She wrote incredibly cryptic
images flying in the face of
each other. I found myself
saying, “Say what?” Verse
after verse, metaphors mixing,
similes smacking, images
flying off the page, “Say what?”
Then she gave an explanation.
“Say what?” All that work for
that? I like poetic puzzles
and stretching one’s mind and
stimulating the little gray
cells (according to Hercule
Poirot), but….My dad said,
“Say it simply not simp-
listically nor on the other
side cryptically.” (Well,
he didn’t actually use the
word cryptically but he
got the point across.) He
wasn’t talking about poetry,
but even there, need it be
like a foreign language you
never had? Should I ask
Billy Collins?

“What the world needs now are genes,
sweet genes, my genes, no, not just for
some but for everyone; a deep and wonder-
ful pool where my sweet spermatozoa
swim with all the pretty eggs so very
glad to be had.”

The whole thing about abortion and being
anti-gay is from deep in the primordial
mind of males concerning procreation.

“What the world needs now are genes,
sweet genes, my genes, no not just for
some but for everyone; a deep and wonder-
ful pool where my sweet spermatozoa
swim with all the pretty eggs so very
glad to be had.”

White, evangelical males hide this deep,
down notion in the ancient brain behind
a facade of a false interpretation of
Christian scriptures.

“What the world needs now are genes,
sweet genes, my genes, no, not just for
some but for everyone; a deep and wonder-
ful pool where my sweet spermatozoa
swim with all the pretty eggs so very
glad to be had.”

White, evangelical females go along with
the whole misogynistic program because
it has afforded them a comfortable life in
the prison of that deep, dark, drowning
pool.

“What the world needs now are genes,
sweet genes, my genes, no, not just for
some but for everyone; a deep and wonder-
ful pool where my sweet spermatozoa
swim with all the pretty eggs so very
glad to be had.”

They were so sophisticated,
had the best opera, symphony, art galleries in the world
but there were more than enough frustrated,
disgruntled, angry Germans
more than willing to become haters and scapegoaters and killers.
Our culture might not be quite as sophisticated as that
but we think we are beyond the best, exceptional even,
and yet there are approximately forty million
frustrated, disgruntled, angry, fearful haters
and scapegoaters on
the way to becoming killers,
fools and fodder for fascism.
Be aware; stay alert.

Like with everything else,
the question has to be asked,

“What does this have to tell us?”
and the next question is,

“Where does this stand
when viewed through the

lens of compassion, mercy,
justice, peace and self-

sacrificial love?” and if
the answer on the

continuum from zero in
common to one-hundred-

percent, isn’t very good,
well, that then gives rise

to the third question,
“So, what are we going

to do about it?” And
finally an answer: in keeping

with the lens, non-
violent resistance. Which

then gives rise to more
questions: where? when?

Two words: here, now
for here and now encompass

there, then — with a turn of
the head and a glance

backward and forward:
here, now — contemplate,

participate — eternally.

If they came for us in the night
would we go? If we went,
where would we go?
Would we go to cages
like little ones torn
from their mother’s
side? If we didn’t go,
where would we hide?
They would prevail, of course,
those who sought to take
us away. Would we have
the inner strength of Jesus
who let them have
their say
but remained calm
in the face of such
cruelty and hate?
We would die, but
like Jesus, our
spiritual bodies would be
a witness to
the victory
and true power
of God’s eternal love.
I can only pray
when they take us away,
that it is no longer I who
live but Christ in me,
for what is impossible for
me, Lord, is possible for
Thee.
Until that day,
if it is to be,
we will nonviolently protest.
I pray I will put my
trust in Thee.
We shall see.

the day dawned coolly…
the humidity headed southernly…
the breeze moved gently…
the trees swayed rhythmically…
the wind chime rang melodically…
the sun smiled happily…
the people breathed deeply…
the children laughed loudly…
the dog snored peacefully….

Some fiend told him to do it
and he did it. He separated
three thousand children from

their parents at the border.
He was told that this would
be good for his poll numbers

with his base. He liked that.
And now three thousand
children are still separated

from their parents with no
plan to reunite them and the
president is on to some other

chaotic endeavor because
he really doesn’t care about
the three thousand children

or their parents; in fact, he
may not even recall the order
to separate the children from

their parents. He just wants
all of us to know that he is a
great writer who has written

several books while his first
ghost writer says that he
doesn’t even read let alone

write anything let alone a
book. Forget the books.
He is on to another deal.

Bring on the next deal.
What was the last deal?
Will someone in the White

House tell me what was
my last deal? Of course,
the children. They love me.

Every year, month, day, hour, minute,
second, nano-second there is something
outrageous going on in our federal ad-
ministration and that is exactly what
the (p)-resident of the United States
wants to keep everybody completely off
kilter and in chaos which leaves us
reeling and him in charge, like an abused
child in a totally dysfunctional home,
who is mis-identified as the problem
except that, in this case, he really is
that, local, regional, national, inter-
national, super big, dysfunctional problem
without even bothering to look into the
Trump family super-big-dysfunctional
history.

So, it’s the Fourth of
July and I’m upset about
who the devil is our
president and it’s hot
as hell in the upper
midwest (85 in the shade),
day after day and this
spring we were so deluged
with rain storms that I
thought about buying a lot
of lumber and getting boat
designs and now we have
put in seven really tall
Norway Spruces and, of course,
it turns into the Sahara Desert
and our water bill will
skyrocket (not to mention
all the water being used)
and all our friends are e-
mailing about the dangers
of global warming and
I put together the new,
small, infrared grill
and we don’t even know
what infrared is and we
worry that we bought some-
thing that will add to
global warming and my wife
hands me a vodka and we
sit thinking that we will
have to find a way to shield
our new, adopted, six-year-
old Chocolate Lab’s ears
(I go to hunt for earmuffs)
from the fireworks that will
start any minute with debris
falling into the Big Lake causing
more water pollution and all
I can think to say is “oy veh,”
and I’m not even Jewish.

The Realm of the Devil is having someone
precious torn from you and agonizing
over whether or not you would ever be
reunited with the precious one.

The Realm of God is like losing someone
precious, thinking you would never find
the precious one again and then being
reunited with your precious one.

*idea from a writing by Frederick Buechner