Father, Son, Holy Spirit,
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer,
Proton, Electron, Neutron
Quark and two others
yet to be discovered.

The creation is meant for
connection to be in relation,
but we are in isolation
looking for re-connection
in all the wrong places,
filling spaces with disgraces –
entitlements and envy,
chasing after money,
racism, jingoism, nativism,
ageism, discrimination,
sexual exploitation,
finger-pointing, misogyny,
love only for whitey,
violence soaring resulting
in society falling down,
down, down.

Everywhere but on our knees
imploring the connection that
comes in threes:

Father, Son, Holy Spirit,
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer,
Proton, Electron, Neutron
Quark and two others
yet to be discovered.

It’s already there —
life is already a loving relation.
There is the connection.
We are all one race
looking to embrace
the love in each other’s face.
We live by grace.

Yes, we all come out of Africa
dispersed throughout the world
resulting in a holy diversity
but always in unity.

So let us live with justice, mercy,
love and peace
greeting every one we meet
with SHALOM, SALEM, SALAAM, a bow
before the dignity of Thou.

A cooler breeze blows through
the dune like clockwork after
Labor Day’s humid days.

Wait for a late summer tease.

A chill in the evening bodes
well for those thinking of skis
and sleighs and snowy days.

Wait for a late summer tease.

But Mother Nature hasn’t
deserted the desert lovers.
Hot, humid weather hovers.

See, there always is a late summer tease.

So many on the fringe decry
the election of the first black guy,
ignoring that he was half white
and always in his white relatives’ sight.
But does that make a difference
to any of them? Not.
Because, he’s black if he has just one drop
of black blood. And so this great American
has done many wonderful things for everyone,
but there is one unintended outcome
and that was to hasten
the revelation of the underbelly of racism.
How is that good, you may ask.
Well, we now see clearly the task.
To touch the hearts of Americans all
and hope the hearts warm and all grow tall
standing for justice, mercy, peace and
compassion for all.

He opened the copy of his 1958 grade
school graduation bulletin sent to him
by the school district archivist at his

request because it listed the names of
all his teachers and he was looking
for the first name of one of them.

He had spoken with the archivist on
the phone and she said, “We have a
copy of all your academic records.

Want to see them?” “Holy Cow, no!”
he exclaimed. Yikes, he had thought.
The good, the bad, and the ugly will

never go away; it will follow you
every single day. Kafka, Camus
and Sartre came to mind. He had

shuddered then in horror at the
thought. He shuddered again. He
opened the bulletin and saw that

he had been the class treasurer.
He had also been the treasurer of
his senior class in high school.

Like a bad penny, he always kept
turning up as the treasurer and the
books never balanced until his wife

took over the job. Thank goodness,
he thought, I couldn’t sign checks
in grade school or like a grade school

classmate, I might have ended up in
Joliet State prison. At breakfast, as
he picked up his fork, his wife said,

“Never trust a left-handed accountant.”

The cardinal keeps coming back
to the nest he guarded over but
his mate never used. Does he look
for her? Did he lose his mate?
Is he wondering why there were
no eggs? He pecks at the last of
the fallen berries clinging to
the roof. His stomach is full.
The berries are nearly gone. It
was an ideal location — food,
shelter, camouflage. He won’t be
back for awhile, if ever. If so,
maybe then his mate will use the
nest he guarded for her. Maybe
I’m just being anthropomorphic.

He sits at an outside table people
watching at a local breakfast place.

The door opens and a bald-headed
man with a rotund stomach emerges

with a slender, gray-haired friend.
The bald-headed man lauds losing

a pound and the thin man congrat-
ulates him and moves on to his car.

The bald man calls after him, “Just
remember, Jake; Jesus is coming soon.

Get ready. I don’t care who is
elected president; they both will

stand before the judgment seat and
Jesus will say to them, ‘Depart

from me; I never knew Thee.’” Then
he laughs a huge belly laugh.

By this time the thin man is back-
ing out of his parking space.

The bald, rotund man turns to
the café entrance and sees another

man emerging. “Hey, Herm,” says
the bald, rotund man, “Let me

tell you about the pound I lost.
I’ve got to hurry though; Jesus

is coming.” Herm nods, laughs
and heads directly to his car.

The rotund man stands in the parking
lot glancing back at the cafe entrance.

All the hopes, all the dreams,
all the things we are going
to do when we were through
with school — proclaim the
truth, change the world —
looking back none of those
things happened in the
grandiose way we imagined,
but, hopefully (see, it’s still
there) we changed, if noth-
ing else, a bit of ourselves.
Early on there seems to be
an eternity of time; mistakes
can be changed, nothing is
impossible. Speak out of
turn; injure a friend; time
will tell; all will be well, but
then there is the hasty word
spoken from that part of you
that hasn’t changed and
the saddest of all things
happens, the thing never
anticipated — the loss of
a friendship, never to be
retrieved with such little
time left.

Looking out the window
in the study, I called my
wife’s attention to the four
turkeys marching up the
street in front of our home.
She looked out the living
room window and stated,
“It’s a Turkey Parade.” I
said, “If that’s a reference
to present presidential
politics, the turkeys would
be marching downhill fast.

The writer said in the aftermath
of tragedy some were communitarians
and, of course, there were always the
contrarians.

Some build up and some tear down
and you could always find both around town.

But over the years the contrariness and tearing down
result in a greater rift than was originally found.

To build a solid structure that will endure,
it seems like it takes so much time and
needs careful planning,
never half a bubble off of plumb for sure,

sawing once only after measuring twice
setting in the nails so it looks real nice.

But some find tearing down much more fun.
It’s called a cowardly game of hit and run.

Angry over this, that and just about everything,
after a while tearing down
and violence become the only things.

We seem to be there again in this political war of words.
Destruction is the word that is hollered and heard.

Be quiet, be still;
listen, listen to the saw and the drill.

Hear the hammer; it sounds so violent
but they are definite words of encouragement.

The republic is a fragile democracy;
it’s structure needs shoring up constantly.

Grab a hammer and a bucket of nails;
help build and be a communitarian
to withstand the destruction of those
who will ever and always surely assail.

The writer asked, “If a person doesn’t ‘think’
before he speaks, how can he say
‘exactly what’s on his mind?’”

The Trumpster is lauded for “saying exactly
what’s on his mind,” when he hasn’t
got a clear, cogent, well
examined thought to find.

He just shoots from the hip
and gives a boat load of lip
and would be in jail
if such shooting were a crime.

The cheering mob drools
at his every “politically
incorrect” word.
Do they really understand
what they just heard —

the hate, the venom, the
scurrilous attacks
and all
the jumbled up facts?

Why are they so gullible?
What is really within
their seeming clueless bubble?

Did our education system fail?
Do they all have diplomas
sent in the mail?

No, there are some things deeper
going on —
an entitlement culture, the lack of
courtesy and respect,

feelings of powerlessness before
the unknown resulting in strikes
of violence at those who are scapegoats —
the ones the followers reject.

And who plays on all this anger and fear?
The Trumpster who under it all
is a malevolent Wizard of Oz
who really may have thought through
a diabolical cause —

or perhaps not.
Perhaps he is a blind guide
acting on something as shallow
as needing great
throngs who stand and mindlessly cheer.