it is morning the monday morning
following the publication the previous
evening of the hastily written summary
statement of the investigation i have
finished reading the three meditations
in my inbox and about to start the three
poems in my inbox my usual pattern
being to finish the poems and then start
the coffee come back to my desk and
click on the headlines of the day i will
not do that i will start the coffee and
then take a very hot shower washing
my body in a symbolic act of cleansing
my life heart and soul of the worlds mach
inations of greed cowardice and power
about an hour after taking that shower
i will visit my ophthalmologist to have
my vision checked while this visit is
very important for my sight i will think
of it also symbolically as an act of
seeing life more clearly loving life
more dearly following love more
nearly day by day

The childish king
can now sing
about this thing
and that
and rat-a-tat-tat
and that’s that.
The investigation
has fallen flat
and we have
to put up with
the orange-capped brat,
maybe for
five years more
and let’s hope
our leader, the dope,
will have to face,
along with his base,
history’s judgment.
That’s scant comfort
for such an encumbrance,
but in the moment,
let’s hope
the republic isn’t
made into a joke,
laughed at
by tyrannical rats
(using the Occupant’s phrase)
and demagogues
looking for jobs
and given to say
there goes the good,
old US of A.

The commentator said, regarding the Occupant’s base,
“That is a layer of ignorance that cannot be penetrated.”
A whole new level of dense she demonstrated.
Sixty million strong, how could they be so wrong?
They are the impenetrable throng.
I shake my head and wonder just how such could be
and then I think back to all three —
my grade school, high school and even college classes
and just shake my head and concede, yes,
there were more than just a few asses.
I sit in restaurants and see tees
with sayings that make me want to flee.
I see red caps
touting MAGA worn by drivers of Cadillacs.
I catch snippets of comments by personalities at Fox News
and know I’m flying over a nest of cuckoos.
Yes, I’m afraid the commentator is right —
impenetrable ignorance is one of our nation’s major plights.

I just saw that my book The Nine A.M. Jog ranks #6,478,780 in books at Amazon.

The good news is that it could have been 6,478,781.

Hey, I just saw that my book The Ten P.M. Walk ranks #5,491,634 in books at Amazon.

Wow! That means my book The Ten P.M. Walk is 987,146 places ahead of my other book!

That’s almost a million places higher.

Always look on the bright side of life.

https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?fr=yfp-t-s&p=always+look+on+the+bright+side+of+life#id=1&vid=37214d3309840a0d37f06d6608575297&action=view.

The soliloquy began
and the prophet stood his ground,
“Why are the wicked ruling
classes allowed to
oppress the weak…?
Justice goes forth perverted!
And I will take my stand to watch,
and station myself on the tower,
and look forth to see what will
be said…to me
and what I will answer
concerning
my complaint.”
And the answer came,
“Wait. Be patient.”
And being patient is
to suffer. Suffer now, but the
vision will be fulfilled.
Write the vision in bold print!
Woe and woe and woe — in time
for those who live unjustly, who
oppress, who laugh now but
will cry — in time.
All things — in time.
“For the earth will be filled
with the knowledge of the
glory of the Lord, as the
waters cover the sea.”
“I will quietly wait,” says the prophet.
For what? For the fulfillment of
the vision — for justice.
I will be patient, I will suffer
the goading and gloating and revelry
and mocking of the unjust and the
oppressor. I will wait quietly
— in faith, hope and love
and I will be there in peaceful
protest as I await the dawning
day of justice, mercy and peace.
I will trust the vision; I will trust
the promise. I do trust in patience,
in suffering, in faith, hope and love.

The full moon shone brightly
through the night and in the
morning it began its muted

descent just as the sun was
beginning to shine brightly
and would all morning long.

To this event all creation
was drawn, this new dawn —
except much of humanity,

which was distracted by
whatever it was by which
it was distracted in that

particular moment, some-
thing it deemed supreme,
something about which it

would scream in utterly
distracted preoccupation.
In the mean time, the trees

and the bushes and the
flowers and the grasses
and the birds and bugs and

the rabbits and the chipmunks
and everything else came out
to the dawn, including the

earth, the humus from which
humanity came, and all one
cell creatures — being drawn

to the light in something
like an act of worship except
much of humanity who reserved

that observance for one hour
a week when they would go
into an enclosure, turn on

the lights and talk about
raising money to keep the
enclosure from deteriorating

and then having the bugs and
vermin and weeds and what-
ever take over.

The president laughs/at the report’s conclusion./White House staff spike
ball./The right-wing claims victory,/but it is just the first half.

Ice recedes on pond.
Fallen leaves in net block view.
Did the fish survive?

He noticed that things were
not as clear as they used to
be. He closed his left eye and
all was well. He closed his
right eye and things were
dimmer like dusk descending.
His ophthalmologist compli-
mented him on his good eye-
sight and then he told the
physician that his mother
had glaucoma. “Oh, we had
better check that.” Bingo.
Genetic inheritance. “Thanks,
mom, for this and several
other things, which I won’t
even go into.” And this just
when he was beginning to see
the light, but in the dimming
dusk hopefully there, still,
will be a ray or two of insight
slipping through.

The poet looked at Rembrandt’s
The Return of the Prodigal Son,

sank to his knees and sobbed.
He wrote a poem about it and

then wrote a brief explanation
of the poem in which he said

that he has been described as
cold to which he agreed. It

seems he has some difficulty
dealing with emotions. In this

case the emotions related to
his relationship with his father.

The painting evoked all those
unresolved feelings and right

there in the museum, he drop-
ped to his knees on the marble

floor and cried uncontrollably.
In the explanation, he said that

he doesn’t have any idea what
any of that meant. Might not be

a bad idea for him to explore
that, if not with a therapist,

at least in his poetry. It’s a
start.