Looking for America . . . .

It's painful to me,

how long I go without writing here.

I didn't even get in a post-election entry.

But every day my mind and spirit aches for the time

to sit and write,

even the simplest line,

a bad attempt at poetry.

Of course, I'm happy of the outcome,

but like some aging troubadours,

I wonder if we can still do it,

still fulfill the dream. . . 

. . . and so we dream. . . 

dream on . . . 

Peaceful Christmas Wishes To The World, from Makropoulos

Whether you believe the story or not,

the sentiment of it is important:

Peace on Earth,

Good Will To All --

on this Christmas,

during this tumultuous time,

may we all find the Jesus within us all.

As I've said so many times before,

if only we could all do that,

Jesus would come

again, 

or truly,

for the first time.

we've lived so well, so long

My palms weigh heavy,

my fingers are aching

to write poetry with wings,

words that fly

into your eyes and make you think

that for a moment you see

some

thing,

even the tiniest thing,

a little more clearly.

My voice too

rattles the cages of my throat

longing

to sing to you.

This, though, will not be one of my finer entries,

only one I feel a need

to say,

rather than be silent

~ ~

The autumn closes on us all,

here in the Northern Domain

and the miserable misery of working

pulls on me like a ball

and chain --

I am not one of the unemployed in America,

nor am I one of the untaxed wealthy.

I am a member of the Working Class, which includes everyone

from garbage collectors to postal deliverers to teachers to engineers to insurance salesmen to nurses

to the retired to the grill-girl at McDonald's.

We are all the ones who pay the taxes and bills, with interest,

on every single living and dying step we take.

We're the ones who keep the company

woops, country

alive.

And now the ghoulish parade of hopeful GOP's

have donned their Halloween masks;

every day a new trick,

with promises of impossible treats.

Today, we discard our masks and return

to drudgery;

for them, the masquerade

has only just begun.

We're doomed to listen to them,

and to be required to believe

actually believe

that one of them,

just one of them,

is more capable than the current one man in office

 of relieving us of the mess we're in,

and restoring us to 1960's prosperity.

No no no no No

On this day, 11/1/11,

I say to you:

no one single American citizen

can turn this mess around.

Only us,

together,

can turn it around.

And we must start by stopping

our bickering,

start by stopping

our partisanship

start by stopping

believing

that we're right

and the other person

is wrong.

Start by listening,

and looking

with both eyes wide open,

and we will see

the Statue of Liberty

sailing away to sea.

We're all right,

and we're all wrong.

We have

lived so well,

so long,

and now

our biggest challenge is

finding a new way to live

well

together --

Old Friends

( layoutfashion )

My mother has a friend  she has known since she was nine.

Both are in their eighties now.

I had lunch with them today.

My Aunt, as we call her,

Though there is no blood shared,

Was always the stronger –

Or so it seemed.  Vibrant,

Provocative, absolutely gorgeous,

With Betty Boop curves

And unafraid to speak her mind,

She lorded over my mother,

Who was the meeker, the less

Confident, the demure

(though notably, my mother drove –

she forced herself to learn after two years

of post-partum agoraphobia;

and my Aunt never learned how.)

Their spouses, my father and my Uncle,

Both now long gone, having now been fully secured

To mythic status for their respective clans

Were also best friends – our families

would camp together,

Boat together,

Holiday together,

Everything together –

We were closer to them than kin,

If that’s at all possible.  Indeed

It is: my sister

Nearly married their son; their elder

Daughter was our babysitter, and knows a few

Of my most painful youthful secrets.

In the meager amount of time I’ve shared with my Aunt’s family

(a half a century or so)

I’ve witnessed her friendship with my mother change –

From buddies

To jealousies

To rivalries

To trivialities

But always, somehow they remained

Friends.

Today they sat together at table,

My Aunt now shriveled and bruised –

A brittle post-bypass diabetic,

Nearly blind.  My mother, the stronger,

Though slowed by arthritis and aided

by six cardiac stints, had made the meal –

A simple chicken salad with melon and iced tea.

The attitude between the two

old friends

is one of constant surprise

-- that they are still together --

and grim acceptance

-- that they are still together --

and gratitude.

We spoke of old times; we spoke

Of new times; or we did not speak

At all.  My former babysitter, too,

My “Cousin,” was in attendance, and we spoke

Of her grandchildren.

For four hours, I was blessed

With the comfort of the company of

People who have known me all my life  -

Who have loved me despite my distant

wanderings, who have applauded my accomplishments,

Though from afar.

The sentiment is trite,

I know,

but triteness often comes

from truth: 

How far must one travel to know

Old Friends. are perhaps

one of the few great comforts

In human existence.

I've got nothing to do but today . . .

Well,

finally,

it's over.

A long, dark semester.

I woke up this morning to sun,

with this song in my head.

And I just had to share it,

because it's how I feel:

(and it's recordings like this that make me feel

that the musical pairing of

Art Garfunkel & Paul Simon

was the work of some angels

who wanted to give us a sublime experience

of both heaven and earth: