He heard they were in for five and a half inches of rain
and forty-five mile an hour winds. His stomach tightened
because of memories of living in clay. Then he relaxed
knowing he lived in sand. He thought of all the hurricane
victims.

The swift winds would blow,
And the heavy rains would come down.
His heart flew to them.

You tried to do the necessary things.
The trying came with a sense of ease.
Time went by. How did you do it?

In later years, you reflect as you sit
In a chair on the porch feeling a breeze
Regrets, mistakes. A spider – one whose bite stings?

Critters galore the season brings.
It’s fall; how fast it all flees.
Is there mercy in the time left to acquit?

He knelt before a cross;
she knelt before a grave;
he knelt while proposing;
he disrespected Jesus;
she disrespected the departed;
he disrespected his fiancé;
they knelt in solidarity for racial justice;
they disrespected the flag;
they disrespected the anthem;
they disrespected the country.
Seriously?

*idea from a cartoon

The use of language perpetuates
and reinforces stereotypes.

(SLAM! BAM! After he hit her, he said,
“Thank you, maam.”)

When speaking of “violence against women”
(itself a problematic passive voice
phrase without even a reference
to men doing the violence, which, of
course, they do)…

the grammatical voice is usually
(excuse me; I’m sorry; will you
forgive me; it’s my fault) passive
(XX was raped by XY.) which subtly
reinforces the image of victimization
and weakness.

(I’m so ashamed. I must have done
something to cause him to push his
fist up you know where, and
also there, you know.)

Also “Fifteen women were harassed
by XY and XY and XY and even more,
you know,” the women were being
acted on not acting.

If describing encounters
in the active voice (XX fought
valiantly against her would-be
rapist XY and XX slapped XY’s hand
away as he reached for her privates,
“Who the hell do you think you are,”
as she reached for the mace and
aimed at his face, “Want to try
that again, Little Elvis?),

the female XX is no longer being
described as a victim and weak
but standing up for herself.

Women are taking on life in the active voice
and we all better start listening, boys.

Then he thought about his college
English prof who was beaten up by his
male partner.

Okay, living in the active
voice transcends gender;
we all need to live in
the active voice affirming
ourselves and others.

*idea from writing by Jackson Katz, Ph.D

The couple decided, in light of the dog’s death,
to take a holiday away from the routine —
so they got out the travel books
and they began to dream of where to go.

To take a holiday away from the routine —
it was their plan but also away from their grief
and they began to dream of where to go,
but half-way through looking at the books,

It was their plan but also away from their grief,
but could not deny that they were seeking to flee
but half-way through looking at the books,
they decided they wouldn’t enjoy a minute

but could not deny that they were seeking to flee,
so they just set the books aside and
they decided they wouldn’t enjoy a minute
of the trip, so they drew deep breaths and cried.

I keep praying the worst
possible scenario won’t

occur, but everyday it
gets worse and worse

while the (p)resident
seems to glory in his

sociopathic, narcissistic
tweets while he waits

to push the red button
and while the defense

system works for us,
we will have to deal

with millions of deaths
in North Korea, South

Korea, Japan and islands
galore. Will we be respons-

ible for the deaths of
millions of humans not

counting live stock as
scripture would have it?

Well, we elected him and
the buck has to stop some-

where. The (p)resident
will take all the credit

for the single worst in-
cident of mass murder in

human history as he dreams
of grabbing, grabbing,

grabbing with the lobster
pincers of Pincher Martin

on a rock in the middle of
purgatory leaning toward hell.

Everyday, seemingly, there is another
sordid story about filthy rich guys,
mostly in the entertainment industry,
acting filthy and being led around by

“little Elvis,” and thinking every
harassed woman would be thrilled
to set her gaze on “the hound dog,”
while fires raged in California and

hurricanes beat up on Texas, Florida,
Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands
and white cops continued to kill unarmed
black guys in cities around the country

and football players knelt in reverence
during the playing of the national anthem
in protest of those killings and crazy,
lunatic white guys with torches marched

once again through Charlottesville while
giving straight-arm salutes, the (p)resident
of the United States dreams about the
good old days when he could just reach

out and grab the privates that weren’t
private to him or any of his lecherous,
old, white guy buddies and that is the
state of the nation.

A man read a meditation
Where the author stated
That if God withdrew
And stopped creating
You on the count of three,
Where would you be? Gone,
And if God withdrew from
Creating the universe on
The count of three, the
Universe would cease to be.
The man would hate to see
The universe cease to be,
But sometimes, he thought,
The thought of being gone —
One, two, three — sounds
Pretty good to me.

He glanced up from staring at
the computer screen to see a

burst of bronze and gold shining
through the giant maples across

the street. The sun was just com-
ing up in the East. He knew that

because the burst of glory gave
it away.

During a barbecue picnic
Indoor around a formal
Dining room table with
Embroidered, cloth

Napkins, the host let it
Slip that almost a quarter
Of a century ago, in the
Immediate aftermath of

The death of the guest’s
Wife, the guest’s daughter
Told a friend of the host
That the guest wasn’t nice

At all to his late wife.
Instantly, a quarter of a
Century collapsed and the
Guest was transported back

To his life’s great misery.
In that upsetting moment,
The guest thought that
His daughter, at that time

Nearly a quarter century
Ago, was distraught at the
Sudden, tragic death of
Her mother and needed

Someone to blame, but
The guest, being someone
Who wore shame like a
Purple Heart, thought to

Himself, guilty as charged
And it seemed as though
All the therapy he had
Had in the aftermath of

The tragedy flew out the
Window and was carried
Away by a warm, fall breeze.
After he said his goodbyes

To the host and as he walked
Outside, he wished that the
Picnic had been outside in
The beautiful fall weather

With a gentle breeze causing
The paper napkins to flutter
But not blow away. Maybe,
Under those circumstances,

The guest thought, the host
Might not have let it slip
And the guest wouldn’t be
Thinking dreadful thoughts

On an otherwise beautiful,
Fall day with a breeze
Blowing gently in his face
As he walked to his car.