Ode To The Decider

A beautiful spectacle,

Spoiled momentarily by the crowds

Disapproval of the man.

How very unfortunate.

What had the man done?

Shred the Constitution?

Unleash the dogs of war?

Rape the Treasury?

Had he ignore the poisoning of the earth?

Hired incompetents or worse?

Close off alternative opinions,

Or cause the deaths of hundreds of thousands?

To be subjected to the assembled disapproval

Before the nations’ cameras. Dreadful!

Pundits voiced their mild impatience.

This crowd should know better.

Had not the man tried to do what was best?

Ah, the rub: Best for who?

Did this enormous crowd believe he’d rewarded the rich?

Not done his best for New Orleans?

Surely the no-bid contracts in Iraq were best for the country.

Was it his fault so many did not understand and appreciate his efforts?

Didn’t the oil companies need his help?

Couldn’t the people look back and see the value of his 8 years?

To suggest that the criminal in charge

Should be treated with surpassing respect,

Ignores his wanton destruction of our dialogue,

Replacing it with fear and hate.

Since lynching requires packed lunch baskets,

Hanging was out.

Perhaps an extra shoe, one to each attendee ,

Would have sufficed.

Object/Subject

Endless arguments over the children:

“They will have less” say the economists.

“They will inherit the wind”, the literary environmentalist offers

Both are wishes, looking for a saviour.

Sadly, we have moved beyond Grace.

We cannot reverse the Sun’s direction,

Or the damage we have done.

As always, the prophets look in their rear view mirrors.

“As it was, so shall it be” is DOA.

We have been called upon by a physician 

Prescribing hallucinogenics,

We fret for the unformed

They will reap what we have sown.

Ah! the doctor knows better.

No lamentations will move the tide.

Do you note the waves upon us?

Too late now to argue directional changes.

It is not our children or grandchildren

Who will first taste the salt.

We have followed need into comfort,

Now we accept the convenient.

Where higher deck chairs  may give a better view,

If you wish to see what is coming.

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.

A Note From A Friend

Something is dying and we can’t agree

On the cause, the cure or the disease.

He has sent me the rant of an old soldier

Who screamed for what never was.

There is something quite pathetic,

About a sword drawn

To parry an imaginary enemy.

It’s already been put to music.

I hear a redrafting of the Animal Farm constitution,

Calling for “up” to mean “down”,

In words that recall white students

In Little Rock in 57.

Are you outraged by the comparison?

Speak to me of March, 2009.

When you claimed the President a disaster.

At a time he was guilty of being black.

Perhaps the old man is beyond reason,

But what does it say of you?

You who claim he voices your thoughts.

Where will you hide the Jews?

Not Much Yin But Yang Works

She looked about 60,

Blond, sunglasses, thin, 

Head facing forward,

Intent on avoiding eye contact.

Uncomfortable without a prompt.

Dogs and small children make potential bridges.

On my morning constitutional,

Rose, on a short leash, allows me to say “Hi”.

I am at least middle aged,

Unless one expects to live past 150.

I got no response when I greeted the blond,

And my second good morning did no better.

Another “middle aged” man

Taking pity on my abject defeat,

Offered a sympathetic

“That’s OK, I’ll say good morning”.

Accepting the spirit of his message

I loudly addressed the entire planet:

“Good morning world !”,

While wondering about the 60 year old blond.

Old men with small dogs

Do not usually suggest a mugging.

I wasn’t wearing a bathrobe,

So I wasn’t likely to flash her.

She may have been planning 

The murder of her fucking husband

And was simply too self-absorbed

To hear the man 5 feet in front of her.

--------------------------------------------

A young man was waiting in the wrong line.

Knowing I was in the right line

Before he was in the wrong line,

I prepared for battle.

I moved forward with MY line,

Planting both feet firmly,

Waiting for my adversary to protest.

He spoke....

OK, he didn’t speak.

He laughed at himself

For being in the wrong line.

And stepped in behind me.

My Day Is Made

I stormed the mountain,

To discover it was only a hill.

No monsters here, not yet.

But should they come ......

I read lines that wavered,

Caught in an unsettle urgency

That challenged, then rescinded its message,

As though unable to trust the reader.

Given the morning hate,

Spewing from my radio

My day has risen to something bright and shiny.

I think I’ll stay.

For the hill seems welcoming.

The writer has settled

And delivered, with pristine clarity, her poem,

I can believe the hills and dig the poem.

Mutterings

Next year will be better.

It’s part of the plan.

Still, today I will eat dessert first,

In case I’m wrong about next year.

I cannot process all the changes.

I read books, that are not printed,

And engage in civil discussion,

That takes place digitally.

Across from my restaurant table

A child is coloring her picture book,

While my companion explains

Why I need an annuity.

It’s hard to get the right perspective.

Most days change looks superficial.

But sometimes it seems we will drop too heavy a burden,

And the earth will grow dark.

If we could just get over ourselves

There might be more time in Paris,

And less time spent measuring time.

Man On A Mission

Since it was the only outside table

I wasn’t bothered by his request to join me.

He told me he ran marathons for Kidney cancer,

His brother had been a victim.

Bob had been running marathon’s for three years.

From South America, to Asia, Australia and Europe.

Any money raised went to the cause.

He paid for his travels.

Cynically, I wondered about the tax benefits,

Why not give the travel money directly to the cause?

Then I wondered why I was not inclined

To give the guy a break?

He had two causes.

Should I rank them?

Decide he was less noble?

More ambitious?

What standards do I employ

To shrink his effort?

Jheesh, all he wanted was a little celebrity

And a look at different worlds.

Making Money

Breeding doesn’t take long,

Assuming that’s the purpose of this life,

We have too much spare time.

There must be more.

Lets make money!

Consider all the “goodies” prosperity brings.

It can make your life better,

Fill in the times between breeding sessions.

With money you can leave stuff.

Perhaps a building bearing your name,

Or a portfolio ensuring your heirs

Can leisurely seek out life’s higher purpose.

Think of the nifty games you can play

In your effort to make money.

Home ownership is very popular.

Drinking and eating can move beyond need.

Imagine having a TV show where

Your principal activity was terminating employees.

Not quite the same as ordering a firing squad,

Still, the aphrodisiac element could be near orgiastic.

If you want more opportunities to breed,

Making money can be very helpful.

Attracting good breeding stock with shinny trinkets

Could certainly improve your chances.

While other options could be considered,

Batiking for example, or flossing,

Making money has one very special advantage.

It can buy you a lovely funeral.