90 degrees.
His father would be advised of the boys latest outrage.
Maybe this one was serious.
I recall a time when I looked out a 20th story window
Being baad was cool, being caught not so much.
All Gone
After a losing battle with a chocolate ice cream cone,
“All gone” was the cheer that marked the cessation of hostilities.
Paul’s face would hold the remnants of the victor's army.
Good-Humor is no longer, but kids can still battle ice cream cones.
In cases of splinters, mosquito bites, or dark closets
That might hold evil creatures,
Salve, tweezers or a flash light
Could summon relief : “All gone”.
Sadly, life’s journey can’t sustain us
With “open sesames” or Dad’s incantations.
We cease running down hills because
Only children do that... pity.
When I was young I played with children’s toys.
Now that I am grown I miss the magic... All gone.
“All gone” was the cheer that marked the cessation of hostilities.
Paul’s face would hold the remnants of the victor's army.
Good-Humor is no longer, but kids can still battle ice cream cones.
In cases of splinters, mosquito bites, or dark closets
That might hold evil creatures,
Salve, tweezers or a flash light
Could summon relief : “All gone”.
Sadly, life’s journey can’t sustain us
With “open sesames” or Dad’s incantations.
We cease running down hills because
Only children do that... pity.
When I was young I played with children’s toys.
Now that I am grown I miss the magic... All gone.
Aloft
Aloft
Lifting through the angry sky
We race to a higher and less troubled space
Hoping to escape the brillant lightening flashes
Like memories from an unhappy time.
Daylight insinuates itself as we rise,
Now miles beyond earth's Greens and Grays.
Aloft, in defiance of gravity and Zeus,
We reach for the Sun and home.
380 other flying boxes aloft right now,
Moving at speeds beyond yesterday’s thought,
Accepting this place where angels and gods once held sway,
As man’s domain
Lifting through the angry sky
We race to a higher and less troubled space
Hoping to escape the brillant lightening flashes
Like memories from an unhappy time.
Daylight insinuates itself as we rise,
Now miles beyond earth's Greens and Grays.
Aloft, in defiance of gravity and Zeus,
We reach for the Sun and home.
380 other flying boxes aloft right now,
Moving at speeds beyond yesterday’s thought,
Accepting this place where angels and gods once held sway,
As man’s domain
God, gun and money.
On the island of
"My God, My Gun, My Money",
There is music, patriotic music,
Horn and drum music, playing incessantly.
It annihilates dialogue,
Hip-hop and Beethoven.
Covers the earth with
Semi naked drum-majorettes.
A 75 year old contract
That proclaimed acceptance of shared responsibility,
Now viewed as treason,
In this time when reason is overwhelmed by farce.
"My God, My Gun, My Money",
There is music, patriotic music,
Horn and drum music, playing incessantly.
It annihilates dialogue,
Hip-hop and Beethoven.
Covers the earth with
Semi naked drum-majorettes.
A 75 year old contract
That proclaimed acceptance of shared responsibility,
Now viewed as treason,
In this time when reason is overwhelmed by farce.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Shirtless
It’s a 20 year old photograph.
I am returning from the net.
In blue shorts, my head bent, racquet hanging dejectedly;
I must have lost the point.
Except I know better.
Such vanity, attempting humility,
Seeking no applause,
I will graciously accept victory.
I am baaad!
Yet, there is a joker loose on the court.
When I feel superior I need
Merely turn my desk chair and look at the photo.
All my imagined stage craft
Undone, as I look at my self-abasing feet.
True, my steps seem appropriately downtrodden.
If only I had worn matching socks.
I am returning from the net.
In blue shorts, my head bent, racquet hanging dejectedly;
I must have lost the point.
Except I know better.
Such vanity, attempting humility,
Seeking no applause,
I will graciously accept victory.
I am baaad!
Yet, there is a joker loose on the court.
When I feel superior I need
Merely turn my desk chair and look at the photo.
All my imagined stage craft
Undone, as I look at my self-abasing feet.
True, my steps seem appropriately downtrodden.
If only I had worn matching socks.
Along Came Woody
“A genuine hero” according to Jimmy Carter,
John Wayne has an airport bearing his name.
A truly ungifted actor who always looked the hero.
He presents one pole when mistaking size for substance.
His antipode can be encapsulated as a neurotic nebbish.
Woody Allen’s movie appearances always lacked two things:
Galoshes and acting.
I can see Duke and Woody as a dance team.
Duke would lead, destroying Woody’s feet
In the first thirty seconds.
Woody would complain for the next hundred years,
They are truly nightmares that keep on giving.
Speaking of the breadth of America’s possibilities.
The long and short, good-lookin and ugly,
One seeking the bottom of the bottle, the other
Looking to crawl back into the womb.
Duke was always saving the day
Woody was always losing his way.
No Yin and Yang here.
John Wayne has an airport bearing his name.
A truly ungifted actor who always looked the hero.
He presents one pole when mistaking size for substance.
His antipode can be encapsulated as a neurotic nebbish.
Woody Allen’s movie appearances always lacked two things:
Galoshes and acting.
I can see Duke and Woody as a dance team.
Duke would lead, destroying Woody’s feet
In the first thirty seconds.
Woody would complain for the next hundred years,
They are truly nightmares that keep on giving.
Speaking of the breadth of America’s possibilities.
The long and short, good-lookin and ugly,
One seeking the bottom of the bottle, the other
Looking to crawl back into the womb.
Duke was always saving the day
Woody was always losing his way.
No Yin and Yang here.
2008
2008 you’ve been a real blast.
But now that you are part of the past
I thought I’d offer a word or two
By way of showing how I feel about you.
Our presidential choices demanded attention.
Media followed each and every contention.
Hillary said this and Romney said that
And Rudy Gulliani was leading one pack
Barack Obama was coming on strong
John Edwards sang a populist song.
John McCain decided he needed Falwell’s religion,
While democrats bemoaned each Bush decision.
After millions of dollars we settled on two
McCain and Obama would fight the race through.
Sarah Palin one VP selection,
Her mind an example of candied confection.
Meanwhile our economy was sinking fast,
But George said the slide would not last.
McCain said the fundamentals were sound,
Still most thought the country recession bound.
Banks wanted cash, without a need to repay.
700 billion should cover the play.
Wise men were asked what we should do.
Phil Gramm told the public it’s too bad for you.
Houses being lost at a pace seldom seen.
Jobs disappearing, as in a terrible dream.
Stock markets plunging, charities begging,
Christmas failed for want of big spending.
2008, no,not the best of years.
Filled with loses and so many tears.
In 2009 with Obama leading
Maybe we can staunch the terrible bleeding.
No longer starting unnecessary wars,
Returning sanity to America’s shores.
So we’ll hope for Obama, the new skinny guy
To bring us to peace and a much bluer sky
But now that you are part of the past
I thought I’d offer a word or two
By way of showing how I feel about you.
Our presidential choices demanded attention.
Media followed each and every contention.
Hillary said this and Romney said that
And Rudy Gulliani was leading one pack
Barack Obama was coming on strong
John Edwards sang a populist song.
John McCain decided he needed Falwell’s religion,
While democrats bemoaned each Bush decision.
After millions of dollars we settled on two
McCain and Obama would fight the race through.
Sarah Palin one VP selection,
Her mind an example of candied confection.
Meanwhile our economy was sinking fast,
But George said the slide would not last.
McCain said the fundamentals were sound,
Still most thought the country recession bound.
Banks wanted cash, without a need to repay.
700 billion should cover the play.
Wise men were asked what we should do.
Phil Gramm told the public it’s too bad for you.
Houses being lost at a pace seldom seen.
Jobs disappearing, as in a terrible dream.
Stock markets plunging, charities begging,
Christmas failed for want of big spending.
2008, no,not the best of years.
Filled with loses and so many tears.
In 2009 with Obama leading
Maybe we can staunch the terrible bleeding.
No longer starting unnecessary wars,
Returning sanity to America’s shores.
So we’ll hope for Obama, the new skinny guy
To bring us to peace and a much bluer sky
A Fairy Tale
A Martian landing in Central Park
Is as likely as a Black man becoming President.
So I thought ... until last night.
Now I await little green men.
Obama’s skin tone did not go unnoticed,
Millions preferred a white man.
Millions decided that color was not enough.
Discrimination did not disappear with victory,
Our problems as a culture, nation, people,
Still here this morning, will not evaporate.
But today I’m proud to be an American!
Martin Luther King, who gave voice to possibility,
Might have envisioned this election.
Three years ago I would’ve thought it delusional.
Today, before the Philistines trample on the parade,
Let’s hold the moment with the love of a parent
Telling her child “ You could be ------”
Is as likely as a Black man becoming President.
So I thought ... until last night.
Now I await little green men.
Obama’s skin tone did not go unnoticed,
Millions preferred a white man.
Millions decided that color was not enough.
Discrimination did not disappear with victory,
Our problems as a culture, nation, people,
Still here this morning, will not evaporate.
But today I’m proud to be an American!
Martin Luther King, who gave voice to possibility,
Might have envisioned this election.
Three years ago I would’ve thought it delusional.
Today, before the Philistines trample on the parade,
Let’s hold the moment with the love of a parent
Telling her child “ You could be ------”
Safe
“Safety first”.
That’s about all I recall of the third grade.
I think it spoke of fire drills,
And procedures in the event of a nuclear attack.
My writing group feels safe.
Portions of original books,
Fiction or non, memoirs,
Poems, letters, all fair game.
Uncomfortable chairs, fragile tables
Occupy only a small portion
Of the multi-purpose, large, square room
Where on Monday mornings, we few believers meet.
Along with our efforts to say something,
We bring dreams, smiles, and conversation.
We are a more sanguine version of
The iceman’s favorite bar.
I listen as each reader,
In need of suggestions, corrections
But foremost, approval,
Presents their puzzle.
Beyond grammar and spelling,
Objectivity has no purchase here.
Each writer offers a piece of themselves,
Knowing they will not be censured.
Listen for the anger, love, humor.
Taste the words, both spoken
And missing. Travel with the piece.
In the safety of this place we risk and learn.
That’s about all I recall of the third grade.
I think it spoke of fire drills,
And procedures in the event of a nuclear attack.
My writing group feels safe.
Portions of original books,
Fiction or non, memoirs,
Poems, letters, all fair game.
Uncomfortable chairs, fragile tables
Occupy only a small portion
Of the multi-purpose, large, square room
Where on Monday mornings, we few believers meet.
Along with our efforts to say something,
We bring dreams, smiles, and conversation.
We are a more sanguine version of
The iceman’s favorite bar.
I listen as each reader,
In need of suggestions, corrections
But foremost, approval,
Presents their puzzle.
Beyond grammar and spelling,
Objectivity has no purchase here.
Each writer offers a piece of themselves,
Knowing they will not be censured.
Listen for the anger, love, humor.
Taste the words, both spoken
And missing. Travel with the piece.
In the safety of this place we risk and learn.
Homecrest Ave
“Herbie threw the ball on the roof”!
He topped our six story building that day.
My computer screen shows me the place
And memory paints the scene.
Except for the dulled-red of the brick,
The apartment house looks about right,
Just a little smaller.
Stupid! stupid! Years spent hiding.
Our 5th floor apartment looked out
On a street, partially shaded, in summer,
By a large Oak.
I am warmed.
Stoop ball on the front steps,
I people the entrance with neighbors,
Guys my 15 years of age,
All of us showing signs of early lobotomies.
Pathetic, the bunch of us.
We considered an illegal trip to the pool hall,
Made possible by the contiguous bowling alley.
Never a good pool player.
Surely the word “contiguous” separates me?
At this time, before “hanging” became an art,
When I wasn’t masturbating or avoiding homework,
I learned words like “contiguous”.
It didn’t matter much.
You can’t spend time looking across the street,
Noting that 2 homes are “contiguous”.
Makes for a helluva conversation piece.
I remember riding on the running-board,
Of a 49 Plymouth.
That damn picture invites me in.
Did I just survive, or maybe it was more.
He topped our six story building that day.
My computer screen shows me the place
And memory paints the scene.
Except for the dulled-red of the brick,
The apartment house looks about right,
Just a little smaller.
Stupid! stupid! Years spent hiding.
Our 5th floor apartment looked out
On a street, partially shaded, in summer,
By a large Oak.
I am warmed.
Stoop ball on the front steps,
I people the entrance with neighbors,
Guys my 15 years of age,
All of us showing signs of early lobotomies.
Pathetic, the bunch of us.
We considered an illegal trip to the pool hall,
Made possible by the contiguous bowling alley.
Never a good pool player.
Surely the word “contiguous” separates me?
At this time, before “hanging” became an art,
When I wasn’t masturbating or avoiding homework,
I learned words like “contiguous”.
It didn’t matter much.
You can’t spend time looking across the street,
Noting that 2 homes are “contiguous”.
Makes for a helluva conversation piece.
I remember riding on the running-board,
Of a 49 Plymouth.
That damn picture invites me in.
Did I just survive, or maybe it was more.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Bernie
Why should I care about this one thief?
I am outraged by the indictment that
“He has brought shame on the Jewish community”.
I do not share the shame!
But, if that is so, why do I feel pride
When Paul Krugman wins a Nobel prize?
I am outraged by the indictment that
“He has brought shame on the Jewish community”.
I do not share the shame!
But, if that is so, why do I feel pride
When Paul Krugman wins a Nobel prize?
Zion
What a terrible place to covet.
Listen to the fools speak of a 3,000 year old promise.
Talk about a bad neighborhood.
Every cousin’s hand turned in anger.
Irony turned farce to fear.
Be paranoid or be dead.
There is Martin Luther’s curse,
And the world’s choir still in evidence.
With prayers and weapons all,
All, save America, wish my destruction.
I am the nightmare, not gone by morning,
Whose caricature they hate.
A tiny nation of stiff necked people.
Held to a standard never attainable,
Derided for its tortured history,
Its crime being persistence.
This time my people will stand,
And not apologize for our existence.
We will not appease our enemies
We will return their lashes one hundred fold.
My people are not without fault.
They do not limit their anger to the common enemy,
But, united by the condemnation that surrounds them,
Demean views contrary to theirs.
Once I dreamt of alliances
For each had value worth sharing.
Now there is survival, only survival;
I do not dwell on what might have been.
Listen to the fools speak of a 3,000 year old promise.
Talk about a bad neighborhood.
Every cousin’s hand turned in anger.
Irony turned farce to fear.
Be paranoid or be dead.
There is Martin Luther’s curse,
And the world’s choir still in evidence.
With prayers and weapons all,
All, save America, wish my destruction.
I am the nightmare, not gone by morning,
Whose caricature they hate.
A tiny nation of stiff necked people.
Held to a standard never attainable,
Derided for its tortured history,
Its crime being persistence.
This time my people will stand,
And not apologize for our existence.
We will not appease our enemies
We will return their lashes one hundred fold.
My people are not without fault.
They do not limit their anger to the common enemy,
But, united by the condemnation that surrounds them,
Demean views contrary to theirs.
Once I dreamt of alliances
For each had value worth sharing.
Now there is survival, only survival;
I do not dwell on what might have been.
The Black President
What do you mean racist?
Calling him our Black President was racist.
He is Black!
Which one?
What do you mean which one?
Which President.
We only have one.
You noticed.
I got 24 autographs of Jackie Robinson!
Half of my employees are black!
OK
But he is black!
Yes.
So how can calling him our Black President be racist?
He is also tall and skinny.
So?
Would you call him our tall, skinny, black President?
No.
Why not?
What purpose would be served?
You noticed.
Calling him our Black President was racist.
He is Black!
Which one?
What do you mean which one?
Which President.
We only have one.
You noticed.
I got 24 autographs of Jackie Robinson!
Half of my employees are black!
OK
But he is black!
Yes.
So how can calling him our Black President be racist?
He is also tall and skinny.
So?
Would you call him our tall, skinny, black President?
No.
Why not?
What purpose would be served?
You noticed.
Five six
My physical was devastating.
True, the tests were OK,
Most body parts were functioning well.
Death remained more likely
To come in the form of a speeding car
Than an elevated blood-pressure.
But five-six!
All these years of self delusion
Crashing down on a pathetic little runt.
So cruel a fate.
My father claimed that number.
When he was five six I grew taller.
At least five eight, maybe five nine.
Was he merely five four?
Convinced that I would reach at least six three
I had planned an NBA career.
Distraught, when my plan shriveled.
It took years to accept five nine.
Maybe my unsanfarized body
Diminished over these last few months
And I had been really, nearly, five ten for years?
Now I am short again.
It ‘s a bitter blow:
Shortest guy in the elevator.
Once again I must carry Job’s burden.
There is no god.
True, the tests were OK,
Most body parts were functioning well.
Death remained more likely
To come in the form of a speeding car
Than an elevated blood-pressure.
But five-six!
All these years of self delusion
Crashing down on a pathetic little runt.
So cruel a fate.
My father claimed that number.
When he was five six I grew taller.
At least five eight, maybe five nine.
Was he merely five four?
Convinced that I would reach at least six three
I had planned an NBA career.
Distraught, when my plan shriveled.
It took years to accept five nine.
Maybe my unsanfarized body
Diminished over these last few months
And I had been really, nearly, five ten for years?
Now I am short again.
It ‘s a bitter blow:
Shortest guy in the elevator.
Once again I must carry Job’s burden.
There is no god.
Lady in a Red Shirt
Her arms move too easily
To have been born a Catholic or a Jew.
Neither guilty nor portentous,
They seem outrageously comfortable.
Passing as a spirit from Renoir,
I do not record her person,
Just arms moving with an unconscious rhythm
That, naive as a child’s,
And unweighted by life’s inevitable encounters,
Do not disown responsibility.
Passing along the beach-walk,
Through the leisurely stroll
Of the Sunday families and religious joggers,
Her difference diminishes and finally dissolves.
To have been born a Catholic or a Jew.
Neither guilty nor portentous,
They seem outrageously comfortable.
Passing as a spirit from Renoir,
I do not record her person,
Just arms moving with an unconscious rhythm
That, naive as a child’s,
And unweighted by life’s inevitable encounters,
Do not disown responsibility.
Passing along the beach-walk,
Through the leisurely stroll
Of the Sunday families and religious joggers,
Her difference diminishes and finally dissolves.
Aquarius
Today is a mega-feast for Astrologers.
All sorts of alignments including, ta da!
Jupiter aligning with Mars.
Opportunities not seen outside of a fortune cookie factory
Will be on display.
Neptune will emphasize humanitarian movements,
Chiron, the wounded healer, offers health,
Venus in Aries empowers co-creativity,
Our moon in Libra suggest harmony.
Sadly there is no mention of chocolates.
All sorts of alignments including, ta da!
Jupiter aligning with Mars.
Opportunities not seen outside of a fortune cookie factory
Will be on display.
Neptune will emphasize humanitarian movements,
Chiron, the wounded healer, offers health,
Venus in Aries empowers co-creativity,
Our moon in Libra suggest harmony.
Sadly there is no mention of chocolates.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Generosity
He asked me for a dime, seemed sober and cleared eyed.
Thinking I had no change, I shook my head.
One step later, stopped at a traffic light,
I found 2 dimes in my jeans.
Turning, I saw the beggar a few feet away, asking folks awaiting a bus,
If they had spare change.
I started to’rd him, the 2 dimes in my hand.
“What am I doing?”, I thought.
Having failed to check for change initially,
I’m now going to give this guy 2 lousy dimes!
Maybe cap that with "have a nice day."
I stopped to rebuke myself.
“Come on, at least a buck, you cheap son-of-a bitch”
I belatedly reached for my wallet as a bus stopped
And watched as the street guy boarded & left.
Thinking I had no change, I shook my head.
One step later, stopped at a traffic light,
I found 2 dimes in my jeans.
Turning, I saw the beggar a few feet away, asking folks awaiting a bus,
If they had spare change.
I started to’rd him, the 2 dimes in my hand.
“What am I doing?”, I thought.
Having failed to check for change initially,
I’m now going to give this guy 2 lousy dimes!
Maybe cap that with "have a nice day."
I stopped to rebuke myself.
“Come on, at least a buck, you cheap son-of-a bitch”
I belatedly reached for my wallet as a bus stopped
And watched as the street guy boarded & left.
Masks
Was there something I wished to say?
Something that might move the conversation in a gentle way,
to less safe subjects that might engage our table of six
and animate beyond the masks we had affixed
to ward off penetration beyond our skin,
so none could see the person therein.
Why was I here listening to this bore
who assumed her audience held secure
to the truth she had fitted as a garment tied in place
by repetition of a mantra at a mind-numbing pace?
Neither “flight” nor “fight” tore me free.
I failed to do more then let it be,
acting the coward by not “making waves”
reducing myself to the part of a slave.
As if I could not rise, ball my hand
and still the fool who had taken command,
letting chaos reach passion’s level
allowing decorum to go to the devil.
Something that might move the conversation in a gentle way,
to less safe subjects that might engage our table of six
and animate beyond the masks we had affixed
to ward off penetration beyond our skin,
so none could see the person therein.
Why was I here listening to this bore
who assumed her audience held secure
to the truth she had fitted as a garment tied in place
by repetition of a mantra at a mind-numbing pace?
Neither “flight” nor “fight” tore me free.
I failed to do more then let it be,
acting the coward by not “making waves”
reducing myself to the part of a slave.
As if I could not rise, ball my hand
and still the fool who had taken command,
letting chaos reach passion’s level
allowing decorum to go to the devil.
Move
Screams rising from the half enclosed small courtyard
Were not those of a child playing, nor an adult argument.
They were the sounds of agony, of a woman being stabbed,
Again and again.
120 apartments surrounded the court
Overlooking the scene.
57 people witnessed the attack.
“What to do, what to do?”
Walking from the girl,
Kitty’s attacker watched.
“Is my work finished?
“No voices? How odd!”, he thought.
We’ve given the body a name.
57 witnesses did not believe they knew her, …
At least not well.
“What to do, what to do”?
He came back to the body,
He did not know her name.
Blood seeping inexorably from under her
Created a silhouette.
He stabbed her again and again
Her cries, not screams now, barely reached
57 witnesses.
Nothing to be done.
And the street girls walked, dum di dum, dum di dum.
Waiting for the train
Walter started shaking uncontrollably.
A stranger’s arms wrapped Walter’s in a bear hug,
Lowering him to’rd the ground.
Walter resisted the stranger.
Arms and legs tearing the air
Trying to escape his accursed body,
Freeing himself, Walter toppled onto the tracks
The stranger leaped off the platform,
Stilling Walter under him.
The train past over them
Missing the stranger by a breath.
And the street girls walk, dum di dum, dum di dum.
Were not those of a child playing, nor an adult argument.
They were the sounds of agony, of a woman being stabbed,
Again and again.
120 apartments surrounded the court
Overlooking the scene.
57 people witnessed the attack.
“What to do, what to do?”
Walking from the girl,
Kitty’s attacker watched.
“Is my work finished?
“No voices? How odd!”, he thought.
We’ve given the body a name.
57 witnesses did not believe they knew her, …
At least not well.
“What to do, what to do”?
He came back to the body,
He did not know her name.
Blood seeping inexorably from under her
Created a silhouette.
He stabbed her again and again
Her cries, not screams now, barely reached
57 witnesses.
Nothing to be done.
And the street girls walked, dum di dum, dum di dum.
Waiting for the train
Walter started shaking uncontrollably.
A stranger’s arms wrapped Walter’s in a bear hug,
Lowering him to’rd the ground.
Walter resisted the stranger.
Arms and legs tearing the air
Trying to escape his accursed body,
Freeing himself, Walter toppled onto the tracks
The stranger leaped off the platform,
Stilling Walter under him.
The train past over them
Missing the stranger by a breath.
And the street girls walk, dum di dum, dum di dum.
Darwin’s Lament
Change
There is room to doubt.
Five years, a 1000 tests and more.
Sea shells at 4000 feet.
Sick days, weeks,
Oceans unending,
I should happily sail Julian’s pond
And never feel a ship’s rise and fall again.
I’ve seen time’s message.
In the mountains and valleys,
In the vast Oceans and tidal streams,
Life’s miracles visit us, but not by design.
Bugs, birds, animals, Man,
All, all that lives seeks survival,
Selects paths that offer a better chance.
Some prove viable, and the creature,
Newly enriched, endures.
How do I tell this truth,
When “the book” speaks of creation
As it never was?
My peopled universe
May find life without “the book”
Barren and meaningless.
There is room to doubt.
Five years, a 1000 tests and more.
Sea shells at 4000 feet.
Sick days, weeks,
Oceans unending,
I should happily sail Julian’s pond
And never feel a ship’s rise and fall again.
I’ve seen time’s message.
In the mountains and valleys,
In the vast Oceans and tidal streams,
Life’s miracles visit us, but not by design.
Bugs, birds, animals, Man,
All, all that lives seeks survival,
Selects paths that offer a better chance.
Some prove viable, and the creature,
Newly enriched, endures.
How do I tell this truth,
When “the book” speaks of creation
As it never was?
My peopled universe
May find life without “the book”
Barren and meaningless.
Courage
Courage: The willingness to embrace the Alien.
It was not the weather or the steps.
No fault was found with evil spirits
Or an ineffectual god.
Ray fell and he claimed the failure.
Face down in the grass
He thought his foot detached.
Fear and anger lay with him
Two days spent recovering from surgery,
In an Old Folks Storage dump
Masquerading as a “Rehab” center,
Followed by an abbreviated home stay
Re-entering the hospital,
His surgeon pointing to the infected leg,
Indicated that “amputation” could not be ruled out.
I entered Ray’s room dressed in a hospital shroud,
To find Ray and Carolyn speaking in tongues.
“He would avoid the longer wait for recovery” she rationalized.
“ If its necessary, let s get it done”, Ray added.
“Wait, wait a goddamn minute!” I thought.
I could not stand their stoicism.
Peering over the edge,
Recognizing that the diabolically sponsored infection
Was insidious and relentless,
Carolyn and Ray, those infuriating rationalists,
Are keepers of the word.
It was not the weather or the steps.
No fault was found with evil spirits
Or an ineffectual god.
Ray fell and he claimed the failure.
Face down in the grass
He thought his foot detached.
Fear and anger lay with him
Two days spent recovering from surgery,
In an Old Folks Storage dump
Masquerading as a “Rehab” center,
Followed by an abbreviated home stay
Re-entering the hospital,
His surgeon pointing to the infected leg,
Indicated that “amputation” could not be ruled out.
I entered Ray’s room dressed in a hospital shroud,
To find Ray and Carolyn speaking in tongues.
“He would avoid the longer wait for recovery” she rationalized.
“ If its necessary, let s get it done”, Ray added.
“Wait, wait a goddamn minute!” I thought.
I could not stand their stoicism.
Peering over the edge,
Recognizing that the diabolically sponsored infection
Was insidious and relentless,
Carolyn and Ray, those infuriating rationalists,
Are keepers of the word.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Elevator
It was slow.
In a senior retirement apartment house
A slow elevator is to be expected.
Not so, the fascinating dialogue.
Eleanor, face half hidden behind a surgical mask,
Wheels into the empty lift on the 13th floor.
“No room” she shouts at those waiting on floor 12.
With a friendly nod, the would-be passengers
Ignore her and enter.
All hope for a non-stop ride to the ground floor.
As the door opens on 11 Mildred, waiting to enter, is treated to Eleanor’s screams.
“I’ll report you people!. I need my space, but do you care?.
“No Mildred I am not upset with you, god bless you and keep you.
It’s Sam here, with his horrible breath, and Rose in that perfectly dreadful
Worn-out violet blouse, who could not wait for the next elevator.”
No one comments on Morris, the man from the funeral parlor
Who seems to be counting future customers from the back of the elevator.
If Morris doesn’t acknowledge you chances are you have not drawn the short straw ---
today.
Smiling diffidently. Mildred pushes against the wall as the 5 riders descend a floor.
No one there.
Eleanor and Sam, with something to agree upon, condemn the thoughtlessness of some residents.
Moving at a glacial pace, elevator and riders are confronted by 4 angry
Tenants on the 9th floor. John B. looks at Sam demands “ what have you people been doing with this elevator? I’m going to be late for my cardiologist.”
Charity attempts to calm John B. as Sam, taking umbrage, barks “Who the hell told you that
this fucking elevator runs at your pleasure. Why don’t you walk down the 9 flights.”
“Why don’t the 2 of you just shut-up” commands Eleanor.
A tense , but quiet ride to the 8th floor. “No room, no room” shout at least 4 people into the face of Margaret, a small lady who, leaning heavily on her walker, backs away from the elevator door.
Conversation turns to the management of the building,
As the elevator stops between 7 and 8.
Sam remarks, “This piece of crap is tired.”
“Maybe the cable is fraying” suggests Mildred thoughtfully.
“I think they’re trying to kill us!” exclaims Eleanor
“Did you understand that spy movie last night?”
Charity inquires of no one in particular.
“I forgot my hat” moans John B.
“Jesus John, did you pass gas again!?” Sam shouts.
Morris silently decides that John B and Eleanor
Will be customers before the season changes.
Then suddenly the elevator, showing independence of thought
Restarts and refuses to stop until it regurgitates
All 9 passengers at 1.
In a senior retirement apartment house
A slow elevator is to be expected.
Not so, the fascinating dialogue.
Eleanor, face half hidden behind a surgical mask,
Wheels into the empty lift on the 13th floor.
“No room” she shouts at those waiting on floor 12.
With a friendly nod, the would-be passengers
Ignore her and enter.
All hope for a non-stop ride to the ground floor.
As the door opens on 11 Mildred, waiting to enter, is treated to Eleanor’s screams.
“I’ll report you people!. I need my space, but do you care?.
“No Mildred I am not upset with you, god bless you and keep you.
It’s Sam here, with his horrible breath, and Rose in that perfectly dreadful
Worn-out violet blouse, who could not wait for the next elevator.”
No one comments on Morris, the man from the funeral parlor
Who seems to be counting future customers from the back of the elevator.
If Morris doesn’t acknowledge you chances are you have not drawn the short straw ---
today.
Smiling diffidently. Mildred pushes against the wall as the 5 riders descend a floor.
No one there.
Eleanor and Sam, with something to agree upon, condemn the thoughtlessness of some residents.
Moving at a glacial pace, elevator and riders are confronted by 4 angry
Tenants on the 9th floor. John B. looks at Sam demands “ what have you people been doing with this elevator? I’m going to be late for my cardiologist.”
Charity attempts to calm John B. as Sam, taking umbrage, barks “Who the hell told you that
this fucking elevator runs at your pleasure. Why don’t you walk down the 9 flights.”
“Why don’t the 2 of you just shut-up” commands Eleanor.
A tense , but quiet ride to the 8th floor. “No room, no room” shout at least 4 people into the face of Margaret, a small lady who, leaning heavily on her walker, backs away from the elevator door.
Conversation turns to the management of the building,
As the elevator stops between 7 and 8.
Sam remarks, “This piece of crap is tired.”
“Maybe the cable is fraying” suggests Mildred thoughtfully.
“I think they’re trying to kill us!” exclaims Eleanor
“Did you understand that spy movie last night?”
Charity inquires of no one in particular.
“I forgot my hat” moans John B.
“Jesus John, did you pass gas again!?” Sam shouts.
Morris silently decides that John B and Eleanor
Will be customers before the season changes.
Then suddenly the elevator, showing independence of thought
Restarts and refuses to stop until it regurgitates
All 9 passengers at 1.
Jumper
“Selfish, is what it is”,
Explained the driver standing next to me.
“You and I, my friend, could be here all day!
Son-of a-bitch, why not pick a high rise?”
Why bridges?
Terrible odds
You lose you die, ... or
Maybe that’s winning?
“Poor bastard, won't be home for dinner”,
My new found buddy snickered,
“Course I won't be home for dinner either.
Maybe they should just push ‘em?”
Why bridges?
Is it the water,
Does the serpent brain
Look to retrieve a time eons old?
“You know, Brooklyn Bridge
Got a nice wide walk,
But here, Christ! no walk,
You’d be lucky not to get whacked before “take-off”!
Why this bridge?
How long ago did he plan this walk?
Did he leave a note in the kitchen?
Or was there no one and no kitchen?
The bridge must offer comfort.
Jogging up the car lane
Drivers give way
Eventually grasping your intention.
Would you have us reach out,
Persuade you there are choices,
This need not be the end,
Only witness your life ending escape?
Explained the driver standing next to me.
“You and I, my friend, could be here all day!
Son-of a-bitch, why not pick a high rise?”
Why bridges?
Terrible odds
You lose you die, ... or
Maybe that’s winning?
“Poor bastard, won't be home for dinner”,
My new found buddy snickered,
“Course I won't be home for dinner either.
Maybe they should just push ‘em?”
Why bridges?
Is it the water,
Does the serpent brain
Look to retrieve a time eons old?
“You know, Brooklyn Bridge
Got a nice wide walk,
But here, Christ! no walk,
You’d be lucky not to get whacked before “take-off”!
Why this bridge?
How long ago did he plan this walk?
Did he leave a note in the kitchen?
Or was there no one and no kitchen?
The bridge must offer comfort.
Jogging up the car lane
Drivers give way
Eventually grasping your intention.
Would you have us reach out,
Persuade you there are choices,
This need not be the end,
Only witness your life ending escape?
Whistle of a Train
Five a.m. Morning light is hours away.
My bed is warm and the train whistle
Brings a feeling of well-being.
The train, miles away, speaks to me.
Its singular note evokes
A child’s figure 8 journey
In the living room of a Brooklyn apartment.
I recall the small circles.
It must have quickly grown tiresome.
Yet now, a lifetime later, that sounding whistle
Awakens a sense of Sunday morning,
When my world could be held together
By a fantasy trip to a magical place.
My bed is warm and the train whistle
Brings a feeling of well-being.
The train, miles away, speaks to me.
Its singular note evokes
A child’s figure 8 journey
In the living room of a Brooklyn apartment.
I recall the small circles.
It must have quickly grown tiresome.
Yet now, a lifetime later, that sounding whistle
Awakens a sense of Sunday morning,
When my world could be held together
By a fantasy trip to a magical place.
The Running Child
Down ten steps to the landing
And a wall waiting two feet beyond.
Scary, the first time,
Quickly becoming his mark of excellence.
A failure in school,
Socially uncomfortable, with few friends.
He could run and jump.
No one could run faster or jump higher.
Skinny and short, with dreams
Of cowboys and girls.
Heroically capturing bad dudes,
Saving lives, accepting thanks.
Desperately unhappy,
Dismissing races won.
They required only natural ability,
No real effort or thought.
What happened to that child?
Is he still there, inside a man’s body?
Does he venture out, wanting to run
And jump down ten steps?
And a wall waiting two feet beyond.
Scary, the first time,
Quickly becoming his mark of excellence.
A failure in school,
Socially uncomfortable, with few friends.
He could run and jump.
No one could run faster or jump higher.
Skinny and short, with dreams
Of cowboys and girls.
Heroically capturing bad dudes,
Saving lives, accepting thanks.
Desperately unhappy,
Dismissing races won.
They required only natural ability,
No real effort or thought.
What happened to that child?
Is he still there, inside a man’s body?
Does he venture out, wanting to run
And jump down ten steps?
Friday, January 23, 2009
Disabled Vets
I felt unclean,
Having volunteered to give a job interview training class
to 11 attendees, wounded in Iraq. All marines.
Ed, lost a leg to sniper fire.
Larry, Nick and Buddy suffered hearing, sight and voice damage respectively
In cross-fires while on patrol.
Marcia had lost her hip to an IED,
Chuck and Tim suffered brain damage in a similar event.
Mike lost a hand in a motor pool accident,
And Leroy an arm to “friendly fire”.
Two guys did not want to discuss the issue.
Not one of these marines was over nineteen when disabled.
All volunteered for combat.
Each thought they had defended our shores,
Would die, if necessary, for the soldier on his right or her left.
Most will never surrender their belief that the war was necessary,
Despite their resentment of all things Iraqi.
Yes, I had marched and protested against their war.
I resented these marines, who would justify our country's insanity.
Yes, these were the volunteers sent to “kick butt”,
To free the Iraqi’s, and bring Democracy.
They became part of an occupying army, that has killed tens of thousands.
These kids had gone to “do good”... or beat the other team,
And paid dearly for it.
Softening as the day wore on. I reached out and offered my help.
Theirs lives were very far from easy and they wanted what most Americans want.
May they find a good job, and with it, happiness.
Having volunteered to give a job interview training class
to 11 attendees, wounded in Iraq. All marines.
Ed, lost a leg to sniper fire.
Larry, Nick and Buddy suffered hearing, sight and voice damage respectively
In cross-fires while on patrol.
Marcia had lost her hip to an IED,
Chuck and Tim suffered brain damage in a similar event.
Mike lost a hand in a motor pool accident,
And Leroy an arm to “friendly fire”.
Two guys did not want to discuss the issue.
Not one of these marines was over nineteen when disabled.
All volunteered for combat.
Each thought they had defended our shores,
Would die, if necessary, for the soldier on his right or her left.
Most will never surrender their belief that the war was necessary,
Despite their resentment of all things Iraqi.
Yes, I had marched and protested against their war.
I resented these marines, who would justify our country's insanity.
Yes, these were the volunteers sent to “kick butt”,
To free the Iraqi’s, and bring Democracy.
They became part of an occupying army, that has killed tens of thousands.
These kids had gone to “do good”... or beat the other team,
And paid dearly for it.
Softening as the day wore on. I reached out and offered my help.
Theirs lives were very far from easy and they wanted what most Americans want.
May they find a good job, and with it, happiness.
Man with Dog Cookie
He came at me bearing a cookie for Rose.
A friendly smile and a “bottled water “ flyer
Completed his accoutrements.
Handing me both the cookie and the flyer,
He suggested I check out the water.
We shook hands and he departed.
Certainly the dog treat looked benign.
Yes it looks OK, but was it?
How could I know it was harmless?
By the same reasoning
Could I know a 200-pound safe
Would not fall from the sky,
Intent on ending my life?
“I am ridiculous, one too many
Scary news reports” my brain shouted.
“Yes, but its close to Halloween,
Poisoning little children and animals
Is an epidemic right NOW.
OK! OK!
This internal dialogue suggests
A need for immediate psychiatric intervention.
With mixed emotions I discarded the cookie.
Probably saving my dogs life.
A friendly smile and a “bottled water “ flyer
Completed his accoutrements.
Handing me both the cookie and the flyer,
He suggested I check out the water.
We shook hands and he departed.
Certainly the dog treat looked benign.
Yes it looks OK, but was it?
How could I know it was harmless?
By the same reasoning
Could I know a 200-pound safe
Would not fall from the sky,
Intent on ending my life?
“I am ridiculous, one too many
Scary news reports” my brain shouted.
“Yes, but its close to Halloween,
Poisoning little children and animals
Is an epidemic right NOW.
OK! OK!
This internal dialogue suggests
A need for immediate psychiatric intervention.
With mixed emotions I discarded the cookie.
Probably saving my dogs life.
A Silent Face
Expecting to see the child in the man,
I was stopped by his silence.
His eyes gave nothing away.
There is a celebration in the
Ten faces behind him.
He does not give himself away.
What dominates his thinking?
I am reminded of a tree
Whose naked winter calm
In the motionless air
Mocks our need for expression,
And creates a sense of permanence, without purpose.
Our protagonist, though accepted by the celebrants,
Could be placed in another setting,
Perhaps one less incongruous?
No threat or dominance
Bars his placement in the photo.
Neither hands nor lips speak of disappointment.
I am unsettled by his quiet.
He has, I think, assumed this aspect before,
Incredibly, exquisitely, neutral.
What might he be protecting?
Or am I rushing to fill the void?
I was stopped by his silence.
His eyes gave nothing away.
There is a celebration in the
Ten faces behind him.
He does not give himself away.
What dominates his thinking?
I am reminded of a tree
Whose naked winter calm
In the motionless air
Mocks our need for expression,
And creates a sense of permanence, without purpose.
Our protagonist, though accepted by the celebrants,
Could be placed in another setting,
Perhaps one less incongruous?
No threat or dominance
Bars his placement in the photo.
Neither hands nor lips speak of disappointment.
I am unsettled by his quiet.
He has, I think, assumed this aspect before,
Incredibly, exquisitely, neutral.
What might he be protecting?
Or am I rushing to fill the void?
Out Patient
Standing beside the bed, I look down at Sam.
Surgery to start in 15 minutes.
The anesthetic drip was taking him away.
He is not an “out patient”.
Pre-op was filling, all but 2 of 30 beds occupied.
White, blue and green uniformed staff
Moving at differing levels of responsibilities.
Whites might have rank, but blues ran the show
And greens did the work.
All, except the patients, wore sneakers
Each road leading us closer to the hospital
Increased our separation from those going elsewhere.
I wanted to stop and ask,
“Where are you going, could we exchange destinations?
I know your today will be easier than mine”.
(Maybe that’s not true, but I hold to the idea.)
How young some of the drivers look.
If Sam’s operation is successful,
He will buy a few months.
How many minutes and seconds is that?
Don’t trivialize by suggesting it is infinite,
I want no sophomoric philosophy.
I wish to feel the pain, not the separation that tells me I am safe.
Sounds good sitting in the IC waiting room.
No risk, book on my lap, no scalpels on my horizon.
Two hours later I’m told of success. (Why the hell does that word have duplicate letters?)
Post-op has a less hectic feel, less whites, more greens.
A short visit with Sam. He’ll be dopey ‘til tomorrow.
Home is silent, even with the TV on.
I speak with friends, but don’t record a word I hear or speak.
Tomorrow Sam will be alert. We’ll make plans.
Surgery to start in 15 minutes.
The anesthetic drip was taking him away.
He is not an “out patient”.
Pre-op was filling, all but 2 of 30 beds occupied.
White, blue and green uniformed staff
Moving at differing levels of responsibilities.
Whites might have rank, but blues ran the show
And greens did the work.
All, except the patients, wore sneakers
Each road leading us closer to the hospital
Increased our separation from those going elsewhere.
I wanted to stop and ask,
“Where are you going, could we exchange destinations?
I know your today will be easier than mine”.
(Maybe that’s not true, but I hold to the idea.)
How young some of the drivers look.
If Sam’s operation is successful,
He will buy a few months.
How many minutes and seconds is that?
Don’t trivialize by suggesting it is infinite,
I want no sophomoric philosophy.
I wish to feel the pain, not the separation that tells me I am safe.
Sounds good sitting in the IC waiting room.
No risk, book on my lap, no scalpels on my horizon.
Two hours later I’m told of success. (Why the hell does that word have duplicate letters?)
Post-op has a less hectic feel, less whites, more greens.
A short visit with Sam. He’ll be dopey ‘til tomorrow.
Home is silent, even with the TV on.
I speak with friends, but don’t record a word I hear or speak.
Tomorrow Sam will be alert. We’ll make plans.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Man Without Doggy Bag
I caught the s.o.b. in the act.
His dog had just pooped on the neighbors lawn.
I was there, not merely to witness the man’s indifference
To the mess he was leaving,
But ready to take decisive action.
I should have reflected upon his uncertainty when I handed him a doggy-bag.
(Never mind what the hell I’m doing, sans dog, with a doggy-bag).
I should have noted his inability to position the bag.
What was I thinking when he walked across the street
Looking right and left, then re-crossed?
I was busy being righteous.
I slept well that night,
Satisfied that I had helped maintain the street,
And by extension the universe,
Only to awaken to a less righteous epiphany.
His dog had just pooped on the neighbors lawn.
I was there, not merely to witness the man’s indifference
To the mess he was leaving,
But ready to take decisive action.
I should have reflected upon his uncertainty when I handed him a doggy-bag.
(Never mind what the hell I’m doing, sans dog, with a doggy-bag).
I should have noted his inability to position the bag.
What was I thinking when he walked across the street
Looking right and left, then re-crossed?
I was busy being righteous.
I slept well that night,
Satisfied that I had helped maintain the street,
And by extension the universe,
Only to awaken to a less righteous epiphany.
Last Flight
Walking through the caverns of Lindberg airport,
Resting place for the world's most popular bird,
My footsteps echo in the quiet
That precedes the last arrival for tonight.
Soon the day’s dissipating energy
Will briefly surge, then fall silent ‘til dawn.
Boarding in one world, arriving in another is routine.
Passengers treat the change as axiomatic.
They fly over the sometimes foreboding,
Sometimes magnificent, Earth
Without experiencing the cold of Greenland or the immensity of the Sahara.
For the travelers will not touch them,
Or be touched by them.
Flying is an elevator ride. Enter here exit there.
Better a boot, boat, car, or train to carry us
At a speed and elevation
That does not preclude “being there”.
Better , interaction with the people and places on your journey,
Better, the trials and small generosities of man and nature at ground level.
If life is the journey how can we fail to embrace it?.
11:07 and the last bird has landed.
Should I recant and offer the thought
That, for the passengers, their journey has just begun?
No! I’m not feeling that generous.
Resting place for the world's most popular bird,
My footsteps echo in the quiet
That precedes the last arrival for tonight.
Soon the day’s dissipating energy
Will briefly surge, then fall silent ‘til dawn.
Boarding in one world, arriving in another is routine.
Passengers treat the change as axiomatic.
They fly over the sometimes foreboding,
Sometimes magnificent, Earth
Without experiencing the cold of Greenland or the immensity of the Sahara.
For the travelers will not touch them,
Or be touched by them.
Flying is an elevator ride. Enter here exit there.
Better a boot, boat, car, or train to carry us
At a speed and elevation
That does not preclude “being there”.
Better , interaction with the people and places on your journey,
Better, the trials and small generosities of man and nature at ground level.
If life is the journey how can we fail to embrace it?.
11:07 and the last bird has landed.
Should I recant and offer the thought
That, for the passengers, their journey has just begun?
No! I’m not feeling that generous.
It Happens For A Reason
On a warm and sunny September morning,
A sadistic joke of a day, not dissimilar to 9/11,
20 people where gathered at the cemetery.
Little Michael had been hit by a speeding car.
His 4 year old body now enclosed in a child’s coffin,
Was lowered into a grave not much larger than him.
Reverend Carl’s attempt to console the parent
Was predictably unsuccessful.
To Stephen, the boy’s father, the words,
“Know that God wanted Michael in heaven for a Reason”
Pierced his mind, inflamed his heart.
Everyone would leave soon, too soon.
Stephen sobbed uncontrollably, mumbling self deprecations
And pleas for a different reality.
Pain turning to anger reached for purchase,
“WHAT REASON?” he screamed at Reverend Carl.
Aware of the unseemliness of his outburst,
Stephen immediately turned to the other mourners
To apologize, only to stop
And bellow, “WHY ?WHY?”,
Reverend Carl, a survivor of hundreds of funerals
Knew not to offer another suggestion.
Maybe later Stephen would accept God’s wisdom,
Or perhaps Stephen will demand, like Job,
An answer that will not be forthcoming.
A sadistic joke of a day, not dissimilar to 9/11,
20 people where gathered at the cemetery.
Little Michael had been hit by a speeding car.
His 4 year old body now enclosed in a child’s coffin,
Was lowered into a grave not much larger than him.
Reverend Carl’s attempt to console the parent
Was predictably unsuccessful.
To Stephen, the boy’s father, the words,
“Know that God wanted Michael in heaven for a Reason”
Pierced his mind, inflamed his heart.
Everyone would leave soon, too soon.
Stephen sobbed uncontrollably, mumbling self deprecations
And pleas for a different reality.
Pain turning to anger reached for purchase,
“WHAT REASON?” he screamed at Reverend Carl.
Aware of the unseemliness of his outburst,
Stephen immediately turned to the other mourners
To apologize, only to stop
And bellow, “WHY ?WHY?”,
Reverend Carl, a survivor of hundreds of funerals
Knew not to offer another suggestion.
Maybe later Stephen would accept God’s wisdom,
Or perhaps Stephen will demand, like Job,
An answer that will not be forthcoming.
Chickens
As a child I knew that Negroes kept chickens
For some kind of demonic ceremony.
We ate chicken once a week. I never associated those birds
With the stretched neck variety that hung in the butcher shop.
I wasn’t sure where scrambled eggs came from,
But I was assured it was not from chickens.
On a weekend upstate, which means beyond The Bronx,
I fed some chickens. They were loud, very loud.
I broke an egg & immediately heard of the devastation
I had caused in the chicken community.
Here are a few incredible insights into “chickaneri”
There are over 100 breeds, which come in different flavors.
There are an estimated 25 billion chickens in the world.
Placed end-to-end they would circle the globe 12 times.
(Homeland Security might consider using them
To suffocate incoming missiles.)
If chickens could organize they’d still be stupid.
Everyone who was not raised in Brooklyn has a chicken story.
I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THEM!!
For some kind of demonic ceremony.
We ate chicken once a week. I never associated those birds
With the stretched neck variety that hung in the butcher shop.
I wasn’t sure where scrambled eggs came from,
But I was assured it was not from chickens.
On a weekend upstate, which means beyond The Bronx,
I fed some chickens. They were loud, very loud.
I broke an egg & immediately heard of the devastation
I had caused in the chicken community.
Here are a few incredible insights into “chickaneri”
There are over 100 breeds, which come in different flavors.
There are an estimated 25 billion chickens in the world.
Placed end-to-end they would circle the globe 12 times.
(Homeland Security might consider using them
To suffocate incoming missiles.)
If chickens could organize they’d still be stupid.
Everyone who was not raised in Brooklyn has a chicken story.
I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THEM!!
Losing Thanksgiving
At the start, nobody intended to steal
A strictly American holiday.
All celebrants, black, white, red and yellow,
Marked the innocuous feast.
Atheists and believers
Sat down to dinner.
(Vegetarians substituted for turkey).
Thanks given for a seat at the table.
As a family and friends event,
Without the need for religious blessings,
Recognizing our good fortune,
Knowing it could have been otherwise.
Good feelings spread far
Beyond those gathered.
For many, maybe most,
It speaks of a plentiful harvest.
Merchants understand the meaning.
Time to replenish our dreams.
Soliciting our participation
To share the bountiful offerings.
Gleaming palaces of marble and glass
Offered color, song and trinkets.
We recognize they spoke of our worth
Not realizing they spoke of our worth.
A strictly American holiday.
All celebrants, black, white, red and yellow,
Marked the innocuous feast.
Atheists and believers
Sat down to dinner.
(Vegetarians substituted for turkey).
Thanks given for a seat at the table.
As a family and friends event,
Without the need for religious blessings,
Recognizing our good fortune,
Knowing it could have been otherwise.
Good feelings spread far
Beyond those gathered.
For many, maybe most,
It speaks of a plentiful harvest.
Merchants understand the meaning.
Time to replenish our dreams.
Soliciting our participation
To share the bountiful offerings.
Gleaming palaces of marble and glass
Offered color, song and trinkets.
We recognize they spoke of our worth
Not realizing they spoke of our worth.
Sabbath Goy
I didn’t believe.
It made life easier.
Autumn was full of 3 and 4 day weekends.*
Maybe not a miracle, but very nice.
September was baseball,
Especially if you believed... in the Dodgers.
In my Brooklyn apartment house 2 things were given;
All the tenants were Jewish and all were Dodger fans.
All the guys were Bar Mitvahed.
None were religious,
Yet none would turn on a light
Or a TV on the Sabbath.
Well almost none.
In the opinion of this 14 year old
A god that thought watching a ball game was OK,
As long as you didn’t turn the TV on, was meshuga.**
After all it wasn’t much work, push a button, maybe 2.
After which, I would rest and watch the game.
Except the front doorbell kept ringing.
First Marty, then Herbie, Harvey, Bert and Al.
All regarded me as a condemned sinner.
All admonished me, saying God would not be happy.
Yet all found a place to sit, watch and enjoy,
While the Sabbath Goy turned on a bathroom light
* Jewish holidays added to weekend length.
** meshuga = crazy.
It made life easier.
Autumn was full of 3 and 4 day weekends.*
Maybe not a miracle, but very nice.
September was baseball,
Especially if you believed... in the Dodgers.
In my Brooklyn apartment house 2 things were given;
All the tenants were Jewish and all were Dodger fans.
All the guys were Bar Mitvahed.
None were religious,
Yet none would turn on a light
Or a TV on the Sabbath.
Well almost none.
In the opinion of this 14 year old
A god that thought watching a ball game was OK,
As long as you didn’t turn the TV on, was meshuga.**
After all it wasn’t much work, push a button, maybe 2.
After which, I would rest and watch the game.
Except the front doorbell kept ringing.
First Marty, then Herbie, Harvey, Bert and Al.
All regarded me as a condemned sinner.
All admonished me, saying God would not be happy.
Yet all found a place to sit, watch and enjoy,
While the Sabbath Goy turned on a bathroom light
* Jewish holidays added to weekend length.
** meshuga = crazy.
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