The Great-Grandparents

( 2/2/2019)

The Great-Grandparents came here from Ireland

on separate ships, each alone; met over here and married.

They could not read or write but they had kids,

made a living, fed their family.

He fought in the Civil War for his new country, and even picked the winning side.

I picture them looking down, seeing what's happening now,

and I try to explain it to them.

I tell them that we don't want uneducated immigrants now, even if they work hard.

If they try to get in, they're breaking the law,

so we separate the adults from the children,

which is the same as leaving the children alone.

The adults must pay, since they broke the law; that's the way it is now.

The government doesn't want them to come.

I think that if my Great-Grandparents had known this ahead of time,

they probably would have stayed home.

The Three Best Ways to Die

(a poem of 18 words)

(2/2/2019)

In a Ferrari,

listening to Springsteen

In my truck,

listening to Springsteen

Just lyin', dyin'

listening to Springsteen

Three Faces of Death

(2/2/2019)

Green and covered with warts is how I pictured death

when I was a child, like it was some sort of frog-like being

that would stick out a hand and stand there,

waiting for me to calm down, to stop acting hyper and wild,

so he could jump on me and carry me away.

Then one day, he was gone, replaced by the Reaper in black,

who usually stood by the side of the road, hitchhiking,

holding up signs with my name on them, hoping I'd stop

so he could jump in back.

But now the Reaper has morphed into what started as a murky being

that's getting less murky the more I see his face.

He waits quietly in the shadows for me to pass by

so he can reach out his hand

and take me to a peaceful place.

We Are Not Good for This

(1/10/2018)

We are not good for this.

We urge our children to tell the truth,

be honest, upright,

then we elect a liar,

a man with no morals,

no goals, save getting himself rich,

and some of us accept his lies

to fuel the hatreds that were hidden deep within us,

and now erupt to the surface, raging in brilliant colors

for all the world to see.

And our own elected liar,

who thinks himself omnipotent

cares not for truth or honor or even country

and would declare himself king, if he could,

and bask in the spotlight forever

while we write feeble lines, poems, stories

that we try to compose while we cry, swear and cuss.

We are not good for this,

and he is not good for us.

Wanna Play?

Do you want to come over and play today? My parents aren't here.

I'm tired of waiting for them to come back.

We could play tag. You're it!

I'm tired of grown-ups chasing me, running around and around,

going nowhere it seems.

I wish my grandmother, my aunt and my big sister were here.

I haven't seen them for such a long time, not since we left home

weeks ago, or months, maybe more.

I kind of forgot what they look like, but I remember how they felt and how they sounded,

the way my grandma's kitchen smelled when she let me help her cook.

I saw my mother smiling and playing a silly game with me last night,

in one of my dreams.

So, do you want to come over and play? We could play a game of pretend.

We'll pretend we're happy and safe at home.

I'll pretend I'm not locked in a cage.

I need a friend.

Wanna play?

Weird Couple

(5/8/2018)

The morbidly old and rather obese man

enters the room hand in hand

with his skinny, pallid wife

who wears a terrified look on her face

with gaping mouth and bulging eyes.

They stand there, this weird couple,

scanning the room as if searching

for some person or thing that looks familiar.

Finally, his eyes spot the buffet and he squeezes her hand

as they both head towards it.

He knows that he will give in to his desire

to eat enough meat until the juice of the fat

runs out the corners of his mouth,

while his wife knows she will be able to eat

whatever she wants with no chance

of gaining weight, thanks to the

huge lump of malfunctioning thyroid in her neck.

What About Jim?

(2/5/19)

We have a new close match with the DNA.

He sent a note last week and came to visit yesterday.

He has too much DNA to be my first cousin,

so he must be my Uncle Jim,

because it looks like he's my dad's brother

even though Dad never heard of him.

Grandma doesn't know Jim.

What else can the good woman say?

She says she only birthed three babies

and she didn't give any away.

Grandpa got all red in the face and he ran out

to hide in the barn.

He says that story about him fathering kids

all over the county is only a local yarn.

So while the old folks argue

about what to do about Jim,

I've decided to complicate things.

I'm running off with him.

Stuck in Ohio

Her name is Rita,

and she's living with a hillbilly named Tom,

somewhere outside of Cincinnati.

She pretends things are fine when she calls her dad

and tells him Tom is a considerate bastard,

the most caring partner anyone's ever had.

Then she sends mom a picture where she looks so damned thin

and it makes mom wonder if she's using again.

But no, she's clean,

and she has a new job that she loves,

and she's thinking of having a kid sometime,

who'll be the best damned kid anyone's ever seen

but that won't happen until she's sure she'll stay in Ohio.

What do you do in Ohio when the winter is freezing

and the people are cold, and you hate who you are?

You tell yourself that the partner and the job

are fantastic, fun.

You fool yourself into eating well and smiling some,

while you still dream of being a star.

ADDED APRIL 11, 2023

The Man Who Drove By

(2018)

The man who drives past my house and waves every day

won't do it anymore.

He's dead they say.

We never once spoke

and I don't know his name.

That's not his fault or my fault,

actually no one is to blame.

We lived on the same street,

he lived on the other side, up the hill.

I thought I might go up there sometime,

introduce myself, meet the family.

But now I doubt that I will.

They say that he was three streets over

giving someone a smile and a grin

but the person he was waving at

didn't wave back at him.

So he honked and yelled and smiled

took both hands off the wheel to wave.

I'm glad he wasn't waving at me!

The first responders said he probably

didn't suffer much 

and metaphorically he went straight

to his grave, right after he hit the tree. 

Hate?

(2018)

So many complicating factors 

that cause us to hate

not just our enemies,

but also ourselves for putting up with

all the lies that we were told.

We accepted without demonstrating, 

without rebelling,

without contradicting.

Leave those rebellious attitudes 

and actions for younger bodies,

we said, full of rage and defiance, 

but never showing it.

Bird Games

(2018)

The birds are playing games with each other;

the doves coming in for a landing, flapping around

the goldfinches stuck to their sock of seeds,

while the Jays eat popcorn,

and the hated roadrunner hides in the 

tall grass, waiting to jump upon any small bird.

Polka-dot Man

(2018)

Rubbery-flubbery polka-dot man

wants to make the brightest new shirt he can,

So he buys material of red, orange, and green,

and the brightest blue anyone's ever seen.

He sews it together and makes a shirt

then covers it with tiny spots.

On each spot, he glues a big dot.

He wears his shirt as he walks on his street.

He waves and smiles at the friends he meets

BOOM

(2018)

Sitting outside looking at a clear California sky

while we wait for some idiot in Washington

or Asia, to press the button

and blow the whole earth sky-high.

Watchin' the hummers and birds flying

and wondering if they'll survive

the blasts and radiation that will follow,

wondering how long they'll stay alive 

after the end of mankind.

Will they fly inland to some safer place,

if some such place exists?

Avarice

(2018)

Is it a type of avarice

that creeps in and overtakes our law-makers

until they only see each new law

in terms of how it relates to them,

how much money it puts in the bank,

how many perks it will bring?

“ We abhor gun violence” the lawmakers say

and yet they accept thousands of 

sizeable donations from the NRA 

Lean Machine

(2018)

He was a lean machine

of solid green plant fether

and I wanted to be the same.

I ate spinach, chard, endive, kale,

acai berries, kefir,

and all those things to make you hearty

and whole.

I did so with a vengeance.

Meditation

( 2018)

The little girl on TV was young

with a sweet face

and I was old and stressed

but I decided to breathe with her a while

she got a big towel

and made a place on the floor

to practice, just a little

no big deal, nothing more.

She talked about breathing posture

clearing the mind.

She inhaled for four counts,

exhaled for eight.

even an old lady like me

could do that too,

could learn to breathe right

and sit up straight.

It didn't help me right away.

I didn't feel calm, less stressed, more relaxed

until the very next day.

Now I have a mat I put on the floor

I do breathing, meditation, and 

maybe a bit more.

I wish the President, the Pope, and leaders

of all nations

would stop threatening and relax

Take deeper breaths, enjoy some peaceful meditation.

Old Poet

(2018)

Old poet, old poet, where did you go

when the winds of war

blows at your backside

and toss you about, twirling,

spinning, rolling you across the fields

until you flayed yourself into a wall

from which you cannot remove?

Old poet can you stay safe

in these churning turbulent times

with all this 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 their nightmare, this storm,

this maelstrom gets worst?

Nothing to save yourself, but you might

help others if you just pick up the pen

and, in spite of your frailty, use your 

God-given talents and

write one more verse

Scarlett

(2018)

She was an Arabian girl

with white blaze and blond mane.

She had a mind of her own, that horse.

When she was scared,

She'd jump straight up in the air.

It was actually a very curious sight

unless you happened to be 

riding on her back at the time,

in which case, you suffered a fright.

She hated snakes and so do I, so

we had that in common I suppose/

She'd jump straight up in the air

if she spotted snake or more often a 

common garden hose.

She was what we used to call “spooky”

She'd spook when she encountered

anything new or strange.

Her nostrils would flair and

you'd see the whites of her eyes.

She'd never just bolt and run

Jumping straight up in the air was

mare Scarlett's style.

That's how my girl had fun.

A friend gave her to me 

I rode her a few years

then passed her on the same way.

I don't know where she is now

but I like to think

she's still jumping in the air somewhere

today!