Now Poems

New Posts 2020 are selected poems from Sally’s hand written notebooks added Since January 1, 2020 by her husband.

 Old Age

(Written early Dec 2019 )

How do you view a sunset

when the sun in your life is gone?

It's like calling something a fire

when it's only an ember,

like seeking your loved one close by,

at home, near you,

when the best you can ever hope

to do is remember.

“Is that what old age is”, I asked,

“looking for family, friends, loved ones

in the here and now, right now,

when they're really just

memories of the past?”

She shook her head. “The answer is

no,” she said. “Forget about sunsets

and view the sunrise. Forget

about sorrow. Make new hopes,

plans and dreams – for today. “Tomorrow”

The young at heart can look back in

time without tears or regret

because they're living in the present

and their future isn't here yet,

while the truly old - at any age – can

only look back on sorrow

for all the joys their lives lacked

yesterday, do lack today and

will lack tomorrow

Final

(Written Dec 27 2019 – she died on Jan 1, 2020)

It came at an inopportune moment

this entropy of the body

when I am totally unprepared to make

the final journey to the soul.

So I avoid the urban world and all the crowds,

try to meditate on the life I'm leaving

as I sit outside and concentrate

on the patterns of my past life and

also on the formations of clouds.

At least that's what I tell myself

although I know that I am lying,

but who among us wants to concentrate

on the on the dynamics of dying?

Allergies

(Written Feb 5, 2019)

When I was a child, allergies consumed me.

I was allergic to things I loved, like chocolate and animals;

dogs, cats, birds and sheep.

I got itchy bumps, hives, asthma,

and I'd need to be propped up before I went to sleep.

Now I'm old, and it's traits I'm allergic to,

things that touch others and also touch me,

like ignorance, prejudice, racism, corporate greed, crooked politicians,

hating people just because they're different or non-white,

or immigrants, you see.

When I was a child, my allergies were treated with

inhalers, cremes, antihistamine.

But what is the cure for those who should inspire but instead, instill hate?

We must forget the falsehoods. We must write, emphasize and shout the truth,

in articles and verse,

knowing well that we can't cure the affliction quickly,

and before things get better they just may get worse.

BILLY

(Written Sep 30, 2018)

When Billy was half-past twenty,

He had a lot of debts, a dog that loved him,

And no idea what he wanted to do with his life.

At a quarter to thirty-five, Bill

Had a wife and two kids, a good job

And a mortgage that he thought he'd pay off someday.

At Fifty on the dot, Will owned his own business,

Had an ex-wife and a secretary,

And a sports car that always looked like it ran

Much better than it really did.

At half-past fifty-five, William had a stroke

And died.

The only one who loved him

Had died many years before,

But a lot of people came to the funeral.

Bipolar

(Written Oct 7, 2018)

She has a party, with friends all around,

laughing and talking loudly.

Drinking.

The child watches, then goes up the stairs to bed alone.

Bipolar.

She sits in the chair and cries,

talking aloud to voices in her head.

Drinking.

The child watches, afraid to go to bed.

Broken Memories

(Written Nov 8, 2018)

Little bits of memories weaving ribbons in your head;

the thought train snaps and breaks and you start over,

letting the mind regress to a safer time,

when the world was green and new.

The memories are stronger now

as we mend the broken parts using faith for glue,

and marvel at how strong they appear.

Surely this will endure, will last forever.

But no. They fade away again as we realize that mortality

invades our thoughts as it does our bodies.

The things we do and say and touch are real,

but the memories of those things

are tiny moments in time that can please us for a bit

and then, just fade away,

recurring in fragments now and then

to vex us and play with our minds.

Chinese Space Junk

(written Dec 25, 2018)

Chinese space junk is falling from the sky today

as I sit outside, bravely defiant,

daring it to come my way.

I hope it doesn't hit a highway,

or a store, a mall or a school.

I hope it doesn't hit my patio

and fall into my pool.

I hope it doesn't hit a human, a dog,

a cat, sheep or a horse.

I hope it lands where it's supposed to...

back in China, of course.

Church Group

(Written Jan 31, 2019)

I was fourteen and we were packed on a bus

singing songs about Jesus.

I was traveling with the church group,

pretending to be someone I was not. I didn't know the hymns,

but I had learned them by the time we got there, in Chicago,

at the big amphitheater where we heard the evangelist preach

about Hell-fire and damnation, and how we'd be saved

if we gave our lives to the Savior,

cause Saviors like to save things, and that's why we were there.

But I didn't want to give my life to Jesus or anybody else.

I wanted to leave that place and see Chicago,

go outside and see the city lights,

stay there and become a beatnik and write poems

about love and hate, war and peace, and fulfill some sort of

weird prophecy. I didn't, of course. I went back with the church group,

and we sang hymns all the way home

and said we'd had a wonderful time.

Don't Say His Name

(Written Feb 20, 2019)

Don't say his name,

this latest assassin, who wants to appear on the evening news

or be the hit of the Internet

because he murdered adults in a mall

or kids in a school.

For most of these killers, it's a game

where he who commits the worst atrocity wins,

while the rest of us shake our heads in disbelief,

feeling only pain.

He was willing to consign his soul to Hell forever

in exchange for fifteen minutes of fame.

Don't do what he wants.

Don't give him what he wants.

Don't say his name.

An Elected Liar Talks

(Written Feb 12, 2019)

There's no one you'll ever meet, ever see,

that's half as important as me.

As important as I, you say? Well, I don't know what you mean,

cause you're the least important person I've ever seen.

Oh, you're correcting my grammar? I don't know why, but sure,

no one's as important as I. Is that better?

Well, I'm sure you're thrilled to meet me, why wouldn't you be,

cause like I said, I'm so damned important.

I bet you can hardly believe this is real.

You got to meet and talk to me, and you didn't even have to kneel.

In a perfect world, everyone would kneel and kiss my ring,

like they do for the Pope, but he thought of it first, so it's his thing.

I guess I could have people bow and back away, like they do for the Queen;

I wouldn't have to watch their asses as they walked away, and that would be fine.

They could all watch mine. Like I said, I'd better go,

cause I'm so damned important, don’tcha know.

Elected Liars

(Written Feb 12, 2019)

When all of our elected liars

plot to conspire

about what is and is not true,

they may use a multitude of lies

to try and disguise

the truth from me and you.

There are certain hints they will give

that an educated populace should not ignore;

the first should be the history of the speaker.

Has he ever done this before?

Has he ever said the very same thing

from the opposite point of view?

If you play two videos side by side

can you look at them and then decide

in which he is lying to you?

Genealogy

(Written Feb 12, 2019)

Hamilton Howard, where did you go?

You left the Carolinas for Ohio, or so I thought I heard,

but I found you later in Illinois with the rest of the Howard men,

then lost your trail in Missouri,

and then in Iowa, you surfaced again.

Was it the promise of a better life that made you leave one day,

or maybe the hope for a new wife that brought you home to stay?

Hamilton Howard, where did you die?

Who buried you in the ground?

You did die, I think, cause you're far too old

to still be running around.

Ghost

(Written Jan 21, 2019)

I saw a ghost once, when I was about ten.

For some reason, I didn't think much of it.

It didn't seem unusual or important way back then.

She lived in a relative's house, and others saw her too.

She wore a wedding gown in a farm house...

a strange thing to do.

She didn't look happy at all;

there were tears streaming down her face.

Who she was and how she died, I'll probably never know,

I saw her in northwestern Illinois

and she must have passed a long time ago.

I wonder now if she's still about, in that very old house

and I'm curious about her story;

is she just delaying the hereafter by staying in that place,

or is she working off a sentence in purgatory?

Ghosts..not copied

(Written Jan 25, 2019)

Are they ghosts, those beings in white on the hillside,

who dance in the shadow of flames,

or are they men in costume,

afraid to show their faces as they threaten the non-whites

who live nearby, that if they want to stay alive,

they'd best leave this area for other

less desirable, but safer places.

They are both ghosts and men;

ghosts of our own ignoble past , when they burned crosses,

and lynched young men for no reason save the color of their skin.

They are also men of ill-will, who are delighting in the renaissance

of evil, as they follow their leader's example,

hoping to make America hate again.

Family

(Written Nov 7, 2018)

They sat at opposite ends of the big table,

Each not understanding the other,

But neither willing to go it alone.

She was consumed with thoughts of the future,

while he dwelt on their turbulent past.

No one liked the present at all.

It wasn't the time to have a kid; anyone could see that.

But of course that's what they did,

had one, then another.

He thought of himself as father of the year.

She became the mother of all time,

And parenting became the best competition ever.

The kids grew up and moved away,

each knowing they'd do things better than their parents did.

So they visit the old folks once in a while.

Take their families, if they're able,

or just pop in and surprise the two

while they sit at opposite ends of the big table.

Hatred

(Written Feb 12, 2019)

We don't learn hatred in utero.

It is an acquired trait

although it can be passed, from mother to daughter or father to son,

it's not a congenital evil within us;

but in spite of that, we can easily learn to hate.

If we hear people tell us we're useless

and won't amount to much, so we shouldn't bother

with having goals or dreams,

we'll hate ourselves in time, if we hear it enough

and we'll have no self-esteem.

Talking about differences between us

in a negative way, is fuel for the hatred game.

He has different skin, a different religion, a different language.

He can't speak our language very well. What a foreign-sounding name!

Yes. We can make sure he doesn't fit in.

When our leaders don't condemn hatred, when they make it sound okay

to hate immigrants, to not want them here,

to use troops to send them away, it sends a message,

not just to our citizens, but to the whole world,

that hatred is now the American way. Is that really what we want to say?

Immigrant Ancestors

(Written Dec 26, 2019)

My immigrant ancestors were of strong stock

from places with storybook names

like Bern, Switzerland, County Wexford and Alsace-Lorraine.

Some came here in 1700 or so on ships

that crossed the ocean in many weeks' time.

Not everyone who tried to get here survived the voyage,

but those who did were stronger because of the journey

and maybe their faith was too.

They worked the land, then bought it,

made families, worshipped and died.

There was something unsaid about them

that gave their descendants a certain well-being,

an inner smile, a unique sense of pride.

I would gaze at the sky and imagine them looking down, smiling back.

But now they're not smiling.

I hear them moaning together, a low mournful sound,

because our country doesn't want immigrants any more.

We want to build walls to keep them away. Let them work hard somewhere else.

We don't want them or their families, and we don't want any strange religions either.

We only want white, educated people to make America their home.

Every time I hear someone on t-v saying or inferring things like that,

I swear I hear my ancestors moan.

Inner Smile

(Written Sep 26, 2018)

He was a n'er-do-well, a n'er-do-good, a n'er-do-much at all,

and I had worked so hard to succeed.

I'd worked, planned, walked many a mile,

and that n'er-do-well, that thief among thieves,

he stole my Inner Smile.

I didn't see it go, but I felt it leave. There was nothing I could do.

All of a sudden, the little spot where it had been

was vacant, empty space. I'd been deceived,

and that inner smile was no longer on my body,

in my heart or on my face.

I know well the one who took it, and I'll catch him when I can.

I'll hunt him down, and chase him round, that dastardly bastardly man.

I'll catch him, take all his things, put them in a pile.

Then I'll destroy each of his possessions one by one

until I recover my Inner Smile

Lament of the Old

(Written Jul 14, 2019)

Our government and some elected officials do many things

that seem done out of hatred, to divide us; things which cause pain within us

and which kindle our fires of defiance.

We feel disdain for those who spread hatred, but we feel it also for ourselves, since

we accepted their lies without demonstrating, without rebelling, without contradicting.

We rage silently, but it is not evident to any who see us,

since we are old and therefore believed to be harmless, content.

We wish we were strong, courageous and resilient and could stand up to them.

We wish we could show the world exactly who is lying, cheating, spreading evil,

but we cannot. We are old, so we act resigned to it all,

and appear unworried, tranquil.

Then, a slight wind, a Breeze of Truth, brushes the mind

and we wonder if the old people in Hitler's time felt the same.

Did they sense the dangers unfolding around them and decide

that since they were old, there was nothing they could do

to stop the evil and cruel policies that divided their nation?

Did they? Do we?

Is it happening again?

Language

(Feb 2, 2019)

They're drinking their tea over there.

You're reading your book of yore.

They're bringing their friends from there to here,

and you've heard it all here before.

I hear that you heard what they're doing there,

and asked them to bring themselves here,

so they're cooking their meals outside,

not over there, but right here,

while you're wishing they'd all disappear.

Legacy

(Written Jan 14, 2019)

Things are getting rather scary now

here in the Land of the Free.

Racism is sprouting its ugly head,

while white nationalism and violence

are tolerated, if not encouraged,

and that's not the way it should be.

We thought those divisive elements were dead,

but they were just sleeping all along.

Now, they've been awakened in a fury

and we must stop them because they're wrong,

and we need to do it in a hurry,

and dammit, some of us are too old

to fight to change things,

and too old to move away.

We really don't want to remain here either,

but we accept the fact that staying is probably our fate,

so our legacy is that we must encourage others, much younger,

to scale the walls of indifference

and break down the barriers of hate.

Lightening

(Written Feb 2, 2019)

It wasn't exactly a stormy day.

The little rain storm seemed to have passed by,

so I took my dogs out on the patio, by the pool,

where they could play and I could watch the cloud patterns

in our usually clear California sky.

All of a sudden it felt as though each hair in my eyebrows....each hair...

was turning around, and I was thinking “what's happening to my eyebrows,”

when I should have been hitting the ground.

It was Mother Nature's way of warning me that she was sending a thunderbolt

and I'd better drop and hug the earth or I might get a big jolt.

We were all lucky that day when the lightening struck the pool.

Before that, the dogs were having fun, but when it hit, we ran inside.

My little daughter came up and said, “Mom, I didn't know dogs could run and poop

all at the same time.” Yes, the dogs were terrified too.

We were lucky that day that no one had been in the pool.

So if you're outside and all of a sudden, you feel hairs all turning around

on your arms, legs, eyebrows or head,

don't worry about what's causing it,

don't be a fool,

just get down and hug the ground instead.

Maelstrom

(Written Feb 5, 2019)

Before the maelstrom started,

when large parts of the world were fresh and green,

and people weren't starving all over,

do you remember that?

Do you remember how it was

before the fabric of the earth just ripped apart?

Suddenly, it was like the world had cracked in several large pieces,

and no one knew on which part they belonged.

At least, I didn't. Did you?

But the maelstrom is now, and I'm talking before.

Long ago, when we had a chance or two

to save the world, save the environment,

save the earth and all it's animals.

When plants of various species still gave off oxygen, still grew.

Yes, we had a chance to save things;

to clean the air, the water,

to discard the weapons of war.

We had an opportunity to redeem ourselves, start fresh,

a chance to begin anew.

I wish we could still do that, don't you?

Old Poet

(Written Feb 2, 2019)

Old Poet, old poet, where do you go when the winds of war

blow at your backside

and toss you, twirling, spinning, rolling across the fields,

until you find yourself smashed into a wall of evil

from which you cannot remove?

Old Poet, can you stay safe in these

churning, turbulent times,

with all the violence, racism and hatred around,

when the very leaders who should inspire you

are guilty of graft and corruption?

So many of them! Atrocities abound!

Old poet, old poet, what can you do

before this nightmare, this storm, this maelstrom gets worse?

Nothing to save yourself, but you may help others

if you just pick up the pen, and in spite of your frailty,

use your talents to write one more line, one more verse.

Pacific Trash

(Written Feb 5, 2019)

Our ocean is drowning in plastic,

where once fishes frolicked

in deep water and coastline waves.

Today, our trash of last month and last year

floats on the surface and underneath,

while fish seek oxygen, then flip and flop

and sink into submarine graves.

Playing Chess with a Cat

(Written Feb 2, 2019)

I was playing a game of chess with a cat

who was staring me down from across the room.

The pawns and rooks, dead on the floor,

spoke volumes about my impending doom.

Just me and my knight, a lovely lad who tried

to grant my every wish.

As the cat slowly crept in for the kill,

the knight exited the kitchen with a sandwich of tuna fish.

The cat first looked confused, retracted his claws,

then focused on the sandwich plate.

I felt relieved, then thanked my noble knight

who gave up his sandwich for a stalemate.

Remembrance

(Written Feb 2, 2019)

Remember their last battle,

where they sacrificed all and died with their comrades,

or died alone, on foreign soil, far away.

Maybe they died down the street, close to home,

fighting for what someone else believed in,

but they couldn't care less about,

and were just doing as they were told

by those who gave orders to fight,

so they did.

Remember that they died young, most of them,

and in our minds, they stay that way,

young and smiling forevermore.

If they had lived, then they'd have gotten old,

with families around them, descendants,

and all the happiness and heartaches

they would have endured

if they didn't have to die in war.

Somnambulists

(Written Feb 2, 2019)

Do somnambulists walk in daylight hours

with the same ferocity they show at night?

Or do they demonstrate a calmer, cooler

more collected demeanor

when they tread among sunshine and flowers?

Do they look more awake in the daytime,

with wide-open eyes and toothy grins,

as if they're someone you'd expect to meet?

So you speak to them politely,

but they do not answer back,

intent on their mission of whatever it is

that they're doing.

And you think that's fine, until you notice

they're trying to sneak up on you,

with something they could use as a weapon in hand,

So you shout, “Wake up!” And they do.