What A Waste

In the 1950’s Frankie Lane was very popular.

On he flip side of “Jezebel” was

One of the Frankie’s hits, “Rose”.

Today I discovered I still know the words.

I haven’t heard the goddamn song in 250 years.

There are people and places that impacted my life,

Some going back the same 250 years,

And I recall only that I must have been alive

When that person, or that thing, fixed my attention

In a way that absolutely guaranteed an instant revisit

Until I was ashes, or the man in the corner ward.

My guarantee proved worthless,

But, I can entertain you with words that no ancient mariner

Could hope to summon from a distant past.

The song begins…

Rose, Rose, I love you with an aching heart.

Glory was our future, but now we have to part….

Do you want more? I thought not.

But you understand the frustration, don’t you?

So much has been crowded out over the years

To make room for this and 100,000 other lyrics.

How many clever remarks, incredible insights,

And amazing recollections are now buried,

Buried under; Standing on the Jetty ?

Weep, weep for the great literature,

The life changing scientific breakthroughs,

And the possibility of bringing the world to peace…

Gone, all never happened because “the words got in the way”.

--

jerry  

Ashes

His political career is over… probably.

Unlike many, he took civil rights seriously.

He was a “freedom rider”.

Unlike Goodman, Chaney and Schwerner,

He survived his ride, and refused to post bond.

Spent two months in a Jackson, Mississippi prison.

For the prior ten years,

Before winning the 2012 San Diego Mayors’ election,

Bob, as a Congressman, was well regarded

By the people he represented, especially the minorities.

Bob Filner is now a man vilified for behavior

“Unfit for public office”.

After years of failing to adhere to the ground rules,

The man was tagged a serial abuser.

Part good guy, part creep, very bright.

It’s really a shame.

A Strange Day at the Market

A Strange Day at the Market.                  

Jake, you will not believe what happened today. This little guy, you know the one. Prophetic, wants to change our religion. OK, he’s not the first would be oracle who has a “message”. I’ve no problem with that. Lord knows the Rabbi’s getting kind of creepy, with his “pray at our temple or God will not be happy” stuff. But this little guy, who is forever talking about peace and love? Well, he shows up at the market. Starts complaining we are desecrating the temple just by selling at the big, western wall. How long has the market been there? Who knows, maybe 100 years?

After a few minutes of screaming at us, he knocks over Abe’s clothing stand. Shmates everywhere. Abe makes a grab for the guy, But he’s fast, and already sweeping the sweets basket off Joe’s table. Now the place is in an uproar. A few of us cooler heads pin the guy down, until the Roman guards arrive and take him away, kicking and shouting.

He is going to face a big fine, and maybe some time in jail. Michael suggested we send him to live with John of the Desert. You know the one, wants to baptize everyone. Another nut job. Maybe they could set up a little desert furniture business?. I understand both are good carpenters. Meanwhile, the guy’s followers, oh yeah he’s got a happy crew, some12 troublemakers, who are staging a sit-down, trying to block the merchants from selling. It’s just a mess.

Mark my words: Nothing good is going to come from this!

Traveling Light

There weren’t many cottages on Bora Bora,

But Ed was not especially concerned.

It was not the rainy season,

And his beach mat would suffice.

He covered the Pacific Islands,

Selling pharmaceuticals, and often slept on a beach,

Having reduced his life’s necessities

To one backpack and a sample case.

I am faced with the need for: new bathroom tile,

A car service that might fix an oil leak,

And neighbors who don’t see the wisdom of my position.

Still, Ed seems too lonely for my taste.

May I bargain for care in my old age?

Ed is not likely to have long term care, and

Where does he sleep in the rainy season?

Sharing the Bed

Rose has settled.

No doubt she will change her mind,

or at least her posture,

and move to the middle of the bed, by dawn.

We share what once was my slice

of the right hand portion,

which allowed for easy access

and room to maneuver.

It is not pleasant, in fact it’s a pain,

Coming back from a two o’clock pee

To find you no longer have first dibs

On the spot you recently vacated.

A hard, hard choice confronts me.

Push Rose to center, or balance on the edge of the bed.

You’d think a grown man could handle this.

Well, surely not for the first time, you’re wrong.

Blues in C Minor

I was angry. He was sorry.

I was listening to a lot of bullshit,

From a very talented guy,

Who was holding his race responsible.

C was a good-looking,

In his late twenties, with a winning personality.

Just about everyone marked him as smart.

And it turned out he would “show-up”… except once.

C had taken a one day leave of his family

And called my office saying he was sick.

The next day he was explaining to me  

His cultural and genetic problem.

C was the manager of a store

That was doing well,

Primarily through his efforts.

But now he was running a number.

As far as the job was concerned,

We both knew this would pass,

And we played our assigned roles.

I probably sounded like a drill-sergeant.

Having cleaned up his day at the races,

We spoke about his home life.

Then I became the wise old man

With scripted words to offer.

Beep

Beep There is a yellow LED pulsing.

It must signify something worth noting.

Maybe it’s advising a tech, currently off duty,

That tomorrow she must check the transmission.

All the other LED’s seem to be steady.

Router, both smart phones, IPad,  server,

Light controls and the security panel all appear normal.

I wonder if the yellow LED overrides all others?

Beeping in a small voice

That little yellow light may need changing.

Of course it may suddenly activate

A serious alert device. What would that mean?

The panic room is operative and lethal.

I could take the dogs and wait there

While the inspection team reviews all systems,

And arms the remote master gate control. Beep

Pocket in My Jacket

It was a belated discovery.

Fifteen years after buying the

Badly worn club jacket

I noticed a break in the lining.

Further exploration revealed that

It wasn’t a tear,

It was a designed feature;

A thin interior pocket.

I was like a child finding

A magic pocket where stuff could be hidden.

What to put in this hidden, magic pocket?

Of course--- it could hold a credit card.

Seventy years earlier I might’ve  held

A mystery decoder ring which

Gave the holder entry into Batman’s

Secret society, or was it the Shadow’s?

The following morning,

When my walking buddy & I stopped for coffee,

I was able to proffer payment from my magic pocket!

Ta Da! I was a member of that secret society!

El Paso Ain't Got No Culture

There is an open sewer called Butte,

El Paso’s got no center. it has a middle, but no center.

Gertrude Stein told us about Oakland,

No one mentioned Gallop or Amarillo.

Small towns and great cities

Across the vastness of America

Mark their place with a park, a bandstand

Or late night library that bespeaks some larger view.

In the Montana town of  Bozeman

There is a pizza parlor  called “Karl Marx”.

Its windows aren’t smashed.

People matter.

Glenn is Disappearing

He insisted on reviewing my writings.

After four weeks he stopped.

He cannot stand crowded airports,

And would not fly unless someone offered  $2,000,000,

At that price he could rent a fast jet and avoid airport traffic

And find a worthy charity for the balance.

Glenn is not rich but has enough.

Besides, we’ve had a wealth of adventures,

All good, sometimes really special.

In a small village near Oxford

We dug for traces of mammoths and man,

Finding both and much more.

We empowered each other.

I wrote poetry, he wrote a song.

The oldest guys on the voluntary dig,

We complimented each other’s irreverence.

His comments remain funny.

I think he is running on memory.

Glenn is almost transparent,

As though he were losing substance…

While cracking wise.

Perhaps this poem is a prayer?

I hope for good conversations

Where wit is essential

And wisdom,… not so much.