Culture Convulsion

Every few years there’s a

shudder that runs down

society’s spine.  A tingling

numbness that infiltrates

the culture, waiting below the

surface.  

With each generation that

comes of age, they discover

the new outrage that their

parents never even considered

to be something to be concerned

about.

This new outrage bends the

reeds of previously accepted

normalcy to the breaking point,

until they snap with all the fury

of a bomb, obliterating the reeds

beyond recognition.

The slo-mo outrage explosion ripples across

the social landscape, uprooting

convention and perceptions of

acceptability, tossing every belief into

the air like so many twigs on the

breeze.  

“We didn’t know,” scream the old guard,

as they pinwheel through the mushroom

cloud of outrage.  Bonking their bodies

against the rubble and debris swirling around

them. “We didn’t know, we didn’t know,” they

cry.

“You should have,” shouts the youthful cloud,

 “you should have!”  Their rage in a roiling

boil over the perceptions of past generations,

“You should have known!” They howl as they

beat their breasts and chant for change.

“Your old ways are done!”

The old guard retreat into clumps as they

fall from the sky, blankly looking at each other,

mystified by what just happened.

They thought they were doing so well.

They thought they were doing such good.

They thought it was under control.

The old, older guard, stand on their porches,

and point with their canes, “See, see…,”

they cajole, “we told you it would happen to you,

damn hippies.”

The deposed wipe their noses,

bloodied,  but still they think they’re in

the fight.

They don’t know it but their generational

bubble has burst. It’s over, ended and

joined the choir invisible, to be footnoted

by future historians who’ll remark,

“Unbelievably, people once acted this

way, much to the chagrin of our current

social morays.”

There’s no change like the change that

makes change. Except its very changing changes

how that change will be changed.

I just convulsed a little.  

How Do You Write About Thanksgiving?

Here is it again,

another Thanksgiving;

a day set aside for

celebrating what unifies family,

friends, co-workers,

and the occasional stranger.

Yet, how does one write

about this Holiday?

In this era of cultural sensitivity

and being “woke”, (a despicable term)

 can we still celebrate this day without the

shadow of guilt creeping in?

Abraham Lincoln created Thanksgiving

in an effort to unify a divided nation

during the Civil War and remind the

citizens of this nation that we are still

one from many.

Lincoln’s intention was as that of a healer,

while ignoring the ineffaceable scars

of tragedy the early settlers endured and

imposed on each other and the Natives

upon which we built our country.

It’s a holiday designed to help us remember

that though great strife, suffering and difficulty,

we have remained united and that there is

no event, no instance so terrible as to wipe

this Democracy from the face of the world.

It is a day to be thankful to the forbearers

of the greatest of all ideals, that we, that all people,

can and should be forever free and any yoke of

oppression can be overcome through standing

together.  

I guess that is the best way to celebrate this holiday,

with a reverence for what came before and knowledge

of the trials yet to come, and in that knowing reverence,

be thankful we are here, together. 

Dear People

Dear People,

do not be people.

Do not admit to being

imperfect, fallible,

or human.

Value each person,

but don’t be one,

because that would

imply imperfection.

We must be above person

or people, beyond reproach,

and incapable of even the

slightest judgment error.

Do not be people.

If people are human,

and humans make mistakes,

and if to err is human, and if

being human is to be people,

then people make mistakes.

But no, do not be people.

Be perfect, never make any

mistakes, never acknowledge any

dalliances of youthful ignorance.

Never be held hostage by

your immature thoughts.  

Never lay in bed at night,

re-living the embarrassments

of your past and shake your head

in shame and disappointment.

That would make you a person.

And you’re not a person.

You’re not people.

Don’t be people.

You’re just an Idea,

someone else had. 

Shaky at Best

The cars herked and jerked,

hmm… “herked”, is that even

a word?

It’s not.

“Herky-jerky”, is appropriate to

describe the motion of the cars

in traffic as I was originally

intending.

But “herked” sounded better,

but it’s not real. Something can be

jerked, but not herked.

It really threw me off my poetry

game.  

I’m not even sure anymore

why I was starting a poem

about traffic, seems less

important now.

It probably had something

to do with my love life,

or relationships or some

other metaphor to color

the stop and start nature of

life.

But I wanted it to be “herked”,

but grammar wouldn’t let it be.

So now I’m here, all herky-jerky.

Death on the Moon

To die on the Moon,

that’s what I want.

I want to drink a bottle

of red wine, put on a

spacesuit, spacewalk to

a moon folding chair and

sit, facing the Earth.

And die.

I want to see the planet

I’ve called home in its fullness

and wholeness and try to

work out why it’s so hard to

live there.

From the moon,

where I die.

I want each Spacesuited breath,

to be filled with awe and wonder

as I pass from this life to the

next. I want to watch the world

spin and see it go on without me.

I know that it won’t happen.

I will never set foot on the Moon.

I’ll never go to Space. I’ll never

see the Earth as a whole,

So I guess I can never die.

On the Moon,

like I want. 

Just an Idea I Like

Miyamoto Musashi was a Samurai

born around 1584 and was likely

one of the greatest swordsmen that

ever lived.

Before his death in 1645 he wrote

the Dokkodo, or "The Way of Walking Alone",

a book on self-discipline with 21 different

rules to live by.

He made a point in this book that

I think is appropriate regardless

of religious belief and it’s rule

number 19.

He wrote, "Respect Buddha and

the gods without counting on their help,"

which ultimately means, that it's okay to

believe in a God or have faith in one,

but your actions are your own and

should never expect divine intervention.

You should “take care of your own business”, as it were.

It’s an idea that I like very much.

I just thought I’d say so.