I gazed into the dark of night
     At a solitary beacon of light.
It might have been Polaris –
     Guiding ships in their courses
Or perhaps was our red-dwarf furnace
     Peering back at me from
A thousand light years beyond

Or maybe it was just that
     Tiny smoke detector bulb,
Beaming on our ceiling like a sentinel -
    Shielding us from fortune's fickle wheel.

Prigozhin was furious
      And for the first time
      In his blood-soaked life,
Told his country the absolute truth.

So he left Ukraine to
      March his troops toward Moscow -
      declaring the true reason
for the war (yes war)
      Is to massage the sick egos
      Of a few russian elites.

So call it off, russia!

Go ahead, scapegoat
      shoigu and gerasimov
      Whose lies heap up like piles of
bodies of ill-equipped russian soldiers.

Call it off in the name of Justice!
      It was always a mistake!

There were never
     ****’s to purge
Nor Ukrainian attack plans to repel.

It is not Ukraine
      Who bombs civilians.
It is not Ukraine
      Who wants to steal
Someone else’s homeland.

There are no shining
      Russian successes to glorify
      Only shoigu’s and gerasimov's
bloated egos to feed.

Why **** and die
So scumbags can have a blast?

Let the March to Justice continue
      In the re-purposed soul
             Of the russian people!

“There is no Planet B” – Emanuel Macron

Consider out dear earthly mother    
     Who serves us our daily bread and drink,
     Who freely gives from her slender crust    
The very stuff of farms and skyscrapers.

Every sprout that bursts by her grace    
     To form tiny clovers or giant sequoias,
     Every saint or cutthroat and everyone in between    
Owes all they have to her bountiful womb.

Given what our earthly mom is to us,    
     What should we be to her?
     Should we shower her with obedient honor    
Or gnaw off the hands that feed us?

All that we know and feel    
     Or hope will ever be
     Lives and rains and snows on Planet A    
There is no Planet B!

Robert Charles Howard

Robin will see Dr. Siegel now
whose deft and practiced hands
will dis-veil her clouded vision.

When I see her next and soon
A new portal will open gradually
to show her a world of reborn acuity.

The leaves will sing
With new-found lucidity.
Vivid color and detail
will wash over her horizons
And the world will be
a more dynamic place.

It all begins now
With Dr. Siegel's deft, and very practiced hands.

      Let there be light;
           Let there be color;
                Let there be visual truth!

“There is no Planet B” – Emmanuel Macron

Consider our dear earthly mother    
     Who serves our daily bread and drink,
     And freely gives from her slender crust    
The very stuff of farms and cities.

Every sprout that bursts by her grace    
     To form tiny clovers or giant sequoias,
     Every saint or cutthroat and everyone in between    
Owes all they have to her bountiful womb.

Given what our earthly mom is to us,    
     What should we be to her?
     Should we shower her with obedient honor    
Or gnaw off the hands that feed us?

All that we know and feel    
     Or hope will ever be
     Lives and rains and snows on Planet A    
There is no Planet B!

Robert Charles Howard

Loss is the price we pay for loving,
     Knowing that love is the essence of life.
So when Hannah appeared at our threshold,
      Her golden coat caked in ice,
It was a resounding all around yes!
      
We said yes to her joy and beauty -
      The golden hue of her coat
Mirroring the gold in her canine soul,
      And she agreed to adopt us.

For twelve years we snuggled
     And hiked and frolicked together.
She bonded to Robin like a sewn-on shadow
     Who returned her love with abiding care,

She came to chorus from time to time
     And stood when it was time to stand.
She sighed and fluttered her eyes
     When a flute student got the feeling just right.

She loved the grandkids and always said yes
     When any child stooped to stroke her fur.

Hannah agreed to come with us
     To our new mountain home
And walked daily with her papa
     On the Big Thompson’s wooded trail.
A new place meant new friends by the score.

Who can say who rescued whom?
     We are quite certain we know.
And now, dear Hannah as we say out goodbyes
    Know that you will always live on in our hearts.

Robert Charles Howard, March 8, 2023

CHRISTMAS TODAY

Christmas comes gently to our mountain town,
     As softly drifting snow draws a glimmering veil
Across our forests, slopes and valleys.

Festive lights of blue, green, gold and purple
    Cast a magic spell on our streets and promenades
Where neighbors bustle about in search
    Of the perfect toy or sweater  
For a friend or cherished aunt or cousin.

The sound of bells cuts the December chill
    Rung by a volunteer Santa at his kettle
Or pealing from a steeple across the valley.

Christmas is here and the time is nigh
    To celebrate the advent of a sacred child
With joyous songs of hope and gratitude.

MEMORIES

Let us journey back to a time when we
     Curled up in the safety of our parents’ arms.

We remember

The aromas of holiday meals that filled our homes
     With the promise of the grand feast soon to come.

We remember

Aunts and uncles poured into sofas and armchairs
     Recounting slightly embellished tales of family lore
While we children dashed about the yard
     Heaving snow bombs and building the grandest snowman ever.

We remember it all -

The sounds, the scents and faces of our kin
     That taught us how to love and be loved -
For after all, memories are the sacred shrines
     Of our origins, our present and our future lives.

MOVING INTO THE LIGHT

Christmas illuminates our souls and transfigures us.
     Lost hopes are re-found and promises renewed.
A better world seems once again within our grasp
   As we bathe in the glow of fresh new possibilities.

This is a golden healing time when
    Disagreements are ushered off our stages
And supplanted by beacons of filial gratitude.

In that hallowed night of silence,
     God whispered his plan for us
And we listen in wonder as we treasure
     That miraculous night we call Christmas.

Robert Charles Howard - 2022