The Black Mans’ Burden

Are you the brother who tried to order a sandwich from a stool at the luncheonette counter?

I don’t suppose it was your grandkid that got his fool brains blown away in Ferguson?

You don’t go to see LeBron strut his stuff, too expensive.

It’s been an uphill struggle to get to where the green lawns don’t carry messages that tell you where the servants’ entrance is.

Even today, there are those sanctimonious whip carriers, lashing you with lies that safeguard the white man’s vote.

I listened as a Georgia Cracker told of your “shorter” history as a reason for “your peoples” lack of intellectual progress.

You, whoever the hell you are, have carried my water for far too long. The price I paid and my debt to you is incalculable. I need to get off your back. It is killing both of us.

What Can I Do?

With arms bent at the elbows

And hands held in a prayerful position,

He appeared lost in a lack of choices.

What to do, what to do?

He spoke of his right to smoke

On the hotel’s balcony.

He was sympathetic to my request.

(I had my buddy, dying of cancer,

And the smoke bothered him.)

The smoker noted no open tables,

And offered “what can I do ?”

Holocaust or a Caring God?

If I were to hold God as an overwhelming force for good, I cannot but recognize his responsibility for the Holocaust. It is not that the infant who slips from his mothers’ hand is less a seemingly innocent victim. Rather the difference lies in the mass murder that ultimately cannot be philosophically laid to rest under the rubric of inexplicability. It, The Holocaust, is not without meaning. It makes a mockery of the Passover service and the tale of miracles, dessert wanderings and ultimate divine intervention.

I cannot negotiate away the killing of 6 million under the ever present thoughtful care of an All Mighty. If I am to be distracted by the possibility that we are given free choice, I must discount God. He/she/it are rendered irrelevant to mans’ journey, a mere spectator, or a hallucination.

Sunshine

A choice of friends can’t really be reduced to one word.

It is not a fully rational process.

Perhaps we choose based on 

A common belief in God or government?

At least for me

It is a matter of sunshine.

Yes, I need to be heard,

But a hug and a smile brighten my forecast.

The Walk To Hawaii

Andy and me are two years into this journey.

According to my calculations, we are still three years away,

Not including the 5-year return trip.

We may have to concede and fly back.

I measure our progress against our morning walks.

We cover about 2.5 miles 3.5 days a week.

Allowing for time away, we probably walk 150 times a year.

We travel light, no luggage and usually fair weather.

Today the ocean, our constant companion,

Broods, and reflects a gray foreboding sky.

Choppy seas, sheltered by Point Loma,

Suggest a storm further up the coast.

Visitors and locals alike

Walk the miles of uninterrupted coastline

That is Coronado’s ocean profile.

We complete our walk with coffee at the Del Coronado.

We sit on the Del’s elevated deck that overlooks the Pacific,

Passing judgment on the people walking the beach.

I offer an occasional nod, and mark my good fortune.

Oh Lord, I am insufferable

Net

Net is a useful word.

Whether we are talking business profits,

Or the ancient art of crabbing,

“Net” plays a vital role.

In Tennis, Pickle Ball or Volleyball

There is no game without a net.

Just consider the earning loss LeBron James

Would suffer if there was no net.

When we stop to consider the 82 million people

With “net” as part of their email address

We must pause and give thanks

That this three-letter word covers so much ground.

“Net” at least partially compensates for the inexhaustible

Supply of words that speak of “group”.

There is a hidden philosophical point to “net”.

I’ll get back to you when I find “it”.

The Cripple

A blue dress and white badge

Marked her as a nurse.

She was not especially self-conscious,

Pushing a wheelchair weighted

By a package that, at my distance,

Appeared to be a gray bundle of laundry.

As she moved in my direction the package

Seemed to be moving.

The gray cover did not completely

Hide the head of a severely twisted human.

His facial expression was a mix of anger,

Resignation and privilege.

He grumbled to the nurse, demanding that his doctor

Attend him immediately.

This guy’s injuries were devastating.

His twisted head rested near a crumpled right shoulder.

His  partly hidden body did not fill

The whole of the wheelchair’s seat.

A car, a land mine? Jesus, we are a stubborn species.

2nd Level

What route should I take

to maximize my chances of rising?  

Must I decide which way up is,

and how will I know if I’m on my way?

On the second level things get done,

possibly a mid-level management job?

Maybe a big raise, more time off?

Even contact with the 3^rd floor could happen!

What Happens At Three

Alessia, my favorite three year old, is usually happy,

Which does not preclude the occasional fall from grace.

This afternoon, she changed her position on swimming.

Alessia decided she did not really want to go swimming.

Her change of mind was first voiced as a mere transition.

A sort of, perhaps she’d rather not swim.

Having tasted the sound and finding it too subdued for the task,

Alessia started adding volume, and a tear.

It was not long before a parents promise,

That she would not have to swim, proved entirely inadequate.

Alessia reached full throttle hysteria; we waited for calm.

One hour later, she was reluctant to leave the pool.

Diplomacy

In growth lives vitality,

But it cannot survive without belief,

Nor will the enemies of tomorrow rest.

They endure to see yesterday become tomorrow.

Who stands with those searching in both yesterday’s cinders

And the emerging wisdom gleaned

From today’s expanded comprehension

Of what may be possible?

Will philosophy awake to the new paradigm

And add reason and sanity to the cause of tomorrow?

Or will those able thinkers persist

In holding yesterdays truth sacrosanct?

If we are to reach a place where understanding triumphs,

And trust becomes a risk well worth consideration,

Then will we not have arrived at the joining

Of diplomacy, in its many forms, with mutual respect?

I find the possibility wondrous, if improbable.

For the alternatives are tantamount to a sustained war

In which few survive and none prosper.

Had we not better unite with those searching for the improbable?

I Definitely Pissed Off Some God

I’m here, it’s 8 AM, where the hell is Morris?

I catch him at home. He had called and emailed.

I had not checked last night’s calls or emails.

He apologized. I am magnanimous.

Noon at the library and no Toni.

No answer on her phone. This day is not going well.

I am unhappy.

How sure am I that we agreed to noon?

1 PM I go for coconut milk at a small grocery.

They have the milk.

Expiration date: four days ago. It is selling below market.

I suspect a not so subtle plot.

Walk to the carwash. It’s 1:30.

Drive home and find a small cell-phone near my car seat.

It is not my phone. Drive back to the car wash.

They had found the phone, and put it near my car seat.

Some nasty God is having a jolly time at my expense.

Is that his/her fiendish smile in the separating clouds?

So far, nothing life-threatening,

But the day is barely half finished.

What Happened?

50 years without improvement!

Is that possible?

Only if you live in a different universe,

One with flexible time.

How can a 43 year old be a 50 year problem?

Only if you’re really bad at math,

Or the gears are wearing down

And the engineer doesn't remember how to change them.

It's kind of funny,

If you’re observing from a safe distance,

Say the other side of the room,

Less humorous if you’re the engineer.

Observing aberrant calculations

When it's your blackboard and chalk,

Attests to a certain fragility of process

And suggests giving up chess for checkers.

There is nothing wrong with checkers.

It uses the same board as chess.

Of course the pieces are not as diverse

But it's a nice way to idle away a day.

The 7% Formula

Alas, my distant, ancient cousin, Sherlock,

He of the inflated ego, suffered from a drug addiction.  

I too have a 7% problem that causes me much grief.

I am 93% short of a perfect score in mechanical aptitude.

The same applies to my care and maintenance of plants.

Employing my mastery of special dynamics

I found room for 250, 50-pound motors in a small rental truck.

I knew there was a cargo size limit. It concerned available space.

I had made no assumptions as to weight limit.

If it fit, it was good to go…right!??

Sixty miles later, I called the rental company, the truck was junk.

It had caught fire for no apparent reason.

They just didn’t know how to make quality trucks.

While living in San Francisco I almost made a breakthrough.

My dusting and watering of a large cactus was showing results.

Not too much water, and regular, delicate, dusting was working.

Two months later my wife advised me there was a problem.

The plant was not the living, growing kind.

Water was close to overflowing its ceramic home.

Letting Go

Money was missing. $25 short. Allowing for varying degrees of

Senility, it’s almost a certainty that someone forget to ante.

That was last month’s problem. Last night a new system was

installed. Everyone deposited their $25 into the cash jar, and

recorded the fact in a permanent ledger.

One-liners followed:

         What about fingerprints?

         Should there be an independent audit?     

         How about counterfeits?

Finally we all settled into our low stakes game,

everyone but Dick. His unhappiness stemmed from the original

lack of concern when, as the big winner last month, he absorbed

the $25 shortfall. Why hadn’t anyone suggested the loss be split?

His real question was “Where’s the love?”

Not unlike the best and the worst of us, an uncertainty hides within

And whatever your beliefs and  personal strengths, our little child

Is forever on guard, looking for approval, fearing slights.

In Dick’s case he climbed out of his pit when he was ready

to consider that he was just one of the guys who had not thought of

splitting the shortfall.

The Truth

A child can do it… until she turns three.

And that’s where the possibilities stop.

Perhaps a partial exception for the senile is in order.

They can’t be that rude, without stumbling on a vicious truth.

As for you and me …hopeless.

Who will you hurt?

Will I be displaying intolerance?

It’s too dangerous!

If you believe you speak the truth,

There’s a chance you will not roast in hell,

Just simmer on a higher ledge,

Since it was not your intention to mislead,… right.?

I think of truth as a star, a million light years away.

It may exist, but I could only confirm

The day and time I saw what might have been.

Leaving both the star and the truth untouchable.

Runaway

Wherever you run, there you are!

There you might be introduced to the ocean,

Or a large friendly dog who would like you to throw a stick.

Will you find more sunshine or warmer days?

Can you make the same mistakes and hope for a different endings?

Why not?

Can you change for the better? Wrong question.

Right question: Will you be happier?

Power On The Home Front

It was slow developing, fiendishly planned,

And altogether unstoppable when executed.

We’ve dealt with their kind before,

But had never met with such subtlety.

Harmless little suggestions,

An occasional cute case of overreach,

Easily attributed to a mistaken belief  

We might be saved a possible inconvenience,

Or something far worse, like a frontal attack

By vicious people or killer animals.

It is sad, very sad that we have allowed

Our lives to be trashed by these upstarts.

To have a ten and thirteen-year–old

Take over our lives has been our ruination.

I offer this warning:

Never, never allow two yapping dogs to gain control.

Of Cats, Weeds and Cars

Having failed twice at recalling three one-syllable words, I salvaged a third try. It's two hours since my successful effort and, as you can see from the title of this piece, I continue to retain “cats, weeds, and cars.” Was it the creation of the line “A cat sat on the car, eating weeds” that allowed me to retain those three words? I don’t know.  But a win is a win, even if it’s pyrrhic.  

I remembered cats, dogs and weeds when I returned home, without my red jacket from my visit with Andy and Dee. The day before I had forgotten the red jacket at my favorite coffee stand. It was still there five hours later. If I have a buried wish to lose my red jacket it has never succeeded .

When, at dinner with my friend Alex, a year my senior, I bear witness to his evolution. Alex is not always aware of events that pass within hearing or viewing range. Destinations are easily forgotten, and choices from a simple menu can become confusing.

Soon, very soon…maybe now, Alex needs a controlled environment. As for me, I know where I can get helium.

In the meantime:

I will leap for the ball, and find my toes haven’t left the ground,

I will write a letter to the local paper, compose another poem,

And search for names and words that escape my grasp.

Easy Does It

When the leaders of the civil rights movement adopted the tactics of Mahatma Gandhi our world changed. In1960 and 1961 many thoughtful whites believed that blacks would eventually win their place at the table, but it would take time and patience.

It took civil disobedience, and the response to sit-ins that moved both Kennedy and the country to the realization that blacks were getting treated as things that belonged in the back of the bus, and the time for change was now.

We have now, as a country, moved away from some forms of discrimination; lynching of blacks rarely occurs. Unfortunately, we have added a sanctified form of an economic caste system. Western history is replete with comparable mass exploitation, some less cruel then others, but all with the same goal; “I wish to be pharaoh”.  Times have been worse, but without a Gandhi, Martin Luther King or Nelson Mandela it is hard to see a path to a Citizen government.

A Wish List For the Dying

A Wish List For the Dying               

If the subject has changed we can still recognize the location.

We are back at our favorite table, on the patio of the Hotel Del Coronado

Both the weather and our surroundings insist on good-fellowship. 

We have a rational discussion on an irrational subject.

Andy’s brother, Peter, a former a minister joins us.

Past Sundays he delivered earnest calls for good deeds and joy.

Today we three consider Andy’s imminent passing.

Earlier the brothers had considered what sort of service

Andy would wish to have.

My guess: He would wish for none..

Andy does not hold to any belief that transcends this life.

He is still involved with today, his friends and family.

Peter prefers that Andy’s passing be marked by deep recognition.

His eulogy would present the physician, who served his patients,

His community, and those closest to him.

Andy fully understands that a tribute might well serve the living.

The Next Smile

She pushed a stroller-for-two

That could have featured a sign boasting

“No vacancy”.

Twin girls, maybe a year old, contentedly suck their thumbs.

My smile and “good morning” were not received well.

Sadly, this young mother may have read too many headlines

And voided eye contact by looking down.

For here stood a stranger.

One of the saving graces of seniority is acceptance.

Surely a man who could no longer concern himself

With passing 75 can, with a warm smile, allay any fears

A young mother might have.

Solomon’s wisdom seems to have limitations.

I doubt that I will feel constrained

When the next mother and stroller-bound child

Cross my path… chances are I will have forgotten this incident.

Walking The Dogs

 It's not nearly as tough as herding cats.

But two older dogs can be a chore.

One is not interested in leaving her piece of carpet,

The other complains with the voice of a crow, loud and off key.

         

With protests duly noted we advance to the sidewalk.

After covering six feet, it’s time for an inspection.

Rose, my older mutt, wants to remain at this tree.

No doubt several dogs have watered this tree recently.

Doobie thinks it safe to proceed, but with caution.

Another three feet brings us to another inspection site.

In the course of ten minutes we cover twenty feet,

And Doobie calls it quits.  

He has done his toilette and wants to go home.

We negotiate, Rose is indifferent, busy with a scent,

But Doob’s wont move. Maybe a treat would work?

It’s never worked before, but maybe this time?

Five minutes later, little has changed,

That miserable dog hasn’t moved,

I’m sitting on the grass, and out of treats.

I know! Lets retrace those twenty feet.

The Cousin I Never Knew

Bobby Fried was a cousin on my mother’s side. We interacted irregularly until we were in our early thirties. We had adjacent camp bunks for one summer week in 1950. When our counselor tossed my mail short of my bunk I reached over Bobby’s bunk to get the stuff and Bobby punched me in the mouth, breaking a tooth. I never found out why.

We were eighteen when we went to Miami in June. Clever right? We meet two girls and Bobby immediately went for the prettier chick. Our combined score: 0.

I was married at 23. My mom invited her cousin, Bobby’s dad, and family, to the wedding. Bobby asked if he could take a bottle of wine. I told him it was my new father-in-law who bought the booze. Bobby said he did not know the guy and would I ask. I said no.

At thirty we exchanged visits. I saw him, and his British wife, in Santa Rosa, California.  He stayed with us for a week, when I lived in Honolulu. He was a working abstract artist, who did album covers for big named rock groups. I had a lighting store. We had a terrific time, aided by some fine Maui Wowi.

We were thirty-two when I called his wife to confirm Bobby had died of heart failure. Two weeks earlier he had his first big show. It was at the Brooklyn Art Museum. The critics were merciless.

Gratitude

This may have been our last cookie morning at the Del Coronado.

 (For the past week Andy has been unable to drink coffee.)

His new Hospice team starts today.

I hold a, probably mistaken, belief that good is possible.

I walk a dying man home, grateful for the privilege.

Today Andy was uncomfortable, a bit dizzy.

He wanted to head home and I wanted to walk him.

I’ve enjoyed his company for two years.

It’s not often that you or I chance to offer comfort,

And know it is simply appreciated.

Halfway to his condo we stop to sit on a sunny ledge

and listen to the ocean.

The sounds of small waves occasionally subsides

Before the next set of one foot wavelets reminds us

Of a thousand other moments where quiet has been part

Of the unexpected gift of the “now.”

Our shared recognition of the absurd holds us captive,

Until Andy zips his jacket and we walk to his home.

A brief conversation with Andy and Dee, his wife,

Pushes my ego to an unhealthy level,

Which persists, as I write this poem.

My gratitude is limitless.