I find myself thinking
Everything feels like Sunday
With no choir,
No homily,
No audible absolution.

No Monday in sight, nor Tuesday,
Though the sanitation truck appears
To let us know that time goes on,
That effluent must run to sea,
That wages must be paid,
That sidewalks must be cleared
Of dust or falling snow,
Though we ourselves
Are growing cold.
So it is we dwindle.

The difference between
            a flower and a ****,
Is only our recognition
            of our momentary need.

Old men stumbling,
Old women wading,
Descending into waters black.

River's force draws
Once steady Time
Into Lethe's murky flow.

Cares fall away,
Worry holds no more...
All swept from sensate shore.

Ever pulling,
Relentless River Lethe
Drowns even sweet relief.

of temptation.
We are enticed,
Seduced, and
Trapped.

The Going In
Is easy,
While Going Out
Is difficult.

The farther  
We slide,
Less likely
Our retreat.

When a thing
Is "Free,"
The product
Is "Thee."

These are the days that try our souls.
There have been others similar,
Time out of minds ago.

Take heart.
Lift up your heads.
The One who saved the multitudes is there
To take our dread.

Take courage.
Lift up your arms.
The One is with us through all harm.

Take peace.
Rest in the thought that life
Or death in Him will please.

Take comfort now, for later.
In life, in death,
He is our Savior.

Young horses skitter, so riders beware
Their temperaments flighty,
They launch into air
At the drop of a cap
Or a jackrabbit's leap
They blow up in a second;
You'll land in a heap.

Old horses are easy, calm to the end,
Content to stand faithful and waiting,
Patient with kids and old men,
Almost never unnerved,
They'll take you home always,
Unconscious or tired or drunk,
They're used to your unspoken ways.

River birch flowers hang green-gold,
Dangling earrings on beautiful ears;
Morning sun about to break horizon
I never tire of spring, however old;
Her call to life again brings my heart cheer;
I live on promises; Spring delivers here.

A billion, billion blades of grass stand dewed,
Reflecting golden light of rising sun;
They put me in an easy-breathing mood -
Another war with winter has been won.
Now shall I venture out to breathe spring air,
The smell of earth announcing fertile loam,
And I shall leave behind my winter care,
My thrilling blood has stirred me up to roam.

To Death:
Drought
or
Floods.

Watched the Lord come to the garden.
Heard the Voice call softly, “Adam.”
In anticipation, licked his lips,
Felt shivers in his snake-ish hips.

Still no movement from the bushes;
Human forms still held their breath;
Chortling serpent, breathless, waited
In the garden where came death.

Frost thickens at dawn,
Rumbling salt truck rattles by
Before snow's assault.

Skin turns numb plastic
Five minutes exposed to air
Fifty degree wind chill

No bird chirps nor flies;
Young ash borers freeze and die;
Cold saves old ash trees.

Beneath frozen mud
Spring peepers sleep winter's death
Waiting the spring thaw.

Eskimo, my wife,
Dressed in down, coiffed now in fur,
Radiant in snow.

When a boy, I knew
No greater love than the hunt
Through deep snow for hares.

North winds fierce bring cold,
Drive me gasping to shelter.
Exhilaration!

No one sleeps outside
With impunity for long;
It's January.

Her fantasy now?
The "polar plunge" with her friends...
And our friendship ends.

I wonder now
Did Job's wife speak
The Devil's words,
"Curse God and die"?

Was Job's test the culmination,
The diabolical, canny ending,
The checkmate of temptation
To end the human nation?

"Curse God and Die."
These words give thinkers chills.
The brutal question, "Why?"
Faith-stifling word that kills.

Job's friends, his wife, his circumstance,
Combined his wounds to salt;
In misery, he sought the Lord, to stand,
And prove his misery was not his fault.

Job knelt before the Lord at last,
In yielding he found life;
For him, the test was passed;
But what about Job's wife?

Cherubs fed and washed, lie slumbering.
In dying light, in gathering gloom,
Upon the shadowed floors of living room,
Picking up the toys that scattered lie,
Stooping, she sighs to gather scattered things,
Orders them to wait awhile till morning.
Toys rest with arms akimbo, heads a-droop.
Stuffed bears and rabbits sag and dream.
She finishes the tidying and leaves the room.
She smiles a weary smile that lightens gloom,
Remembering when she was herself, alone.

Forgive me, sir, forgive me,
I think I'll just walk by;
I see unbridled anger;
I hear voices shouting high.

Cinders in your voices,
Fire in the skies,
I'm weary of your anger;
I think I'll just pass by.

Venom on the posters,
Riots in the air;
The innocent are losers
If anybody cares.

So, forgive me kindly, sister,
I think I'll pass you by;
I've lover, home, and children,
I must reach before the fight.

Unshaven, old, and nearly spent,
He slouched in his kitchen chair,
Lungs rattling wheezing breath,
Radiation doing little then,
To control the mass within, or
To prevent the Mass he knew
Would soon begin.

Hard to believe a man
So tough as Rubin always was
Sat stubble-faced and wan
In early morning sun.

Two years ago,
At 65,
He and his son
Put a ****** on,
Fought a cop,
Nearly won,
Stayed a week in jail,
Paid a $7000.00 fine,
Then bragged it all
Was worth the time
And memories.

I saw him jump,
At 66,
From a moving van,
Six feet up
Like a younger man,
Hell bent to take his fill,
Shoveling hard, cursing still,
Cigarette hanging loose
Even with a rattling cough
(He shrugged it off)

And then,
At 67,
His last remains crave no nicotine,
No *****, wayward fights,
No carousing old man libertine
Out with his son at night,
And we who watched Old Rubin's days,
Pay our respects and go our ways.

Poets, especially,
Especially, poets
See glooming days ahead,
Write in dread.

The trick is to capture
Precious times just as they lie,
As they hover over us,
To live in the moments of bliss,
Because poets see darkness ahead;
Poets to life cling to drive away their dread.

The happy sigh,
The loving eye,
The moments we so crave...
The nurture precious love provides
Warm cradle to cold grave.

To know that gold lasts but a day
Drives us to make it earn its pay.

The pleasantness of days
Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall...
To capture beauty in them all:
First soft-falling snow,
Northward migrants' calls,
Warm days, watermelon cold,
Harvest color so enthralls,
And every moment lends its hue
To every moment that I have with you.

Let me live this life

so as

to lie lightly in my grave
unburdened with care
unstained by scandal
blessed to rest in downy peace
waiting to be carried
by blessed wings
to a holy Father

rather than

running from
debtors and collectors
desperately relieved to lie
beyond the claws
of broken love
or broken law
fallen in a grave
of uneasy escape
dreading my way
to smoking perdition
dragged down by
my sin's own talons

"What is truth?" old Pontius said;
Washing his hands, the Truth he fled.
"Had I been there, the Truth I'd bear,"
Some proudly claim with foolish air.
Yet Truth still holds old Pont to blame,
And you and I must share his shame.
Disciples fled; they hid in fear;
Peter lied, and he was there.
Why would I think that I'd be brave,
Though sometimes pious, still a slave?
The weakest ones find strength if we
Kneel low to Truth on humbled knee.
(12-7-21)

When his enemy had slipped beyond his reach,
His tortures felt no more, he howled in rage,
Flailed at the skies, venom spewed and screeched,
Turned hateful eyes upon each fool and sage.

Cursed monster never sated, powerless and dissipated,
Scarred conscience and consciousness, in constant duress,
All else, his losses stop him not for he is never sated.
And though he promises more, still he delivers less.

His lying is incessant. His lying is incessant. Incessant.

Yes.
Say "No More!" to the Past...

End rituals of marriage,
Family gatherings,
Prayers at table,
Rites of marriage,
Comforts at the grave.

Social Traditions must end.
No more inaugurations or commencements.
No more baptisms or
Rituals of passage.

Laws old and new in consternation,
Forms of how we used to be;
Civilized behaviors are forgotten;
Angry mobs are all we see...

Erase the vile Institutions
Reaching upward from the Past
Stabilizing the Present
Protecting transitions
to the Future.

Bring forth Opposite!
Endorse glorious Chaos,
Commence all Anarchy….

Tradition be ******;
Haphazardly stagger we
To Hell.

How flat and tedious
Life would be
Without "irregulars"
Who bring diversity,
Present perspectives beyond
Our morning oatmeal,
Our mumbled thoughts,
Our mind-numbing papers.

The skater gliding,
Wove through traffic
Even in November frost.
Orange shorts
Fluorescent flash,
A flickertail went.
My journey somehow bereft
When his joyous wheeling left.

The lone cellist
Plying rosined bow
Under the walking bridge.
I tossed money in his case;
Tremors through the air
Caused me to pause
From my busy way.

The children at the crossing
Accosting traffic
Selling lemonade
From a cardboard bench:
Disturbers of the peace,
Flaunting health department codes;
A little insurrection
Brings perfection.

My relatives have left for other places
And I admit, for half an hour, or more
I enjoyed the noise and happy faces,
But sighed relief after shutting up my door.
My wife loves Christmas, wishes it would stay;
She says, "Christmas comes but once each year!"
(Pick up the gifts and things and go on your way.)
We'll see ourselves into the coming year;
The turkey and the ham leftovers lie,
For midnight snacking when the worlds' asleep.
I have sheltered one last blueberry pie,
And ice cream on its crusted top to heap.
Christmas comes but once a year, 'tis true,
But I would rather be alone at home with you.

1960s small town talk:

"Saw the Henrick kids today,
Walking home from school.
Rag tag bunch, the lot of 'em."

"*****, all of 'em. Crying shame."

"Del came home and asked why
the oldest girl has scabs all up her arm."

"I guess her old man is up to his
drunken tricks again. Looked like
cigarette burns, you ask me."

"What will ever come of that?"

"I don't know, Mother.
Please pass those spuds around again.
Your gravy is excellent tonight."

I kept my head down,
thinking about what I'd heard.

I like to chase the words across the screen,
Charging forth and three steps back,
Blink the cursor's slim thin line when seen...
Remove, replace my thoughts in black.

A pen in hand was all I had, and everything
I'd ever need to pen my thoughts --
But keyboards hooked themselves to screens
And all my scribbling was for naught.

So now I stare into a dim lit world and write.
My poesy sparks ecstatic to see electrons play,
Dancing through my fingers' speed, illuminating light;
As long as I have power, I've plenty more to say.

Teachers stand on the shores of Time
Braced against howling winds of Change,
Nock living Arrows on straining bows,
Launch their Charges into darkening skies.
Teachers know they cannot long endure,
See Time moving with their aging eyes,
Do their best each future to assure,
Release each bolt and and bless it as it flies.

The bucket clanked against the circled well
Then plopped in mud at the bottom as it fell.
Only one bucket then, of murky water
To take to Mandy and their little daughter.

Abner chewed his tooth-marked pipe,
Pulled up his hat a bit to wipe
Running beads of sweat above his brows,
Said, "Whatever will we do now?"

Skies were blue, but tinged in gray
Heat waves rose too early in the day
"Looks bad again this spring for hay,"
Was all his Mandy heard him say.

"River's down beyond the turnouts now.
Ground's too dry and hard to plow.
Two dry years, and three now coming on,"
He cleared his throat. She put the coffee on.

"I talked to Cyril up the road last night,"
He droned, "This drouth may put the family to flight,
And I can't blame him when I see our cattle."
The baby cried when she dropped her rattle.

Mandy stooped to scoop the toy, gave it to their child,
"I can't remember when the country's been so riled
As though the people'd done some terrible wrong
To turn the heavens dry and gray so  long.”

I am thankful feelings come to go,
That coldness must evaporate like snow.
Once again will shine the sun,
Love and desire come on the run,
And your importance will return.
These are the things that I have learned.