A WILTING BRAIN

 

        Struggling for the name

          of the sweet singing bird,

my ever-wilting brain

awaits a sudden spark

of minor memory

 

To every man and woman,

this form of mild dementia

cometh soon or late,

becoming ever worse

as we wait at the gate

 

Like Horatius of old,

I now stand ready to fight,

wielding a creative sword,

forged of my poetry against

the darkening of my light

 

Many readers will recognize the influences of Thomas Babington MacAulay’s THE LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME and Dylan Thomas’ DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT on this poem.

A suggestion: try my novel, THE JYNX, on Kindle

         

EVOLUTION

 

        The cave dweller:

 

          The hunter makes the kill,

brings home the meat

          to fill the needing bellies

          especially for the woman

who bakes new predators

 

The 1950s:

 

          The earner labors

bringing home money

to pay for needs,

freeing the woman

to serve the family

 

Modern times:

 

          The baker of babies

          remembering the glory

          showered on the hunter

          acquires the weapons

          needed for fulfillment

A suggestion: try my novel, THE HERO, on Kindle

QUESTIONS BEFORE DYING

 

I wonder if Ginger will be waiting for me

when I cross the line?

Or if I will find a greater love

from a previous time?

I wonder if Ginger will have a number

of loves from the past

and I will have a similar collection?

I wonder if the drives and desires of life

on earth will be gone?

I wonder if we will be like amoebas

collected into the Godhead?

I wonder if the other side is blankness

with no awareness

like a deep sleep?

A suggestion: try my novel, OOOEELIE, on Kindle

REFLECTNG on a PICASSO

 

The grim old age

of the woman

in the mirror

with her orange tear

How cruel Pablo

 

Did you invite a fecund,

pretty girl to foresee

what surely lies ahead

by lingering with you

How cruel Pablo

 

Or was that her psyche

you were portraying

with a grim image

gazing back at her

How cruel Pablo

 

(Inspired by Pablo Picasso’s “Girl Before A Mirror”)

A suggestion: try my novel, OOOEELIE, on Kindle

 

HAPPY COUPLE

 

          A kiss upon waking

          What a wonderful way

          To begin every day

          Familiar tongues touching

          In sex sensual play

 

          Coming in the door

          After a long day

          Of tedious work

          The welcoming kiss

          a delightful perk

 

          Dinner with wine

Talk of our day

          Climbing the stairs

          Into our bed

          for sleep and play

A suggestion: try my novel, THE TRUCKERS, on Kindle

          

BESIEGED by COVID-19

 

          Staying in the house

          is the best defense.

          The fierce destroyer

          lurks outside, waiting

          for a foolish sally

 

          Don’t ever confront

this ruthless enemy,

ready to impose

suffering and death

on the unwise ones

 

          The vaccine is coming

          so, the best strategy

          is to patiently wait

          for a medical shield,

          then herd immunity

A suggestion: try my novel, THE PENCIL ARTIST, on Kindle

 

EVERY DAY

 

         The cauldron bubbles below

Hungry for my old body

with painful wavering legs

Balancing on the tightrope

Stretched across the bottomless

 

Brief respite lies ahead

On the too narrow ledge

Of my lingering life

Before I must return

To the daily journey

 

In my youth the path

Was broad and inviting

Leading to spacious

Grassy rolling hills

With beautiful views

A suggestion try my novel, BEN CONNOLLY in the PARIS COMMUNE, on Kindle

 

 

 

         

         

LEGS, a poem

 

          Featherlike I floated

          on my powerful legs

          through a long life,

          jogging for miles,

          bounding up stairs

         

          Now, a boulder

on the precipice

of real old age

expecting to fall

into the abyss

 

A tumble lies ahead

to vanish weightlessly

into whatever future

mysteriously awaits

after my earthly journey

HER SMILE, a poem

 

Her sparkling smile

brightens my world

like a burst of spring

after a grim winter

 

The sap of desire

flows within me

flooding my being

with hunger for her

 

Her happy expression

creates an environment

in which we flourish

nurturing our love

 

         

DEATH on FIFTH AVENUE

 

         Chanting joyfully

          and fearlessly too

          Her face uncovered

          rallying for him

          And all he would do

 

          A great America

was their ultimate goal

No mask for him or her

Stand up as patriots

being so brave and bold

 

The enthusiasm she felt

burned so painfully away

when deadly covid gripped her

A contagious viral predator

insatiably seeking prey

A suggestion: try my novel, THE DREAM DANCER, on Kindle

AFTERWORLD, a poem

I ask what lies ahead:

a blank, a heaven/hell

return to the godhead

or reunion with those

I cherished in this world

          Will I find myself

          rejoining the love

of my current life

          or greeting partners

          from previous lives

          The idyllic outcome

          arriving over there

would be to join Ginger

before a dancing fire,

sipping Irish Whiskey  

A suggestion: try my novel, THE DREAM DANCER, on Kindle

                   

CHOOSING, a poem

          Life’s eternal puzzle

           Lies before every youth

In the future’s thicket

            What to do, where to go

            The burden of decision

            Rests on the individual

            Limited by circumstance

            Of class and education

            Will your time be well spent

            on a worthwhile pursuit

            of achievement in art,

            politics, or service

A suggestion: try my novel, THE JYNX, on Kindle

MESMERIZED, a poem

 

         She looked across the room

          snaring me in a silky

web of lasting desire,

a mesmerizing bond

catching me forever

 

Our cocoon of love

pressed us together

in a world of pleasure

where her sweet smile

mirrored our happiness

 

Our charmed journey

continues despite death,

a spiritual connection

forged by her last words:

“I love you”

A suggestion: try my novel, THE HERO, on Kindle

THE BIRD BATH, a poem

The water is a joy

To splash and thrash

Sprinkling the patio

The Robin Red Breast

Bathes in pleasure

Refilling the bowl

Atop the pedestal

Depends on the whim

Or daily habits

Of the voyeur

Like the king of old

Spying on Bathsheba

The voyeur relishes

The beauty of the Robin

Innocently enjoying life

A suggestion: try my novel, THE ABSCONDER, on Kindle

 

CRISIS POINT, a poem

         We took separate paths,

          trekking an arid land

          in sight of one another,

          otherwise unconnected

          Our expressions blank.

our tongues parched,

          pressing on without joy

          toward our crisis point

         

          At the crossroad, I asked,

Continue alone or together

She smiled, eyes sparkling,

holding hands, we walked

           into a verdant future

A suggestion: try my novel, THE TRUCKERS, on Kindle

 

         

HERMAN BENSON, UNION DEMOCRACY HERO

Herman Benson spent most of his long life on an endless quest: to make unions better through democracy. He died last week at age 104 still working to fulfill that noble goal.

          Five decades ago, Benson founded the Association for Union Democracy, a small but potent organization that has played a huge role in helping and inspiring reformers in the unending struggle to oust passive or crooked union officials.

          Benson’s crowning achievement came in 1991 when along with labor lawyer Susan Jennik, then AUD’s executive director, convinced a judge to direct a court-appointed elections officer to oversee every aspect of the first rank and file election for the top officers of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters.

Reformers were convinced that without outside supervision the union hierarchy and their local union allies would have rigged the election to keep the old guard in power. Instead, a clearly-honest election resulted in the late Ron Carey becoming international president of the IBT.

Local unions should be building blocks of democracy with Herman Benson remembered as the visionary of that ideal.

  

         

         

         

HEAVEN on EARTH

What is heaven?

Here on earth

heaven is a good breakfast

where the taste lingers

on your tongue

and sates your appetite,

Heaven is in a glass

of cold water,

in a sunset,

in a good roll in bed,

in a look between

a man and a woman,

in a good book,

in walking free

through fields of wheat,

in a work of art

that reaches inside you;

Heaven is in a moment.

MY RESERVOIR, a poem

My reservoir of words

of English with smatterings

of French, German, Italian,

and Spanish with bits

of Farsi and Arabic

available at my call

throughout my life

were collected from parents

from school, from books, from films

from conversations, from theater

from dictionaries and thesauruses

          The right word, the right phrase

          flowed at will

          into my novels, poems, articles

and conversations

then old age struck

The wanted words

slow in coming

or even blocked

by feeble recall

My reservoir remains full

but difficult to access

INFATUATION, a poem

         The rivulet flowed

          from within them

          widening into a brook

          tumbling comfortably

          into a stream swelling

          with a growing power

          into a river roaring

          violently to the sea

          and it was over

TIME'S UP, a poem

Donald, your dream fulfilled:

your name sadly is on

every cable news show

in tribute or dismay

So, time to leave

Donald, you have spent

your presidency

in ugly twittering

shrinking the USA

So, time to leave

Prior presidents spent

all their time in office

dealing with grave problems,

not spellbound by cable

so, time to leave

BEDTIME, a poem

       

Lying abed, unable to sleep,

          gripped by this nightly discomfort

          I want to slip into the void

hoping for interesting dreams

Counting my breathes to plunge

me into a night land

brimming with adventures

for my uncontrolled mind

On awakening in morning

ofttimes recalling unbidden dreams

          with pleasure or some disquiet

          Lying abed, unable to rise

         

         

         

UNFORTUNATELY FDR, a poem

         There is plenty to fear

          He might be reelected

          along with the peril

of reshaping America

into what he awfully is

Oh, if only we could

call forth our giants

from the other side

to guide us again

to a decent America

George Washington

Benjamin Franklin

Teddy Roosevelt

Abraham Lincoln

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

LONG LOVING

She was the heady stuff

          Of elite human beings

          Thinking her own thoughts

          Living her own life

          Being a modern woman

          She was all mine

          To a limited extent

          I was all hers

          To a limited extent

          In an old-fashioned marriage

          Life was splendid

          When we were one

          Dissatisfaction did bring        

Trying times on occasion

In our long loving marriage