“Cultural relativism” sounds like
A lecture given by Dear Abbey.
Calvin knew of it
Long before he held Pat’s head under water.
Forced to her knees,
Her head in the toilet bowl,
Left no visible marks,
And resolved heated arguments.
It was not a matter of religious principle,
Not with Calvin’s tribe,
Merely a method of reenforcing status.
There had not been an acceptance of rank.
My sense of outrage was cautioned
By a voice whispering behind my silenced lips.
“Who makes it wrong
If Calvin’s tribe nods?”
Concern for minority rights, education of children
Giving to the poor and respect for elders...
Generations have settled domestic differences with no physical scars.
It is a family tradition.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Child’s Smile
There are few things as genuine
As a child’s tears,
Or ,a big smile
We he is happy
As I walked Rose across the grass park circle,
We stopped to admire a beautiful family scene.
I nodded to the young father
Whose son was resting on Dad’s stomach
Dismounting Dad, our year old protagonist
Stumbled in my direction.
Like many a small child
Intent on loving a puppy.
Why children often have
A genetic attraction to dogs I don’t know,
But I quickly rehearsed
“You must get Mommy’s Ok first”.
Surprisingly this little boy
Was not especially interested in Rose.
Holding up his hands as he ran, passed the dog,
Came toward me with the universal “pick me up” signal.
With a nod of Mom’s head
I was OK’d to lift the child.
He was immediately comfortable
In the arms of this stranger.
Both his eyes and mouth
Smiled at his situation.
A delighted child
In the arms of a great good friend.
Two minutes later I released
Child to Mom’s waiting arms,
Only to have the kid decide
He was happier with me.
This story had a mixed ending.
I lost sight of my list of 100 things
That were perplexing me
As I shared the child's happiness.
I am sure the toddler
Recovered from the loss
When I put him down and left,
But not until he cried bloody murder.
As a child’s tears,
Or ,a big smile
We he is happy
As I walked Rose across the grass park circle,
We stopped to admire a beautiful family scene.
I nodded to the young father
Whose son was resting on Dad’s stomach
Dismounting Dad, our year old protagonist
Stumbled in my direction.
Like many a small child
Intent on loving a puppy.
Why children often have
A genetic attraction to dogs I don’t know,
But I quickly rehearsed
“You must get Mommy’s Ok first”.
Surprisingly this little boy
Was not especially interested in Rose.
Holding up his hands as he ran, passed the dog,
Came toward me with the universal “pick me up” signal.
With a nod of Mom’s head
I was OK’d to lift the child.
He was immediately comfortable
In the arms of this stranger.
Both his eyes and mouth
Smiled at his situation.
A delighted child
In the arms of a great good friend.
Two minutes later I released
Child to Mom’s waiting arms,
Only to have the kid decide
He was happier with me.
This story had a mixed ending.
I lost sight of my list of 100 things
That were perplexing me
As I shared the child's happiness.
I am sure the toddler
Recovered from the loss
When I put him down and left,
But not until he cried bloody murder.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Apologize
I am awed by the guy
Who has no failures
In need of expiation,
And enjoys a pristine view of the road behind.
Only one claiming deification
Could hold to such perfection.
Western religions might unite
In stoning his sorry ass.
My own list of misplays,
Lapses and relapses,
Laid end-to-end
Would circle the globe... thrice.
With enough money,
And if technology allows,
I might add a coda to my will,
Broadcast by 100 satellites, “Sorry”.
Of course a universal apology might seem
To lack a certain sensitivity.
Perhaps a message of hope might work?
“You’ll never hear from me again”!
Who has no failures
In need of expiation,
And enjoys a pristine view of the road behind.
Only one claiming deification
Could hold to such perfection.
Western religions might unite
In stoning his sorry ass.
My own list of misplays,
Lapses and relapses,
Laid end-to-end
Would circle the globe... thrice.
With enough money,
And if technology allows,
I might add a coda to my will,
Broadcast by 100 satellites, “Sorry”.
Of course a universal apology might seem
To lack a certain sensitivity.
Perhaps a message of hope might work?
“You’ll never hear from me again”!
Table of Twelve
Its a joyous holiday,
Marking an occasion
That almost certainly did not happen.
Hence, a religious holiday.
Miracles reported, some reenacted,
Recall downtrodden desperate people,
Saved from an unspeakable fate.
And twelve people enjoy a good meal.
It makes good theatre,
A not altogether unimportant
Contribution to our spirit
And our actions.
Our small group,
Members of an ancient tribe,
Mark the ritual as valuable,
If only as a warm friendly gathering
Marking an occasion
That almost certainly did not happen.
Hence, a religious holiday.
Miracles reported, some reenacted,
Recall downtrodden desperate people,
Saved from an unspeakable fate.
And twelve people enjoy a good meal.
It makes good theatre,
A not altogether unimportant
Contribution to our spirit
And our actions.
Our small group,
Members of an ancient tribe,
Mark the ritual as valuable,
If only as a warm friendly gathering
Sand
Winter storms left their message.
Beaches, trees, houses are gone.
Don’t behave like John McEnroe,
Slamming his racquet
On a defenseless water machine.
The Ocean is tasked
To move in response
To the moon, wind, sun
And other random acts of nature.
To build on the coastal sands
Suggests an arrogance
That has lost sight of limits
Or a stupidity that concludes
The accumulation of millions of grains
In the space between the tree line
And the sea
Is an abnormality, having nothing to do
With the waters way.
When the last footprint
Has been eroded
And no bird hunts for fish
Among the building waves,
Then neither the crashing tumult
Nor the gentle rippling of a timid
Entreaty upon the shore
Will not be witnessed,
Accept by the sand.
Beaches, trees, houses are gone.
Don’t behave like John McEnroe,
Slamming his racquet
On a defenseless water machine.
The Ocean is tasked
To move in response
To the moon, wind, sun
And other random acts of nature.
To build on the coastal sands
Suggests an arrogance
That has lost sight of limits
Or a stupidity that concludes
The accumulation of millions of grains
In the space between the tree line
And the sea
Is an abnormality, having nothing to do
With the waters way.
When the last footprint
Has been eroded
And no bird hunts for fish
Among the building waves,
Then neither the crashing tumult
Nor the gentle rippling of a timid
Entreaty upon the shore
Will not be witnessed,
Accept by the sand.
Checking the Weather
On a Sunday 30 years ago
Dad called.
It was the first
Of 20 years of Sunday calls.
Exchanges were short,
Mostly we compared weathers.
He never spoke of his deteriorating health,
His long slide.
Never seemingly very personal,
Yet we both thought
These brief, often inane, dialogues
Mattered.
Two ill-equipped men,
Neither comfortable with emotional conversation,
Reached to create unbreakable bonds
Without betraying their imagined selves.
Constancy was the substance,
That, not unlike religion,
Provided nurture
And integrity to our relationship.
I miss the talk we never had,
Where love and happiness
Took center stage.
Now on Sundays I call my children.
Dad called.
It was the first
Of 20 years of Sunday calls.
Exchanges were short,
Mostly we compared weathers.
He never spoke of his deteriorating health,
His long slide.
Never seemingly very personal,
Yet we both thought
These brief, often inane, dialogues
Mattered.
Two ill-equipped men,
Neither comfortable with emotional conversation,
Reached to create unbreakable bonds
Without betraying their imagined selves.
Constancy was the substance,
That, not unlike religion,
Provided nurture
And integrity to our relationship.
I miss the talk we never had,
Where love and happiness
Took center stage.
Now on Sundays I call my children.
The Corporate Person (Written in recognition of the Supreme Courts emergence as a legislative body)
Akhenaten decided the Sun was the supreme God.
Not a very good idea.
Demoted deities, preeminent for 1000 years,
Were not pleased. Bad things happened.
Friday a new species was created.
Some rights, reserved for citizens of the United States,
Were extended to paper entities.
It was not a very good idea.
If democracy is an illusion,
Just out-of-reach,
It has served us well.
Our highest (Supreme) church has removed that fantasy.
Government by the people has
In the best “Animal Farms” tradition,
Been retained.
Only the definition of “people” has been modified.
Not a very good idea.
Demoted deities, preeminent for 1000 years,
Were not pleased. Bad things happened.
Friday a new species was created.
Some rights, reserved for citizens of the United States,
Were extended to paper entities.
It was not a very good idea.
If democracy is an illusion,
Just out-of-reach,
It has served us well.
Our highest (Supreme) church has removed that fantasy.
Government by the people has
In the best “Animal Farms” tradition,
Been retained.
Only the definition of “people” has been modified.
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