Comparatively Speaking

Death,, magnificent in its simplicity,

Has but one rival, just one

That is universally condemned

As a cause of human misery,

Just one whose agents reduce

Strong men to pathetic whiners,

Beseeching the darkening sky,

For understanding and forgiveness .

Always the culprit, never viewed

As a necessary, even efficacious,

Contributor to our well-being,

Though, in truth, our rich culture would be reduced,

To abject poverty, a nation without defense,

Unable to secure our borders and way of life,

Without this other, omnipresent, destroyer of worlds.

Let us genuflect at the feet of the

Two princes of darkness. Death and taxes.

Closing Doors

Arriving at the gate 5 minutes before the flight,

Confronted by a closed door,

At a slightly less computerized age

Bob was able to negotiate a seat on the plane.

A thousand butterflies caught a friendly breeze

As I watched the aircraft rising above the trades

Reaching for Jupiter's assisting hand with the following jet stream.

And the world moved from day to a brilliant orange twilight,

At a later time,

When the motions of an aircraft defying gravity

No longer terrified me,

I might have gone with him

A drastic and complicated move.

I was not free of promises.

Commitments, later to be tossed aside,

Seemed irreversible then.

I would be leaving a dream,

A colored by numbers life in paradise.

Material comfort and success mattered,

And I had my share.

Bob more than salvaged his business.

I have found other dreams,

Bigger? Only if you have a measuring stick

Designed for the "I" in you.

Choices

There are a few that matter.

Some from yesterday, others from tomorrow.

They will not reject reason.

For their effort

There is Cassandra's fate.

Far more comfort is to be found in convention.

Belief in a history with a sanguine remedy

Trumps the message of an oncoming fall,

And if choice was possible, I should stand with the many.

Tomorrow we will know today’s outcome,

And why suppose a dark sunrise?

There is little gain in being right.

Who will acknowledge your truth

When “tall” can be labeled “small”,

And the alignment of the stars

Can be seen as the cause? 

Choice

A simple question asked of the citizens.

Do we want a football team?

Do we want a baseball team?

How about unlimited health-care?

Would I rather have a hot dog 

Or a computer?

Would I have chosen to have less teachers

When I thought a football team was a yes vote?

Will the price of a baseball game be prohibitive?

Could the price paid for a team 

Cost me the security of more police

Or a young man a job?

If there is no limit on the price

Will we pay to sustain a life,

And, of necessity, impose

Severe limits on clean air funding?

If granny is to be preserved indefinitely

Will we knowingly allow millions to go jobless,

And experience the loss of our

Culture of growth

When no funds are left

To search for cures,

Defend our borders, or feed the children,

Will we find the price acceptable?

Cause

Civil rights was my cause.

I went to a few rallies

Took no part in any field work,

Cheered the marchers.

Vietnam was my cause.

Didn’t believe Johnson,

Didn’t believe Nixon, millions died.

Now every woman has a Vietnamese beautician.

Iraq was my cause.

More political lies,

Lots of political contracts.

Slogan: For God and profit.

Qitmo is my cause.

Nice bit of blind man’s bluff.

We don’t torture in US;  how droll.

Wrote to my Senators.

All those causes.

Someone did the heavy lifting.

Remember the thought from the movie “Titanic”?

Lets row back when it’s a little quieter.

Carol Of the Dancing Hands

She sits across the table,

Hands dancing, as she expostulates.

Her eyes move from one listener to another

Ensuring  her audience’s attention.

Carol’s days as a dancer are long over,

But she has lost little of the intellectual energy

That demands to be heard,

(Sometimes at the risk of a silenced response).

She has seen much, is often insightful,

And views a day poorly spent

That has not added to her inventory

Of worries.

Dick and Carol still hold hands,

Offer endearments to one another.

He is an outstanding viola

To her violin.

Generous in handshake and manner,

Fortunate in her marriage.

Her earthy wit, charm and concern for others is palpable. 

She cherishes friendships.   

A repentant enabler, Carol will share her motherly pride

While remaining critical of her children’s choices.

She is capable of incredibly bad decisions,

Founded on love.

Bus For Seniors

I take care of myself.....

Exercise, diet, drink water, not booze.

It should be enough.

Maybe a letter to Atlas, "please send the muscles!"

Nothing works.

It's true I pay half price on the bus.

Having a medicare card has peripherals.

But some of the side effects are tough.

As I hold a strap, not looking for a seat on the bus,

A 250 pound, middle aged lady signals to me.

She can't be more than 5'4",

And wants to know if I want her seat.

I must look my age... and then some.

Big Blue Bins

Finally they  arrived!

For months we had waited,

Some of us losing hope.

Here at last, here at last.

A phalanx of big blue bins

Invaded our neighborhood,

One bin per house, two for commercial use.

They are large, very large, with metal handles

That assure us they mean business.

Instantly, I form a deep, dark suspicion about these bins.

Is it not possible they have been preprogrammed with  instructions

And a latent electronic trans-receiver, 

Cleverly inserted in the molding process,

Capable of overriding all other signals,

Guiding an incoming “dirty” bomb 

To homes and businesses targeted by a fiendish enemy?

Having alerted the FBI, CIA, and Cheney’s secret bunker

To fears for my village, and by extension all of America,

And receiving no response beyond a preprinted post card

Stating that I should “remain alert to any suspicious activities”,

It seemed necessary for me to call a meeting of  

Right-minded citizens ready to take on the 

Big Blue Recycle Bins.

Undaunted by the meager turn-out

(Only me and my dog, Rose, showed up at the 

Park bench designated as the meeting spot),

And recognizing that I alone understood the threat,

It was time for action.

For two weeks,

In as casual manner as I could simulate,

I walked Rose passed the “Big Blues”

That were waiting to be emptied and,

Perhaps getting final, Trojan Horse instructions.

I whispered a false report into each bin

Telling of  a paucity of  security for local aircraft carrier movements.

Unfortunately, this plan did not draw the villains into the open.

Instead, on the 14th day of my experiment, 

As I was leaving my false information in a “B.B.B.”,

A police car pulled up to the curb.

The shotgun seat cop approached me, much too calmly,

Asking why was I whispering into a recycle bin?

I demanded to see his I.D.

Could his card be fake? Was he working for nefarious forces?

Of course, I refused to explain my behavior,

And it followed as day the night that I was driven to a police station.

Now, a month later, I am safely ensconced in a quiet room.

My attendants do not let me see the “B.B.B.’s” that I know are planted 

Throughout this hospital ---- waiting.

Belt on the Stairs

It should not have seemed odd. 

It wasn't the only object out of place.

Lying half way up the staircase,

Paul's belt called to me.

I'm not sure how mind-meld works.

Perhaps it would involve 2 or more sentient creatures.

A brown-leather-pants-belt-IQ

Would never exceed single digits.

So how was the innocuous trouser support

Able to communicate the message:

"Know how I came to be here

And you will know the meaning of mess"?

Kitchen towels, underwear, dishes,

Bicycles tools, even the occasional car 

Can be found misplaced,

Usually in the path of an apparent destination.

No one in this family supports corporeal punishment,

So it wasn't forgotten on the way to a whipping.

Maybe it had been wrapped around some school books

And worked its way loose?

But I think it was placed there by God

As a warning to all who enter this house.

"Beware" she was saying. "If I can do this

I can render your toothpaste tube unusable".

Autumn

I wont be here tomorrow,

Morning's first light will not show me

These undulating hills,

Or the fiery hews in the highest reaches.

In clear, warming air

Autumn announces its intentions,

Dancing with the soft vibrant branches,

That shows a tinge of radiance,

Presaging not the cold winter,

But the coming of such colors

That staggers a determined non-believer.

Today the red maples

Play with my soulless atheism,

Laugh at my prerecorded arguments

That accept only chance.