For All Those Who Are Tall, Dark and Handsome

The tall, dark handsome, young US Representative stood before the cameras and stated That the President of the United States was sowing the seeds of discontent and preying On fears and resentments

That have led to violence in the streets in which at least one, poor, anarchist, communist, Anti-Christ like soldier who served two tours of duty in Iraq made it through without a Scratch there only to have his scull bashed in

By city police right here in the Good Old US of A and blood splattered everywhere. His life Hangs in the balance in an Oakland, California hospital while the US Representative does His crunches in the gym to keep his washboard abs looking good for the camera

If they ever want him to take off his tie and white, white shirt.

“I’m Just a Poor, Old, Country Preacher”

“I’m just a poor, old, country preacher” was the ruse he had learned in the great Commonwealth of Kentucky from his southern born brothers in the ministry.

A city boy from the North, he sat mesmerized by those from Alabama and Mississippi who Had journeyed as far north as they could stand and landed in Louisville, south side of the Ohio river

Only venturing beyond the north side of the Ohio for judicatory business, the business of Doing the Lord’s work having to negotiate about that work with the dreaded Yankees of Civil War infamy.

Years and years before he had ventured south of the Ohio river and almost to the banks of The Cumberland, a manchild in the Promised land of Bowling Green, Franklin and Round Pond.

How in the heck did that happen? He asked himself and his wife asked him and his year And a half old son would have asked him if he had thought of it and could formulate the Words.

It seemed even to be a question on the lips of the Lord who it has been said wouldn’t Venture north of Munfordville because anything north of Munfordville was too far north for Any self-respecting southern deity.

His daughter, a Southern Belle born way down in Bowling Green where you would find the Prettiest girls ever seen, never thought to ask him that because, well, she was a Southern Belle.

He felt like a fish out of water, certainly the great waters of one of the Great Lakes’ lake Lake Michigan, where he would put a toe or two into in July and most certainly early August,

But he got used to putting his hand into the warm waters of the ponds of his farmer Parishioners pulling out a catfish or slabber Blue gill or really large, largemouth bass.

And he and his son who was now old enough to hold a rod and reel In his hand and make Pretty good casts into the ponds and his wife who always brought her art pad to draw and Southern Belle baby

Drove through the gates into the fields parking near the pond and the really big fat hogs Would come and rub their really dirty bodies against his really nice, white 1970 Dodge Challenger,

And Jack, the owner of the property and an elder in his church, would yell, “Soo-ee, Soo-ee, soo-ee!” and the pigs would prance off to other parts of the pasture.

The transplanted Yankee pastor had been told on the first Sunday that his four and half Year tenure began that he had two strikes against Him: “One, you’re a Yankee. Two, you’re From a big city.

And if I might I add three, you’re a Presbyterian.” “What?” he asked. “This is a Presbyterian Church.”  “No. That’s just the sign above the door. We’re really all Baptists here.”

He was right.  The Yankee preacher’s Southern Belle daughter was baptized when she Was a month old and when it came to adding up the stats at the end of the year, they just Flat out forgot that one

Because it hadn’t happened by immersion in Drake’s Creek.

And so, he went to judicatory meetings to watch with wonder the smooth tongued Presbyterian pastors who sought to outwit each other by using the “I’m just a poor, old Country preacher” ploy,

And it was such a wonder to behold, but there was no greater wonder than the sight of These Southern Presbyterian boys disarming and then sentencing to death by Embarrassment their Northern counterparts at synod meetings.

Years and years later long after he had ventured back north, he attended a city council Meeting to plead the cause of a minority who wasn’t having its rights protected, and he

Summoned his best “I’m just a poor, old, country preacher” wily subterfuge, after all he Had been an English major with a speech and theater minor in college, with a Kentucky Twang and all and five minutes later after he said, “Thaaank, yu’ll very much and praise

God!” he sat down and three minutes later two of the seven council members smiled.

And Life Goes On After a Meltdown

The meltdown in the reactor # Four at Chernobyl

Burst the housing bubble a short distance away in Pripyat

In what has become part of the dreaded Zone.

Humans departed the high-rises en-mass

And everything green turned burnt brown

For about twenty-some years.

Then Mother Nature took over braving

The crack, crack, crackling of the Geiger counter

To welcome back those

Who had been unceremoniously booted out

By the agents of the state for social engineering,

City planning and industrial development.

The field mice entered the lobby and

Looked around the first floor seeking comfortable

Confines from which to entertain.

It was a short distance from their rooms

To the bar which was left well stocked with the very best

Russian vodka and Kentucky Bourbon.

The beavers, chipmunks and moles headed

Straight for the basement where it was

So cool and damp and gloriously slippery,

But the King of the Raptors, the Bald Headed Eagle

Flew majestically and unhindered into the

Sweet suite on the top floor

And prepared room for the Royal family

Where it didn’t matter if the elevators worked

Because the raptors just dive bombed to the lobby

For a late night drink with the field mice, beavers,

Chipmunks and moles who were illuminated

By the radiation emanating from everything.

The Earth Abideth Forever

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever.   — Ecclesiastes 1:4

The generation came and built a modern technological city with just the right streets and Buildings mapped out:  architects, sociologists, demographers, city planners

All came together to build the perfect modern city next to the perfect nuclear plant planned by the best nuclear scientists and engineers to fuel the needs of the people

A gazillion miles away in the magnificent cities built and governed by magnificent people all By and for the people who would benefit by the enterprise.

Years before, the great social engineers put thousands and thousands to work in the Swamps to drain the life out of them and create really great farm land to feed the masses

In the magnificent cities a gazillion of miles away named after those who had stolen the Cities from anyone who actually had anything at all to do with building them.

And then it all blew to hell and all the humans moved out.

Twenty some years later, it’s the accidentally greenest city in the world.  No humans, just Wolves and bison and raptors and bald eagles and greenery

Creeping up between the bricks and mortar and collapsing metal buildings and rotting Wood structures and the lingering crackle of the atoms

Split by really, really smart scientists who wished to control the elements we studied in Chemistry 101 for the benefit of all the masses in the magnificent urban areas.

And the native grass grows and the trees grow and the concrete breaks and the earth Plows it all under while the wolves follow the wetlands to the beavers.

A bison calf falls to winter and the wolves descend. It isn’t even a contest.  They pull and Tug and tear at the carcass. The bison return; the wolves snarl and leave and the bison

Gather around the dead calf, sniff and nudge and mourn its death and then

Move along.

Breakout on an Otherwise Quiet Street

“Five men to guard the British Ranks and

Five to watch the town above and

Two to stand at either hand

And one to let Bill Tenor out.”

The Kingston Trio’s Bill Tenor was Old Tenor and Old Tenor was John Webb and John made an old tenor coin,

and the Brits got their undies all scrunched and unceremoniously tossed him in the huscow, clink, big house.

His buddies broke him out.

These folks didn’t have five men to guard the house or watch the town or two to stand at either hand and they weren’t trying to break anyone out,

but there were some who wanted in. They heard the heavy appetizers were going to be delicious and a sommelier would be matching wines to food.

Later they heard it had been wild and crazy, maybe even a neighborhood celebration for some kind of “breakout” like that of John “Old Tenor” Webb. You could hear their undies scrunching.

They wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had been taken from the small house and tossed unceremoniously in the huscow, clink, big house.

The ones that were there just thought it was nice, including the conservative, evangelical Christians who only had one and a half glasses of wine each before going home.

Well, actually two did breakout. The old folks went to the Hampton Inn for a few hours sleep before going back to fix breakfast for the revelers strewn all over the little house.

The next day they were told that the thirty-somethings got wild and crazy enough to go skinny-dipping in Lake Michigan.

They broke out for the beach and at breakfast their hair was still wet.

It wasn’t as wild as the breakout of John “Old Tenor” Webb.  He broke locks and he broke bolts and he broke all that he came nigh,

and it certainly wasn’t as wild as the party for the guy who got released from teen detention in Philadelphia: “Five stabbed at ‘welcome home from jail’ party.”

They were so happy for the release that they shot up the street and stabbed the heck out of a few partygoers. Now that’s one “wild and crazy” neighborhood party.

“Shoot ‘em up on otherwise quiet street. Guns blaze and people stabbed during wedding reception after conservative, evangelical Christians go home having only had one and a half glasses of wine each.

It was reported the wine had been poured by a sommelier and that the heavy appetizers were gourmet.”

John ‘Old Tenor’ Webb was seen breaking out through the back door that he came nigh. It is further reported that he just opened the slide, stepped out and closed the slide behind him and walked away.”

The neighbors grumbled, “See, we should have called the police.”

With A Feather In It

She had brown skin, tightly curled, shiny black hair and when she was escorted off the bus, nobody helped.

He had a ruddy complexion and a feather in his hair and when he collapsed along the road that led from the bars back to Pine Ridge, nobody helped.

He had fair skin and blond hair and when he was strapped to the fence and had the shit beaten out of him, nobody helped.

She had olive skin, smooth, straight, radiant black hair and when they put her in an interment camp, nobody helped.

He had closely cropped hair and sat in a wheelchair having lost three limbs in Viet Nam and when they labeled him “Un-American,” nobody helped.

He had the look of a Middle-Eastern terrorist down to a tee and when they nailed him, pounded him, hoisted him for all to mock, nobody helped.

But because of the guy who looked like a Middle-Eastern terrorist,

this privileged, old, white guy who takes so much for granted because so much has been granted better understand his skin is brown, ruddy, fair, olive and his hair is tightly curled, shiny black, blond, smooth, close cropped

with a feather in it.

The Lives of Patriarchs and Cats

In the children’s message, the pastor, referencing the Patriarchs and the Matriarchs of the faith, said that they died more often then than we do now.

I wondered how often they died back then.

I think he meant that, in spite of the stories to the contrary, they died, Methuselah not withstanding, at a younger age on average than people do now.

However, I got to thinking about that.  Did they have the nine lives of a cat?

How many lives do we have today?

How many times have I died in the last sixty-six years and risen again?

Let’s see;

— Death #1: When I was really young, like six, a cousin’s mother died and I was so nervous when I saw him I said, “Your mother is alive; no, your mother is dead; no your mother is alive; no your mother is dead.” I just knew that was wrong and if I hadn’t died on the spot, my father would have killed me.

— Death #2: In the park when I was eight, Johnny and I kissed Kathy. The vote went to Johnny. Kathy said Johnny’s kiss was smooth and nice.  Mine was dry and rough.

— Death #3: In fifth grade, I sat, so lonely in a new school, sneezed and blew a fart in front of all the students I hardly knew. They laughed; I died.  The teacher added to the humiliation by trying to come to my rescue, “Students, it could happen to anyone.” Right.

— Death #4: In sixth grade, Karen said I stuck my hand up her blouse to get a feel.  She was developed beyond her age but what? How could I, even if I had wanted. I sat behind Karen.  Are you kidding?  The only breast I knew for sure was my mother’s and that had been a long time ago.

— Death #5: The principal hung me up on a clothes hook in his office for the alleged crime of sticking my hand up Karen’s blouse to feel, let’s get serious about this, her titties.  Finally, Karen said she made up the whole story. Thanks, Karen.

— Death #6: In seventh grade, I laughed really hard and Joanne said my breath smelled like fish.

— Death #7: Skipping high school for there are far, far too, too many deaths to count during that four year span of time, in the darkness of the theatre, as I leaned over my date to say something to my fraternity brother, my breath mint fell from my mouth. I had hoped it had dropped into the netherworld.  Moments later, the person with whom I was on a first and what would be the last date, asked, “Is this yours?”  And handed me the mint that fell directly into her palm.

— Death #8:  Then there was the time I was standing too close to a support post while smoking my pipe at a college dance. Someone said hi and I turned, knocking my pipe into the post and out of my mouth. Ashes flew all over my date’s dress. BMOC and Joe Cool, not.

— Death #9: Getting to the important stuff and therefore skipping decades, I arrive at the really, real death of my wife.  I really, really, seriously contemplated real death, too. But while I died metaphorically, I thank God I didn’t die for real as in suicide.

— Life #1:  I survived and I have a beautiful, wonderful wife who survived, too, and children and grandchildren, and friends and a whole lot for which to live.

And so, I have concluded, we have many more lives than the nine lives of the cat and, apparently, at least as many as the Patriarchs and Matriarchs and all the deaths they died and survived over their acts and those of all those rebellious covenant children.

And life and death go on.

The Same Coming and Going

If yesterday, today and tomorrow are now,

does that mean that what I hope for is here

only I just can’t see clearly…now?  Have the rains gone?

Were, are, will be Jesus and Albert buddies?

Seems they thought a lot alike then, now and in the future.

One can only hope for that which was, is and will be,

world without end. Amen.

Oh, on first, second and third thought,

if we are as gods, does that mean that in the beginning I was Bob

and that at the end when we shall meet and be met and be known by a name only known

then that that name will be Bob, too, only Bob spelled backwards, the same as forwards but different, too?

Biblical Time and Einstein Time, Faith and Science Reconciled

The pastor stated in his sermon introduction that St. Paul didn’t have any idea his letters would have an audience two thousand years later.

He said he just wrote for the benefit of those little congregations around Asia Minor.

Albert Einstein thought that the past the present and the future were all now.

If so, maybe St. Paul, while he paced back and forth in his cell in Rome anytime from 55 C.E. to now and sometime in the future, thought, thinks and will think, “I wonder if Bob did, does or will understand this?” He was thinking about 2031 C.E.

I thought back in 55 C.E. that I might get it by 2031 C.E.

Right now?  I’m not so sure what he did or will mean. I just was, am and will be wondering if they really called me Bob back then.

The Death of Gods

They canoed the Muskegon on a warm, sunny summer’s day —

Two families testing out the idea of being one.

They canoed trying to work through the death of one

Tribe’s God and the other tribe’s Goddess.

A river ride would be good the parents thought.  Everyone went along with the idea.

Swiftly running water might be good to navigate on the road to recovery.

It’s a metaphor, the parents, survivor from each tribe, said, encouraging each other.

Put a finger in; take a finger out; put a finger in and you shake it all about;

That’s what life is all about — the same but different river, the same but different life.

Let’s do the Hokey Pokey, take it slow, and turn our lives around. That’s what it’s all about.

One day they were one thing; the next something very different. Herman Hesse, trying to help, sat in the back seat of the van explaining the image of the river in Buddhist thought.

“We’ve got a picnic lunch and so we can stop along the way on a sandy bank.”

“Sure,” they said without much enthusiasm.

It isn’t an easy experience, the aftermath of the death of Gods.

The teens of one tribe full of adrenaline took off in their canoe with cooler aboard. “Why did we let them take the cooler?”  They paddled like Ottawa running from Ojibwa.

Young adults from the other tribe drifted here and there and didn’t care at all about paddling pretending to be nonchalant and carefree. Two canoes, two trips all the same.

The joke goes, “What’s the difference between a Hollander and a canoe?

A canoe tips.”  It did. They splashed each other and climbed back in.

The two parents from different tribes brought up the rear aching with each stroke.

It’s hard experiencing the death of Gods, even on a sunny, summer’s day on the Muskegon.