Quiet

The street is quiet.

Ten o’clock and the sun 

Has begun to warm the air.

I unbutton my jacket.

Strange, I did not register this stillness 

Until this moment.

Where did the street sounds go?

Has this tranquillity awaited my awareness?

I close my eyes to better appreciate this hush

That captures all of creation

To which I may gain admission

If only I keep from grasping.

A car turns the corner,

A lawn mower starts its mission, 

Announcing our respite is over.

I sense the quiet will come again

If I keep from grasping.

Chocolate Croissants & Street People

There are more of them.

Does that sound like an outtake from “The Birds”?

Maybe Hitchcock had the discontent in mind 

When he made that movie.

I see them downtown, people,

People with no place to go,

Or maybe they can’t stand themselves

And wish to get out.

They look kind of hard,

Not well dressed, and not happy.

Some of them are in this Starbuck’s.

Three are nursing coffee’s.

No women in this bunch.

Just eight guys crowded around one table.

They’re not doing anything,

But there presence makes me nervous.

Probably not a god-fearing one among them.

What if they demand attention or cookies?

Is this how class warfare starts?

There is work for these men. Right!??

Accentuate The Positive

As the Speaker kept admonishing us

To see our selves as perfect,

Able to offer love instead of hate,

I would gratefully drift away,

Proving myself unready 

To forgive Dick Cheney.

Losing my sense of outrage

Would deprive me of my humanity.

True, there are those who feel

Rising beyond selfish motives

Is a necessary step 

In reaching nirvana.

I am not ready to gain the high ground.

There is a trick involved,

That has escaped my perception.

If I cannot howl, what song would I sing?

Our Future

Very, very big Black-holes! 

Black-holes are eating the galaxies.

If our universe were not expanding so quickly

Those giant vacuums would suck everything clean.

I picture our tiny bit of space,

Hidden behind stars and dust,

Hidden from the view

Of extraterrestrials.

How can a telescope announce

The discovery of some object 

15,000 light years away?

Do we leave a trail back to us?

We are very busy here.

By the time the light from 

A distant galaxy reaches us

Earth will be unpeopled.

For a planet of a very ordinary star

We make far too much noise.

Maybe a landlord planet 45 million light years away

Will revoke our lease?

A notice might be posted on Alpha Centuri 

And after one quarter of a light year neighbors might stop by,

Curious about the cessation of heavy metal sounds.

They will arrive, scratch their multiple heads, and move on.

In their journals they will note the many tall buildings

And dead scrub oaks.

They will record the huge arsenal of obsolete weapons

And conclude we lost too much in our journey out of the trees.

Angels

God is too large a project,

Requiring more than the mind can absorb.

Angels, being messengers,

Are easily described and a fit subject.

Telling a story of God

Evokes unlimited images, some formidable.

Angels usually transparent, with wings and a wand,

Are summoned comfortably,

It is a rare child who is not delighted 

When visited by an angel.

It is the unique person who, when calling on God,

Does not invoke an awesome presence.

Why does calling on God, 

Never carry a light note,

While Angels are invariably 

Accepted as friendly and gentle?

Of course there are exceptions:

One Angel might bring a warning,

Another may wish to do battle,

But we do not invite these into our homes.

When my granddaughter turns two

I will introduce her to a magical Angel,

One who knows how to make laughter,

And bring little puffy clouds and sunshine.

The Magic Touch

From that majestic throne,

Far above the highest mountain,

An index finger is knowingly extended

To an indifferent naked male, and the world is completed.

Why this gift?

This inconceivable, nearly impossible,

Rearrangement of the furniture 

That we call the cosmos?

Was God, for whom there is no time,

No past,  no future,

And all things are known,

Setting a stage for one alternative?

Are we the actors

Who perform in this instant,

Playing an imagined dominant role

In our invisibly small corner of one universe?

How can our role matter

When we continue to discover

The expanding vastness of space,

And the absurdity of our puffed vanity?

Yet we have the image of God

Anointing that first human,

Awakening the possibility that 

We have purpose, or a dream of such.

And is there really any difference?

On My Game

While it’s still morning

I have taken my brain to new heights.

Unfortunately, the air is too thin

And my synapses are starving.

I decided my morning puzzle 

Included an “x” instead of a “+” 

Resulting in twenty minutes of futility,

Followed by self directed denunciations.

Taking out the garbage can,

I was surprised that it was not heavier

Until I returned to the kitchen

To view the week’s trash awaiting further instructions.

I did not go for my morning walk 

Wearing one sock...

OK, but I removed the other one

Before must folks noticed my fashion statement.

There is no truth to the rumor

That I locked my keys in the car---

With the motor running.

That was yesterday and it doesn’t count!

Marines

Marines 12/11/11

Three men and one woman

Who had seen combat

In Iraq and Afghanistan.

Shared their stories.

No longer active, each had been marked

By the war. None entirely unfavorably.

Charley, a tall young man, recalled

“Eliminating a threat” and saving his buddies.

Roberta is now working on her doctorate.

Mom was not happy with her Marine enlistment.

It was before 9/11 and getting an expensive education

Could happen under the “G.I. BILL”

Peter was the last to leave the war,

In 2009, and still in one piece,

Having served the last of his eight years.

He hoped for understanding from fellow soldiers.

Cliff, probably high strung before the war,

Was not being helped 

By his presence upon the stage.

Words tripped over themselves in his need to make contact.

Yes, they had experienced 

Disorientation when Iraq 

Failed to prove itself an imminent threat,

To the United States.

Sent to fight a dictator 

They stayed to battle 

Citizens who did not want Americans in their country,

And assist those who would accept help.

It was the buddies who left in tact,

And those who were now a memory

That meant almost everything

To these returning warriors.

Henry's Watch

Henry’s Watch 8/22/11

There’s a gene missing.

Since I recognized the merit

I’ve paraded its absence

By trumpeting my apparent higher values.

Part of the magic of being non-materialistic

Is the appearance of indifference

And slightly puzzled

In the face of a very expensive watch.

In truth, I am uncertain

That gene deprivation is real.

A watch costing more than my car?

How many can your wristwatch seat?

I should at least appreciate the craftsmanship

Of Henry’s very expensive watch.

But, it does not charm me.

I feel no call to congratulate Henry on his achievement.

Still, the learned delight of being untouched

By Henry’s wrist display 

Gives me a quiet satisfaction:

I know I could easily drop a dime on him.

How many could the cost 

Of that watch feed?

Does that sound sanctimonious?

It certainly should!

For love of the game

I will continue to rejoice

In the inverse snobbery 

Of worn knee holes in my jeans.

Child in the Street

“Your little boy was chasing the ball into the street. 

He could have gotten hit,”

I said, wearing hard eyes 

And making no attempt to hide my anger.

Smiling a good neighbor smile,

Adam heard my complaint.

I didn’t reciprocate.

Too busy enjoying my righteousness.

I suppose he thought his seven year old,

Who was hitting the ball, 

Would control the five year old,

Or is that too generous?

If I were the older child, 

My focus would have been on the ball.

If a car ran it over 

That ball would be flattened.

Adam, after thanking me,

Scurried to the park and his sons.

I imagine the bigger boy got a severe reprimand.

I wont expect a dinner invitation this week.