Tea Party: Coming of Age

They have not always looked carefully.
Taking the cards as dealt
By someone who might not
Deal from the top of the deck.

Now the peasants feel betrayed.
Awakening to a show
Where stardom was presumably their assigned role,
Only to find they had, foolishly, carried water for others.

Had they really expected a yellow brick road?
Would their bellicosity not carry the day?
Easy to dismiss the unwashed as fools,
Expecting love from the devil’s own.

Look around and count your numbers.
Are your black, brown or redskinned brothers in your vanguard?
Do you still see them as the takers,
Trying to usurp what is rightfully yours?

When the raft is sinking,
And your leaders will not sacrifice their lovely boots,
Who will those heavy heals land upon?
Who will be tossed into the unforgiving sea?

When the choice is between the bad and the ugly,
Do you not recognize it still contains differences that matter.
Bad is the man who falsely claimed your cause.
Best choose the ugly, they are more likely to share your plight

Father’s Son

I didn’t inherit his baldness,
Derived mine, belatedly, from my mother’s side.
I drive in the same insane New York style:
Winning the next street remains imperative.

Like me, he would have taken advantage
Of the warmth found in a mild winter sun,
And like him the stiffness in my neck
Suggests a head, however empty, needing support.

His manner, so different from mine,
Fearless in the face of pain or opposition.
He did not hurry to moderate differences,
And always assumed he was in the right.

What did I learn?
Ask directions and when uncertain say your wrong.
Did I leave some of his virtues on the table?
You bet, and they’ll remain buried with his ashes.

Hand Holding Penguins

Looking at the potential downfall of the human species,
I received a shock
Greater than learning of gambling at Ric’s Cafe.
I understood that we are doomed!

On my wall hangs the evidence.
Yes, it could be someone playing with Photoshop,
But I believe the Penguins shown on February’s calendar
Are touching flippers, (unless they are called “wings”).

Two African Penguins, strolling the beach,
Moving at sympathetic paces,
With heads slightly bent,
Are thoughtfully discussing the children.

No, I don’t see
Names carved in the sand,
But perhaps they’ve not yet evolved into
A love-note writing biped.

Indeed, they are unclothed,
(Though this might be a result
Of climate adaptation,
Or lack of local retail outlets).

They step lightly,
As though responding to a dance tune
From a big band sound, circa 1938,
Ready to tap their way to happiness.

On balance, and based solely on that photo,
It is apparent that evolution has favored them.
They look studious enough to tackle
Big questions without resort to warfare.

Consider, too that they do not consume beyond their needs,
Are apparently not motivated to build big houses
Or sail in large cruise ships.
They might be an admirable replacement for humans.

Precocious@74

This very intriguing thought
Came to me late last night.
Not withstanding my vow,
There was nothing. No recall at all.

Many nights, as I consider my day’s events,
A thought flashes across my remaining brain cells.
Neurons fire prodigiously,
Giving rise to an incredible solutions.

Or maybe they don’t?
If I could get just six or eight letters
Aligned to approximate a key word,
I could share that illumination with the world.

Often I believe in the question,
Only to find it sullied overnight.
Yet my synapses can’t be bothered
Dragging the brilliant epiphany into the light.

This process led to my placing a recorder at my bedside.
An instant short of sleep the inspiration came,
And half awake
I recorded my brilliant insight.

The first answer, the seminal response
That had lain hidden in the valley of sleep.
Awakened by my realization that I had found a way.
I don’t recall the question, but the answer was.......

Milk!?!!

Crossing

Reaching the corner as the light turns red
Inspires a sense of potential failure,
That can be surmounted if I move quickly.

I see other pedestrians
Assembling to my right and left.
Some barely notice that they have been forestalled,
As they continue conversations that are 1000 years old.

Others, with similar dispositions to mine,
Wait, frustrated by the interruption of
Their quest to reach the far side of the street.

I position myself to have a clear line
From my side of the street to the goal
Of standing on the opposite corner,
Free to move left or right, or halt, triumphant.

As with any worthy quest
Several elements must be considered.
Are there competitors who might break first?
Or a cop waiting for me to break the law?

Oh yes, I know some might “tsk, tsk”
At the mere suggestion that “the game is afoot”.
Not all can see the glory awaiting
The first to break rank.

There are fools who do not understand
That the true individual will risk all
In an attempt to lead, and.......
Perhaps start the revolution.

Many will scoff and
See only a criminal attempt
To gain an advancement
Once enjoyed by the first “forty-niners.”

No time remains for further consideration.
Either I cross while motorized chariots hesitate,
Uncertain of the coming green light,
Or condemn myself to an eternity among the horde.