He read a humorous poem,
copied the poet’s name,
pasted it in the right place
and was taken to his home
town and an obituary of
someone by the same name.
He had been a senior honor
student in the tech program
at a local high school. He had
been accepted into a highly
ranked university with a very
selective admission’s policy.
Authorities were investigating
the possibility of suicide. A
humorous poet, a dead kid,
humor, tragedy, the Greeks,
Shakespeare, life, death, now.
The reader stopped searching
for the poet. He wasn’t in the
mood anymore for something
funny. Maybe later.

It’s just another smear campaign
with a phony baloney agenda
to keep people from their birthright
and twisted into tortuous positions of pain —
agendas perpetrated by the few and foisted
upon the many — read here,
there, everywhere. On the heels of
Original Blessing marches Original Fear
and fear is the best tool ever invented
to get what one wants in places far and near.
Just scare them to death with the threat
of death; their coming, their coming,
fill in the blank_______;
upon this the devious do bank
to get Esau’s birthright for a bowl of stew —
nothing short of a poisonous brew.
They will stop at nothing, more relentless
than both big city sewer and farm rats
in a silo
and where are all the hunting cats
to stand guard high and low?
Is there one in this most timid
society who takes his or her nose
out of electronic devices
to stand against the tyranny of the few
and all their loud voices?
It’s nothing new; it’s an old, old story,
but tell me the old, old story of
Jesus and his glory, tell me the old,
old story of Jesus and his agape, self-
sacrificial, suffering for justice,
peace seeking love before everyone
forgets.

Our chocolate retriever,
a six-year-old boy,
tore his ACL and
needed a pain reliever.
We wanted to give
his leg a break,
no pun intended
just some rest extended.
Unfortunately, such
treatment he
didn’t appreciate or take
until we gave him
an anti-inflammatory
for both his and our sake.
After that he lounged
quite contented
on his bed with sleep extended.
When he awoke,
he got up and wanted a
bathroom break,
so for the back door
the chocolate lab and I did make.
He did his business
with nary a limp
and bounded up the
stairs on all four feet
while I yelled after him
not so fast for
something to eat.
He paid no attention
and some stairs he did jump
and pulled some muscles
in his big rump.
He yelled and squealed
and skipped around so fast
he forgot all about his breakfast.
We gave him another doggie
pain pill right away
and hoped on his bed
he would stay
so we could get some rest.

He and his dad find a beautiful,
hand-stitched glove for a lefty
at a little leather shop a few
miles from home. Saddle soap rub-
bed into the golden glove. New
baseball placed in the palm.
Rubber band around the glove.
Itchy wool-blend uniform. Black,
leather shoes with the real deal
steel spikes tied together at the
laces, carried over his shoulder
as he rides his bike to the diamond.
Cap with built-in flip down sun-
glasses just like Billy Williams.
Wad of bubble gum packed into his
cheek just like the chewing tobacco
of Nellie Fox. Crack of the bat
just like Ernie Banks. Center-
field catch. Throw to second base.
Rubbing the deep pocket in the
glove now perfect for shagging
fly balls. Index finger outside
the glove just like every major
leaguer. A boyhood summer.

Some are industrious and culturally reticent,
but some seem so very unctuous;
friendly but somewhat oily and presumptuous.
Perhaps it works in these parts so Dutch
where people talk about loving so much
only to talk about each other behind their backs
without much fuss,
then praise the Lord with harmony four-part
and sing out loudly, “How Great Thou Art.”
Such are the ways of some transplants van Raalte
who just love to point out others’ lives so faulty
which is their strange way of feeling constructive
about themselves in spite of ways sometimes destructive.
If only they could experience the sola gratia
they profess along with sola fide and sola scriptura,
but it is hard to teach old dogs new tricks
and most settle for punch card games of pick-up sticks
to be played on Monday through Saturday
but never, ever on the Lord’s day Sunday.

There are pathetic voices of desperation
posturing bravado from an ever-growing

position in the inevitable winter of their
life. Some are those who try to speak out

for that which they never had and which
they desperately sought in the smallness

of mind, body and spirit and now try to
stand tall in a John Wayne way for which

they never could have and so they just
lash out like little children screaming

bloody murder slamming their fists and feet
into the floor. These are the hollow voices

echoing from deep within the dark recesses
of the caves of fearfulness — little, old

white boys screaming for what most of them
never had and, now, never will.

People roam the neighborhood
staring at trees.
Does staring at trees please?

People roam the neighborhood
staring at grass.
Does staring at grass pass?

People roam the neighborhood
staring straight ahead.
Do the dead stare straight ahead?

They do behind closed lids from coffins,
but they might as well while
roaming neighborhoods quite often.

Croci spring to life purple and white
in early spring but last only for a day
or two or a few — not many.

Daffodils with bursts of beautiful yellow
come early on and last only for a day or
two or a few — not many.

Japanese Irises are purple too and come
a little later on and last only
for a day or two or a few —
not many.

So, too, with the bright orange Tiger Lilies,
which come around the fourth of July but
only stay for a day or two or a few —
not many.

Butterfly Bush blooms will entice
the butterflies to fly around and
around and around only for a day or
two or a few — not many.

Mid to late summer the Hosta will
host a festival of festive delights
but only for a day or two or a few —
not many.

Sedum seem reluctant to bloom but
come fall they favor us with various
shades of pink but only for a day or two
or a few — not many.

In Arizona, there are cacti that bloom
not for a few or even two but only for a
day.

Why do beautiful flowers fade so fast?
Why does nature please and tease?
Is it to tell us that nothing lasts?
So, be mindful; life happens fast
and then is past.

(Two of my learned friends sent these Latin quotes
concerning this poem: memento mori and
sic transit gloria mundi.

And back at them in Spanish: Muchas gracias, Senors Berbiglia y Eggebeen.)

It’s Sunday, July 12, 2015,
a weekend away from the
Forth; youngsters with left
over fireworks set them off.
Bombs burst in the distance;
the dog shivers; the thrill of
the explosions for the kids.
Wow! Did you see that? Holy
Cow! Hopefully, it’s the only
“Holy Cow” they will ever
experience — harmless ex-
plosions in the night sky,
the history of which they
know nothing, nothing,
nothing at all but which
they may be, probably
will be, destined to
repeat for real.

It’s Sunday morning; I sit on
the porch sipping coffee; I
watch cars pull out of drive-
ways — people on their way to
worship and then lunch. The
next-door neighbor whips the
wheel barrow around his yard.
He went to Mass yesterday after-
noon. I look down at the book
in my hand knowing I will finish
the mystery today but for now
I just think of last night and the
scent of you. I inhale deeply of
the sweet morning mist as it floats
down the dune, soon to be burned
off by the summer sun; I sigh a
deep sigh of satisfaction and
gratitude and just the hint of
an ache.