Any Relief

Is there any comfort in

words when there’s

blood in the water

and the sharks are circling?

“Hang on,” we say.

“We’re praying for you,” we post.

“Our hopes are with you,” we shout.

“We’re here for you,” we wish.

Can any words besides,

“You’re fully insured and will

be adequately compensated,”

really do anything to help.

Waves of sympathy,

ocean currents of empathy,

are fine and good, but no match

for actual ocean waves.

Where is the power of words

in the abyss of horror?

Are words the afterthought of

the aftershock?

It’s a uselessness I feel to use

my own words to be anything

other than a shill for the vague

emotional notions of my heart.  

I want the words to carry the burdens

away, but maybe I’m not that smart,

or maybe I’m not that good of a poet,

or maybe, just shutting up is the right thing to do.

http://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2017/08/28/546745827/looking-to-help-those-affected-by-harvey-here-s-a-list

Will They Call Me Mister

I’ve more gray hairs than

I used to, my chin whiskers

now fill in with snowy patches

of stubble. I ache in places

for no reason and am

usually exhausted by

9:00 pm.

I still don’t feel like a

grown-up though.

I’m not even sure what

a grown-up is.

I’ve no children,

I’ve no wife,

no mortgage, or grown-up things.

What makes a grown-up?

Is it knowing things that

younger people don’t?

Because I certainly do that,

but I’ve always done that.

Is it money? Success?

Vitamin pills every morning?

I get curmudgeonly and surly

and irritated by stupidity, is

that being grown-up?

I tell those damn kids to

get off my lawn, in my head,

because I don’t have a lawn,

for lousy kids to play on.

Is it political awareness that makes

a grown-up? Clearly not, what with all

the childishness going on now.

Is it being able simply to do and say

whatever I want within the context of

the law? Doesn’t really feel like that’s

what being a grown-up is.

Grown-ups sleep on their couches,

and tinker and meddle,

Grown-ups worry about money, gas,

car payments, insurance, dental care,

sexual failure, liver disease, being wanted

for who they are and not what they should be,

and having to clean up after themselves.

If that’s all it is to be a grown-up,

then I’m not sure I want to be a part

of it all. I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing

and maybe one day, that kid in the mirror,

with wrinkles and gray hair will finally look

familiar, and he’ll wink at me.

And we’ll laugh through our senility.

Seeking Wisdom, Again

The Great Guru of Guru’s,

the wisest of the wise,

the most knowledgeable of

knowable knowledge,

sat atop a snow swept

mountain. The cold winds

blowing through his long

scraggly white beard and

wisps of white hair remaining

on his head.

His eyes were closed as he

breathed in deeply and silently,

he exhaled gently and slowly,

over and over, he barely seemed

to move, as if he was part of the

mountain itself.  He was one with it,

 the snow, the winds,

rains, rumbling of the mountain

when it shuddered. He was the

image of peacefulness and harmony.

The Great Guru, arms and legs folded,

lotus position, remained motionless as

a great grunting rose from the temple

steps leading up to the Guru.  The grunting,

followed by wheezing, coughing and cursing,

soon revealed a raggedy man. Dirty, bruised,

battered and unshaved.  He fell at the feet of

the Guru, after climbing the 1,000 steps to

the mountain temple the Guru occupied in his

corporal form.

“You’re holiness, great Guru of the mountain,

I’ve come again for your guidance,” said the dirty,

disheveled man.

The Guru didn’t move from his breathing position.

“I gave up all my worldly goods; I tried to treat each man

as my brother, each woman my sister, I’ve loved

without hesitation, I’ve fed the poor, tended to the

sick, kissed my enemies and I meditate each day;

I’ve given up meat, I’ve been beaten up, I’ve

made each sunrise matter,” said the man.

The Guru still with his eyes closed,

breathing gently, remained silent.

“Yet, I’m not happy. I’ve not attained

any enlightenment, I’m just as miserable

and scared as I was the last time I was here,

when I first came to you for advice,” said the man.

He began to sob into his hands and wail.

He cried and moaned, hugged his shoulders

and rocked back and forth, snot running

from his nose.

The Guru opened his eyes and looked at the man.

The Guru’s face was calm and gentle.

“Did you vote,” asked the Guru.

“Huh,” said the man, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Did you vote in the Presidential election,” asked

the Guru.

“Well, no. I thought we were above such trivial things,”

said the man.

“Oh, well, there’s your problem,” said the Guru.

Eclipse Prescription

Next Monday there is a Solar

Eclipse that will pass over the

United States of America.

It’s the first time in 26 years

that it’ll happen.  I think we need

it.

The path of the eclipse will

pass over 14 States. The Sun will

be blotted out by the Moon for

varying times, Southern Illinois

will have the longest eclipse period

with 2m 44s of totality.

Meaning the Moon will cast a

shadow over Illinois for a full

two minutes and 44 seconds. And it’ll

be dark. Dark as night. The total

Celestial event will last for a full

1h 33m 16.8s.

The event literally happens at the

speed of light. It’ll happen no matter

what is going on down here on Earth.

In fact, the cosmos doesn’t care

what is happening on Earth.  

The divides between people,

ideologies, religions, Nations,

and politics are all meaningless

compared to the pure majesty of

nature and the universe.  The

Sun and the Moon, don’t care.

They don’t care if you’re Black,

White, Brown, Yellow, Red, or

every conceivable color known.

The Sun, Moon, Stars, just don’t

care. A great Shadow will traverse

the Globe with or without you. 

The bigotry, hatred, and divisiveness

we heap on each other on this

insignificant space body is just dumb

when you get down to it.

There’s no point really.

Your perceptions are not permanent.

So, I really can’t believe I have

to say it all again. I’m not sure

how many times will be enough.

Your beliefs in one Race, Creed,

Theology, or superiority is

a waste and a weight on us all.

As the shadow of the Moon

passes over your homes I hope

it’ll help to show you how small

you are and how little the universe

cares about your point of view.

It doesn’t care about my point of view.

A Country, cast in shadow for a short time,

a mini Dark Age, hopefully to emerge bathed

in enlightenment, about who we are on the

World and who we want to be in the short

time we have.  Because in the dark,

we’re all the same.

Caterpillar on the Hood

I saw little antenna peeking

up over my windshield wipers.

A caterpillar on the hood of my car

looked right at me. “Where are you

going little caterpillar,” I asked.

“I’m going to Hollywood to

become a famous movie star,” said

the caterpillar on the hood of my

car. He rose up on his many rear legs

and flexed a little.

“I’m not driving to Hollywood,” I said.

“Why not? Don’t you think I have the

charisma, the charm, the guile to be a

famous movie star,” asked the caterpillar

on the hood of my car.

“Well, I’m not a Hollywood agent, talent scout

or otherwise in the know type, but I’m not

sure there’s a high demand for caterpillar movie

stars,” I said.

I drove forward in the left turn lane.

“See what an action star I am, hanging on

the hood of your car,” said the caterpillar,

who was indeed hanging on the hood of

my car. “C’mon, take me to Hollywood,”

it said, two legs folded in prayer.

“No. I’m afraid I just can’t do that,” I said,

turning onto the highway.

“Whoa, where are you taking me? West is

the other way,” said the caterpillar on the hood

of my car.

“I’m sorry. Really I am. You’re really impressive I’ll admit.

Maybe when you’re a butterfly, I’ll reconsider,” I said as I accelerated.

“You’re loss. I won’t mention you when I give my

best actor speech at the Oscars,” said the caterpillar

on the hood of my car.

The caterpillar slid off the hood,

aloft in the breeze, disappearing from

my sight. Maybe to land on another hood,

and get the right sort of ride.

I’ll won’t hold my breath though.

Aw, Put That Away!

The Cold War was very

real when I was a boy.

It seemed like any day a

nuclear war would break out

between the U.S. and the Soviet

Union and the world would be

plunged into a dystopian nightmare

akin to The Road Warrior or some

Orwellian State.

Millions of lives could be lost

in a strange “Biggest kid on the Block”

muscle party and I was terrified.

I had childhood anxiety as I was

obsessed with this idea that our

extinction might be at hand.

It directly led to my adult anxieties

without question.

And here we are again, saber rattling,

whipping our nuclear dicks out,

shouting, “You want some of this!”

And it’s terrifying. I mean that imagery

is pretty disturbing, but the real

rhetoric is even worse. It’s scary.

I’m scared.

I think we’ve forgotten that bitter taste of

fear and mistrust of our Global neighbors,

I don’t believe it’s a flavor I’d like to revisit.

In the meantime, I’ll be nervous, but not

as terrified as I was as a child. I’ll hope for

the best and that cooler, rational heads

prevail.

I hope they put their dicks away,

wash their hands and remember

how many times we’ve come to the brink

of desolation and pulled back, remembering

how terribly finite our existence is on this little

planet. There’s no future in reliving the past.

And I’m not sure my anxiety can handle it this

time around. 

Sort of the Same

Spent, shattered shards,

splintered, spewed and

splayed, spread rough shot,

across shifting scapes, in

swirls of soil and sand.

Seems especially similar

since I’ve certainly summarized

this sort of scene before,

something stunningly same,

of slender artistic equities.

I’ve said it some other time,

these alliterated stories of

sorrow, sadness or sweetness,

summed up and spat out,

a series rerun.

A sequel to something I said,

about trees, or hearts, or sex,

or lovers, signifying a desperation

for substance, sorely lacking with

substandard alliteration.

So, something to say, supple in

seriousness and specialness.

A sure show stopper to send the

senses spiraling into space,

a spectacular spectacle.

Something worthy of Shakespeare,

or Sam Shepard, I’m steady, ready,

steamed and sharp, so I’ve just to

say it. To say it, the something,

something stupendous.

Shit.

Stupid stuttering syllables.

So many disappointments.

Shattered, shards of sentiment,

spelling nonsense,

constantly.

The Turtle Rodeo

The Turtle Rodeo

is a spectacular

extravaganza of

unanticipated thrills,

chills, spills and various

other ills of all manner.

You will not believe your

eyes when you see the

skill, the bravery, the raw

power, of the world famous,

wild and rugged,

Turtleboys of Madagascar.

See them rope, ride, bust,

and break turtles of all breeds

in this once in a lifetime opportunity!

It’s action like you’ve never seen,

nor were ever likely to believe.

Your jaw will drop!

Cheer, ooh and ahh, with your

friends as Bucky the Box Turtle Breaker

goes for the Turtle Rodeo record of

seven hours before being thrown

to the grassy arena of doom.   

Will Bucky survive!?!

You’ve watched other catastrophes

before, so why stop now.

Don’t worry about the ASPCA,

they don’t care about turtles,

so bring your turtle shell soup bowl and

tell the babysitter you’ll be late!

You’ll be at the Turtle Rodeo

having the greatest time

mortality can provide!

Yee-haw!