Provocations
All Drunks are skid row bums living in donated tents under bridges.
All Trump supporters are racist backwoods rednecks.
All Techies are self-obsessed nerds with no social skills.
All Lefties are self-righteous, insular, uncompromising prigs.
All Children are whiny, self-interested, unsophisticated brats.
All Pro-gun nuts are fearful, paranoid, faux courageous extremists.
All People of color are lazy and unreliable and always looking for a hand out.
All Whites are privileged, wealth hoarding, power hungry aristocratic wannabies.
All Christians are holier-than-though, intolerant, nationalist, white supremacists.
All Suburbanites are socialist sympathizing and corporate consuming phonies.
All Democrats are bleeding heart, atheistic, pie-in-the-sky spendthrifts.
All Republicans are cheap, selfish, cold-hearted, hidebound fuddy-duddies.
All Poets are naval gazing egotists who believe other people care what they think.
Soul Energy
My cursory study of
quantum mechanics
has hit a snag.
It seems to me
rightly or wrongly
that all matter is really
just energy.
All there is
is energy
behaving in different ways.
Energy behaves.
Now what? I ask.
Science is leaving me
stranded in a cul-de-sac.
Then I think, well,
what about
the energy which is
in all of us humans?
The energy giving us life.
The energy that existed
before we were born and
will exist after we die.
Soul energy.
Our soul is the eternal energy
expressing itself in each of us
individually.
Something to ponder for a while
I think.
Bread and Butter
He wore the same
baker whites as my father.
An old, kind, quiet man,
who took an interest in me.
I, a small boy.
He, a kitchen worker.
The slices of white bread
were toasted a light brown.
With the broad knife
he scooped a generous portion
of butter from the crock.
A quick spread, evenly distributed,
and placed before me.
The toast tasted delicious!
I am mystified
why such a memory
of a mundane moment
has stayed with me
for so very long.
It was nothing special,
just a warm, pleasant, and caring
experience.
That is all it was.
I guess, that is all it needed to be.
Where Is She?
It has been 36 years
since she implanted herself
outside of the uterus.
The growing union of cells
survived for some days and weeks.
How many is unknown.
Her destiny was to not be.
Her presence became a danger.
Her life force needed to be
snuffed out in order to
save her mother.
Her soul
as rich as anyone’s
needed to find a new
cluster of cells
in which to flourish.
I want to believe
she found it
and is living
a thriving life.
Excuse me
while I cry.
Mortality Dream
It happened again last night.
I awoke
gently
at about 3:00am.
I recognized the feeling.
I have felt it before.
More and more frequently
in recent months and years.
The dream that awakened me
has no memorable content
or occurrences.
Only a theme.
My life is coming to an end.
Not imminently,
or so I think
and hope.
But my advanced age,
my eventual demise,
occupies a more prominent
position in consciousness,
both when awake
and asleep.
I felt no fear.
Only sadness.
By 5:00am
I crawled back into bed.
She, in her sleep, reached over to
touch me.
At that moment
I felt blessed and
returned to sleep.
Angst
We begin with the angst of childhood
Being concerned about being loved.
Then comes the angst of adolescence
Do I have enough friends?
The angst of young adulthood is weightier still
I must measure up to what a normal adult is. I must.
Oh, the angst of middle age
So much to hold together — marriage, finances, work, kids!
Late career angst can also bite
Planning a well-earned retirement in Shangri-La requires a lot of fantasy.
To live long enough for post-employment angst
Making that fixed income last while sliding toward senility and decline.
And finally — the simple angst of end of life
Being concerned about being loved.
Prints in the Snow
The snowfall was heavy.
The cold was deep.
From the window I saw
the blanket of blanco
lay soft, firm, and virgin.
As days passed
the snow became speckled
with small disparate prints.
They would appear in
morning.
Made during the frigid
night.
Noticed by me throughout the
day.
Why, I wonder, are they expending energy
by moving about
on this patch of frozen landscape?
Who made them?
Squirrels, deer, fox,
a lone turkey separated from its rafter,
or the elusive fisher,
whose screams we have heard at night
like a lost freighted child calling out for help.
Protected and comfortable
in my woodstove-heated home
I try not to anthropomorphize
their plight.
But I do anyway.
God Will Save Me
(Remembrance of a story once told.)
Come away from the edge!
You could fall into the water!
Not to worry.
I am religious.
God will save me.
The boat lurched starboard and in he fell.
Here! Grab this life ring!
Not to worry.
I am religious.
God will save me.
A rescue boat appeared along side him.
We have come to save you!
Not to worry.
I am religious.
God will save me.
He went under.
Lungs filled with water.
He drowned.
At the Pearly Gates he approached God.
I have long worshipped you!
Why did you not save me?
God looked down upon him kindly.
I gave you ears for listening to others.
I gave you fingers for grasping onto helping hands.
I gave you a mind for reasoning.
The question should be,
Why did you not use your God-given gifts?
Uppers and Downers
Homeostasis is so
elusive.
Like a statistical norm it
exists in ether
not in our real lives.
Energy can be difficult
to direct.
Its simple options are
to go up or
to go down.
Like a constant
calibration.
Turn energy up or
turn energy down.
This way or that way.
Reach for the upper
to be productive
to feel exuberance
to practice acuteness
to enjoy wakefulness.
Reach for the downer
to relax
to be reflective
to go adrift
to smell life.
Equilibrium,
Sustainability,
Balance,
Perseverance,
Homeostasis,
is the ultimate goal.
The Old Family Photos
With hesitant
but expectant
fingers
he opens the old photo
albums.
To even hold
these collections
is stepping back
to distant times
long gone,
but residing still
in presents past.
His emotions are
mixed.
Warmth, sadness, and
subdued happiness.
A stark reminder
of gifts he had
been given
and squandered
by being less
than he should
have been.
Love and regret,
grateful and apologetic.
Reminded of Thoreau,
“The mass of men live lives
of quiet desperation.”
Unfortunately,
he joined the family
of these men.
Such a turn of events
for a rich life
endowed with beautiful
children and wife.
