For Ms. T-

As you lay dying,

I went out to mow the grass,

Knowing it a task

I’d be able to perform

With a bit of grace,

Preparing myself to try

To bid you this last good bye

With dignity and honor.

Chōka 8 May 2023

I’m done racing rats

Through a seeming endless maze

Chasing smaller chunks

Of stinking green Limburger.

I see, now, the trap

Set by those soulless fat cats

To keep us from succeeding.

Seeing Red

Amidst a mess of document

left in a box in this old home,

new to us these last few years,

mixed among the old receipts

for plumbing work and seedling trees

and appliance manuals

for appliance dinosuars

long gone to their extinction,

I found a weathered yellow sheet

Typed upon in fading blue,

a restrictive covenant

that pierced my heart. Could it be true?

Did my predecessor here,

in this vibrant melting pot,

this neighborhood of polyglots,

seek, back then to enshrine

his bigotry upon the land

from that point and for all time?

Yes, my friends, I’m sad to say,

around the time my dad was born,

some lofty ass took it to mind

to codify a huge red line

around this humbled cot of mine.

Buffaloed

Here we go again:

one more white supremacist,

hopped up on Tucker Carlson,

popping off in nurtured rage!

Doesn’t Everyone?

Sometimes I ache.

It’s part of being me.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I fear

that which I can not control.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes my pain and fear

drive me to unwise actions.

Doesn’t everyone’s?

Sometimes I regret

the consequences of those acts.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I hope

I can be a better soul.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I pray

for a divine guiding hand.

Doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes I love.

Doesn’t everyone?

Doesn’t everyone?

Long Unspoken Fury

How was it my fault,

Dad,

When those dime store Wallabees

Melted through the furnace grate?

How you always chided me

When I said I was afraid,

“Don’t be such a fraidy cat.”

Now you stand and seethe, enraged

Learning what I always know.

Floor grates lead to misery

And premature, stinky, deaths

For green plastic army men

And your cheap-ass knock-off shoes!

Today, We Vote!

Today we hold the middle ground

Lest we make a prophesy

Of Yeats’ “Second Coming”-

“The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.”

That Hoary Gilded Capital

Walking sullied streets,

noting all the old deceits;

gold leaf peeling off in sheets.

~

Cracked and weathered stone,

reminiscent of old bone

cast aside to rot alone.

~

Maybe I’m jaded,

but it’s luster has faded,

past dignities degraded.

~

How have we become,

so uncaring, heartless, numb,

is there naught that can be done?

~

Dare we even try

to uphold truth to that lie,

“Great Republics can not die“?

~

If we can’t, we’re done.

Hare on off and have some fun.

Democracy’s race is run.

Questions of Heroes and Saints

Do heroes have to be perfect

in order to earn our respect?

Must they be free from all blemish?

Is that what we’ve come to expect?

How much stain, how much tarnish,

how much of a character blemish

can be glossed over by splashing

on coats of whitewash and varnish

before the seething and gnashing

of the oppressed leads to the trashing

of monument to those held dear

in eruptions of violent clashing?

The answers, my friends, are clear.

Let’s open our ears and try to hear

the history of brutal oppression

that cause so many to live in fear.

Since if we can’t learn this lesson

we’ll lose more than an election!

Folks, it’s high time to reject

this notion that every hero warrants beatification!

Savage Waters

This disease leaves wounds,

rivers both wide and deep.

Too deep for fording

and much too wide for bridges,

so we build ferries

and brave treacherous waters,

holding connections

to our loved ones long estranged

by these savage waters wide.

A Statesman’s Prayer

When we disagree,

can we not remain civil

and work to find common ground?

~

You know I love our country,

as I know you love it too.

Let us not cast stones!

Ridiculously Rote Rhetoric

Unnamed Politicians!

Can you perceive the irony,

As you march in this parade,

On this public highway,

Closed today by state police,

Between county fire trucks,

And city rescue squads,

Past these public schools,

All the while waving

Your banners proudly claiming,

“I Fight Socialism”?

What Am I Missing?

Seems, now, the problem’s

not guns but video games

and not Dayton… Toledo?

That Sad Little Bird

Alone in the dark,

he cries out for relevance,

love, being unfamiliar.