White Ain’t Right

White —
Evangelical Christians
are thanking their god that
they got it right.

Kennedy —
is retiring spoiling
his long legacy.

He and Trump
and Kennedy’s son
are connected for
a financial fee.

Whites see Donald
as Cyrus freeing them
from their plight.

Row vs. Wade
is now destined to
be mowed

down into history’s

Those who are out
of touch with the
majority chose

to push their minority
views on me and you

and so doing, undid
the great forefathers’
and mothers’ democratic

A Keen Observer, a Bel Esprit

He went for an early morning jog
because it was forecasted to get hot.

He saw ferns flutter along the trail
and thought it was a white tail.

He saw a black bear behind a tree,
but just a stump it turned out to be.

He thought he saw a fox cross the creek.
It was an old raccoon headed for a drink.

Up in the sky was a red-tailed hawk
then he heard the turkey vulture squawk.

Disappointed, he headed back to the car
when he saw an eagle from afar.

No, the keen observer wouldn’t be fooled this day —
he saw the great bird descend for prey.

Now excited, he couldn’t wait to tell his wife
about seeing all the magnificent wildlife.

With his eagle eye an eagle he did see —
affirming that he is a keen observer and bel esprit.


He didn’t know how much
he missed serenity
until about a year into
this federal administration.

He finds himself yearning for
nature — trees, bushes,
flowers, ponds, waterfalls,
fox, bear, deer, snakes.

He yearns for a jog in the woods,
along the trails, by the lake.

He jogs, he stops, lifts his head
from staring at the trail, watches
the sun shimmer on the lake, inhales
evergreen, breathes deeply,
feels the breeze out the west
crossing the Big Lake,
listens to squirrels scampering,
birds singing. He watches the rings
on the water caused by fish rising
to the surface.

He starts to jog again. He climbs the
sand dune; he cautiously descends,
hiking sticks giving him four

He is one of the woodland animals.


Restoration or retribution,
Rehabilitation or deterioration,
Regeneration or degeneration,
Reconciliation or alienation,
Solidarity or fragmentation,
Healing or stealing,
Heaven or hell.

*idea from quote by Paul Hawken in
a meditation by Richard Rohr

The Cost*

We can dig here;
We can cut here;
We can plow here;
We can burn here;
We can dump here;
We can bury here;
We can blast here;
We can build here;
We can get to market
   faster and cheaper
   and make a bigger profit.
What’s the cost?

*idea from a quote by Paul Hawken in 
The Ecology of Commerce: A Declaration of 
Sustainability, Revised Edition  in 
a meditation by Richard Rohr


Gut labor rights;
Gut gay rights;
Gut abortion rights;
Gut Muslim rights;
Gut your rights;
Gut my rights; 
Gut everyone’s rights
       Except white rights
            Which aren’t rights —
                   Just trumped-up majority rights —
                         Trumped up white privileges,
                                Which would shock all the 
Immigrants since 
      The foundation of the country —
          Probably some family of the 
              Members of the Supreme Court — 
                   Because they all came here 
                        For their rights like 
                             Everyone’s rights.
Gut your rights;
Gut my rights;
Gut your grandparents’ rights;
Gut your parents’ rights;
Gut all our rights 
     Until none of us has 
          Any rights at all 
               And the reincarnation of 
                    Hitler arrives to
Gut America and all 
     America’s rights.

Lulled into Evil

It has been said that evil
is not creative. In fact,
it is the ultimate in
predictability and mundanity
and that we get lulled
into acceptance of
evil by its banality.
Evil is boring to begin
and then horrifying in the end.
Is that why we are now hearing
about how predictable everything is
coming out of that mouth of his,
the (p)-resident, that is?

Bone of My Bone*

No one is accepting      blame 
    for anything.   Anxiety               flies.
           plummet.    Fingers  point —— 

They are arguing more and more. 

The dog doesn’t wag her tail      much. 

Fear grows. 

Even melodic notes of 
               light classical music 
with undue bravado —- violence     even. 

Tchaikovsky isn’t so sad in Pathetique 

as much as really, 
                   really                mad  

and then he died. The always 
cheery commentator
won’t tell you the 
truth about it; it’s fake

The (p)-resident is 
about to enter Fifth Ave. 
with a high-powered
military rifle and shoot
while the crowd of red-
capped white
people cheers. 

The skin begins to                itch. 
It won’t stop                     itching 
and she won’t stop                scratching 

until the skin is         gone,
the flesh is              gone, 
and she hits the          bone.

* image of allergies (as a metaphor) from a poem 
about anxiety


The water meter reader stopped by
To read the month’s use. He said
The meter was supposed to be on
The northeast corner but he couldn’t
Find it there. We said it is on the
northwest corner and he said
That is the electric meter. Then
We said it was behind the bush
Under the window on the north
Side of the house but that is the
Gas meter. Finally, the young man
Found the small meter hidden by
The dune grass, Vinca-vine and a
Large shrub. The meter reader
Said he would remember it in
The future and we said thank
You for letting us know where it
Is. We have only lived here twenty-

Where Glory Runs

Like Joshua I commanded
the sun to sit still in the sky.
I just wanted a little bit more time
for the sun to shine
so I could sit and pine
in the twilight of the day
to take in the glory
of the birds (even the bluejay),
the fish, the fox
who came to drink from the pond,
the red pines, white pines, hemlocks,
spruces beyond,
the flowers, annuals and perennials,
red, yellow, orange, blue
shining in the afternoon’s golden hue.
I just wanted one last look.
The earth continued on it’s path
and the sun went down
and in nature’s breathtaking,
waning moments
I knew where glory runs.
Trusting earth’s journey,
the rising again of the sun
I would rest content
awaiting glory’s
blazing moments
sprinting past,
my eager eye to catch.