Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Travels with Lou

Time to go.
I had called,
Leaving his list of "last calls" complete.
It was not about getting, it was about going.
 
Tired beyond endurance,
Trapped in a bad dream
That would last beyond time.
Ready.

Failing at, and for, the end,
Surely god can be a sadist.
More time, now without control.
His fate in other hands.

I leave his space quickly,
Unable to commune
With someone nearly lost.
Mother makes me a sandwich.

Dads helper informs,
"He adit".
She had said this for years.
Mom knows it means "he ate something".

Missteaks

My father, in a sagacious tone,
Advise that I avoid mistakes
“Be careful, be very careful,
In any case don’t repeat a mistake.”

Years have passed since that admonition.
I have continually not been careful.
I can look back, and about me.
Debris everywhere!

Still some things have worked to my favor.
Every now and again my calculations,
If not correct, were brought home
By virtue of compensating errors.

As to duplicating a faux pas,
My record stands clear.
Never, absolutely never,
Did I knowingly echo a disaster?

A name, spelled differently,
Occurred on another day of the week,
In a different city,
Or at least a different office.

My advice to my children is not sagacious,
At least I hope it’s not.
But still filled with the stentorian notes
Of a man looking at yesterdays news.

Habeas Corpus

She’s gone. They’ve taken her away
Where once in her safety we did stay,
Through her, believing we would have our say.
She held a torch proclaiming, “We would have our day”

Dear Habeas, such a sturdy soul!
Driven from her fortress, leaving a hole
So large it may do irreparable harm
To those who might sound an alarm.

A man who would otherwise question
Conclusions drawn from a secret session
Of those who ignore facts
So they might perform harmful acts.

A man cannot speak, lest he disappear
Into a building where Kafka could’ve steered
A course to pain & loss,
Where the unnamed may be tossed.

Who will comfort, bring a following sea,
That allows Truth to rise free,
Sans fear of Munich’s nightmare
Risen from the dark as Satan, the slayer.

All hail, habeas corpus
Civilizations measure,
Our abandoned responsibility.

Leaving New York

January ended nasty & windy that year,
Precursor to an exemplary February 1.
I was an uncomfortable passenger
Looking at a metallic sky

The plane’s engines roared Beethoven’s Fifth.
We were set to leave New York
Not to come back for years,
Then only as tourists.

The city had defeated me
(An AA member entering a bar
Had the same chance of keeping sober.)
I had come to dislike myself.

Living in a monolith that subsumed me.
Pushing feverishly at the surrounding walls.
Faced with a conspiracy of gigantic buildings
Eradicating the sun’s light,

Night as we cross America
No sleep, too busy keeping plane aloft.
The evil eye waits.
Can’t afford to slacken my diligence.

The subway seemed a place to panic.
Get on before they close the door
YOU WONT MAKE IT
PUSH, FOR GODS SAKE, PUSH

I’d never traveled on a jet.
Alert & ever watchful
Some funny noises
Do they realize how fast we are going?

Mine was not an inability to function
Rather, my acceptance,
That I was to spend my life
Fulfilling someone else’s dream.

Checking my watch every 10 minutes,
On an eleven hour flight.
I have another drink.
Listening for changes in the engines rhythm.

There had been good days,
Softball in Central Park.
A resolution of an accounting problem.
(Points, if you did not use too much paper.)

We’ve cleared the coast. Looking for Hawaii.
So small on the map.
How will they find it?
Will the Pacific swallow us?

The work got better, more challenging.
But not the pace.
You can’t possibly wait for the light to change
Or the noise to lessen.

Hours to go.
We are experiencing turbulence
Surely He will recognize my intentions,
And secure my passage, maybe?

I fantasize a place away
Far from the woman who chooses
To wash the halls and elevator.
Time to risk and reach

It is 1 AM and we deplane.
The breeze is soft and warm.
Pineapple juice flows from a fountain
All rehearsed for my arrival

Christmas in New York

I recall the hurried, determined walk to the subway,
Battlements erected to depersonalize human contact,
Encountering no smiles or warmth,
Wildebeest crossing because that is what they do.

Wardrobes change with the seasons,
The battlefield remains constant.
Herds move because that is what they do.

There is a painting,” The Diner”,
It evokes the aloneness of each patron’s life
Under a harsh light,

Inexorably, the mindless struggle
Pushes us to preordained cubicles
Joyless movement
Doomed, almost to the grand wheel.

When the days are diminished
And darkness weighs,
Something changes
The herd sniffs a half-forgotten scent.

People open from personal cocoons.
Find the day filled with potential,
Move to catch a serpentine engine,
Observe forms of life.

Myth reborn
In lighter imprints of snows remnants,
Faces are seen.
Someone holds a door open.

Enough, more than enough,
To derail cynicism.
Ephemeral, certainly, but real.
We allow for the impossible.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

In Praise of Walkers

I will not speak of many,
Nor of those who think of walking.
My interest lies not with the quality,
Or the distance covered.

My praise is of those who do,
Inconvenient, honorable, difficult,
Unprofitable, dangerous, unpopular “walks”
That need doing.

Without them science does not exist,
And the naked king would be applauded
For his choice in apparel.
Without them the stone would lie unmoved

I salute those who would walk knowing
Their direction may cost them family and friends.
I speak of people who demand reason of themselves
Rather then rationalization.

Like Job they want answers, not bombast,
They demand a hearing, not a harangue.
They are but few and forever endangered.
Let us cheer the bravery in their choice.

A Word on Job

All agreed Job was a good man.
He observed the Sabbath,
Gave to the poor,
Prospered yet remained humble.

God chose to test Job,
By allowing Satan to devastate Job’s life,
Taking Job’s wealth, family and health.
“Would he still love and fear the lord”?

Job questioned the reason for his fall.
Friends suggested he showed hubris.
“Do not ask of god, only offer”, they said.
Job wanted an audience.

Neither Moses, Jesus, nor Mohammed
Had spoken with god directly.
But God granted Job an audience.
Job spoke and God answered.

“Why have you forsaken me?” Job asked.
God’s response thundered across the universe.
“How dare you question me”?
Job was silenced.

God had offered neither sympathy
Nor explanation.
He had behaved as a bully.
We will never recover from the epiphany.