Another Year Older

 

I saw the angels dancing

on the head of the pin

and knew they

weren’t dancing for me.

 

The grains of sand,

dripping silently through

the hourglass,

a miniature desert of seconds.

 

The clock mechanisms,

clicking and whirring behind

the elaborate clock faces,

now chill me.

 

Time, is passing,

hurtling forward,

at a ludicrous pace,

and I can hardly keep up.

 

The blinking perpetual

midnights of unset digital

clocks, mocking in a red strobe

flickering, illuminating the truth of time.

 

Even sitting still,

there’s no stopping time,

quietly breathing, hoping

it’ll just slow down.

 

But it won’t,

not for any begging or pleading,

coercion or cajoling,

it won’t stop.

 

Even when we’re gone,

it’ll persist, filling the hourglass,

the ticking of clocks,

dancing on the head of pin.

Thankenstein

 

Deep from the recesses of

Halloween and the American

ego, lumbering forward

on sidewalks of crunchy leaves,

comes, Thankenstein!!!

 

See its menacing eyes!

Hear its garbled gobble!

Chew those weird dry parts!

Wonder at how long it took to cook!

Thankenstein is coming for you!

 

Yes, Thankenstein. The horror

show monster portrayed in movies

and TV as the humble turkey,

primed for family fun and

disconcerting political debate

around an overdressed dining room

table.

 

The reviews are in and nearly everyone

is raving about Thankenstein!

“It’s so moist!”

“The stuffing is impressive, and not

all bread!”

“I think it murdered my uncle.”

“I wanted tacos.”

 

Thankenstein, appearing yearly

in that small break between

Halloween and Christmas.

You remember that?

That weird holiday you had

before putting up the Christmas tree?

 

Thankenstein, manifest destiny

personified as food!

It’s coming for you!

Have your Gravy at the ready!

Don’t be fooled by imitators!

Thankenstein is right behind you!

 

Run, don’t walk to your local

family dinner table, around three o’clock

for some reason, and enjoy the spoils of

Thanksgiving!

Also, remember to be thankful, or whatever.

 

Another Time

 

I have a few moments

within the few minutes

I have.

 

To write something

that sounds like I’ve something

worth writing.

 

Within the few seconds

of the seconds I have,

to the second.

 

An epitaph, or eulogy perhaps,

for the thing I wanted to write,

but didn’t have time for.

 

As the time spent here,

is time lost there, and lost time

is gone, regardless.

 

To the words I could’ve

written, if time had allowed,

I say, …

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

I guess I didn’t have

anything to really write

after all.

 

 

Puzzle Piece

 

The puzzle piece,

missing for so long,

tucked away in some

dusty crevasse;

found, in the least

likely way.

 

It had always

been there,

that missing piece,

underfoot and under nose,

out of sight,

out of mind.

 

That part of you,

you thought was gone,

was under the couch,

in that closet,

tucked away in that never

used gym bag.

 

Faded and worn,

but it still fits,

snaps right in place,

completing the picture,

of a carousel?

Wait…?

 

Is it the puzzle piece

you’ve been looking for?

How many puzzles were you

working on?

Like all of us, we’re all

always working on our puzzles.

 

And maybe there’s always

missing pieces;

but that doesn’t distract

from the whole picture,

and all the other special pieces

of you.

 

 

God doesn't Vote

 

God doesn’t care if you vote.

Really, God doesn’t.

God isn’t really into Democracy,

or any “governments” really.

That’s just not the sort of

omnipotent being it is.

 

Sure, it could be said that

perhaps the King of England

was appointed by God,

but I’ve always had my doubts

about God’s involvement in Royalty.

Serious Doubts.

 

If God actually cared about

voting, or letting human beings

have a say about anything at

all within this vast universe,

things would be very different.

But God isn’t interested in what we have to say. Really.

 

The Son, though, that guy seemed

really interested in hearing the voices

of the marginalized, the downtrodden,

the misfits and those individuals left

behind or outside the systems of

government they were forced to live under.

 

He was into taking care of the poor,

feeding the hungry, curing the sick,

and pretty much standing up for the little guy.

While I can’t say I know anything for certain about his

political ideology, I’m pretty sure he laid

it all out in The Beatitudes.

 

The Beatitudes, unique to Matthew are

Blessed are the meek,

the merciful,

the pure of heart,

and the peacemakers.

To me, that sounds like a political tenet structure.

 

Which I think we can translate into today’s

more common parlance:

Don’t be a dick,

be nice,

be honest,

and don’t start shit.

 

So voting for people who

reflect those ideals,

might be pretty cool.

But then again, “Voting”

wasn’t in Jesus’ lexicon as

a persecuted person under Roman occupation.

 

I think invoking God,

or Jesus, Allah or Ganesha,

in the Election process,

is just wrong and not

what either Religion

or Democracy had intended.

 

So when you vote,

vote with consideration

and thoughtfulness

about what sort of person

you want representing you

in our Democracy.

 

A gun toting loon who believes

Jesus comes down their Chimney

every Christmas to give him more guns

and that the poor are just poor because

they want to be and don’t work hard enough,

and how God “hates” certain people.

 

Or someone who believes in civil service

for the betterment of our society, Country

and planet, through unbiased Justice,

mercy, compassion, and an open mind

about the potential for excellence

we may present through our charity towards

the meek, the merciful, the pure of heart

and the peacemakers.  

 

Whomever you vote for today,

remember: God doesn’t vote.

Jesus doesn’t vote.

Allah doesn’t vote.

Ganesha might vote though.

But you Vote. 

 

 

Hate is a Four-Letter Word

 

I was writing about a man

who hated everything.

He hated the World,

the people, the way time was fleeting,

just everything.

 

And the more I wrote about

this man who hated the world,

I found myself struggling to

relate to his reasoning and

stubbornness.

 

I thought to myself

whether I had, as I recognize

the passing of my own time,

may have softened a little bit,

and the man who hated everything,

was a complete stranger.

 

I just couldn’t get him,

his hatred for it all.

If anything, his hatred,

made me feel sorry for him,

in a way I didn’t think I would.

 

A curious pity took over and

I simply could not relate or recognize

this hateful man.

Personally, I don’t like a lot of things;

things that upset me or ramp up my anxiety,

I don’t think I hate them.

 

I’d much rather be

calm and passively transcendent,

than actively hate things.

It seems like an immense amount of

energy to hate things.

 

And the more I wrote,

the more I hated what I was writing.

Maybe I’m not all that calm and passive

as I thought.

 

I hate that.