From the wonderful, safe, salty 
water of the womb, 
		 
we simultaneously 
search for the opening and 
are thrust brutally into the 

cold, stark reality called life 
	and upon emerging, 
		scream bloody murder. 
 
         We have to breathe. 

And in that act it is as if we have 
fallen (or been pushed or both) 
out of the 
	saline serenity of Eden's eternity.  

Some, by grace, recover enough 
to stop crying for themselves 
and begin caring. 

Others grow like octopi with 
tentacles reaching, grasping, 
sucking, thrusting, consuming, 
grinding, swallowing, digesting, 
expunging. 

     Octopi have to survive, too.

Some say that is too bleak a 
picture of the human condition,
too black and white.

We all have a bit of the angel fish 
and the octopus. 
	
Some say if it can be imagined, 
	it can be realized or already is. 
		Some read suspense novels of 
		international espionage. 
			Some read history. 
				Some read scriptures. 
Some don't read.
        Some cringe at what has been 
             and pray for what may be. 

If it can be imagined, it can be 
realized or already is – 
	heaven 
		or hell 
			or both.

an old man sits on a dock on a
north woods lake just looking at

a woman and a young boy at the
end of the dock. the boy leans

over to look at a school of minnows
and falls in intentionally. the woman

is startled and then the woman
and the boy laugh as the boy

splashes water at the woman. the
minnows are long gone. the old man

looks out onto the lake and sees
a man and a young boy sitting in

a rowboat. the man is casting for
game fish and catching nothing.

the boy with his bamboo pole
and worms is catching bluegills

galore. the boy struggles to lift
his string of bluegills out of the

water. the man smiles and the boy
laughs and the old man watching

laughs at the boy’s obvious and
naïve bragging. the old man keeps

looking and feels an ache of love
deeper than the deep blue north

woods lake and then wakes with a
lingering ache.

*idea from a Frederick Buechner writing
with apologies to Ingmar Bergman

The couple pulled the net
across the pond
so the falling
leaves of fall
wouldn’t fall
into the pond,
become saturated,
sink to the bottom
and become sludge,
fouling the pond
and making the
visually brilliant
fish invisible to
the human eye. The
couple is successful
to one degree or
another at keeping out
the leaves, but even
if unsuccessful, and
the pond is not clear,
the fish have food to eat
and remain quite discrete
even when not hiding
or when telling fish tales
behind the cattails.

Federal Aid?  Are You Kidding?

People 
(no, not just people but US citizens) 

are being killed by the Federal 
government of the US {through 
sins of omission and commission}).

US Navy medical vessel “Comfort”
(Comfort, comfort, my people) 
with 800 medical personnel and 
hundreds of beds is treating seven 
or eight US citizens.

Why so many?

(Are you kidding? What about the 
guy in need of dialysis? Can't 
get no satisfaction. He's gonna 
die. 

What's with the gal who needs
inhalers for her asthma? She, too, 
is gonna die.)  

It's only sixteen deaths, 
the feds say --
so many less 
than on the mainland.

They are dying slowly of neglect --
(sins of omission and commission.)

What are they doing on board with 
all that spare time? (Vacationing
on deck while watching sexy women 
rumba all over the island?) 

There is no electric power for 
the vast majority. (Candles are 
so romantic, they say.) 

There is no potable water for about 
100% of those US citizens. (Wine is
good for the stomach and promoting 
erotic thoughts for erogenous zones
they say.) 

Hardly any medical care;
    hardly any electricity; 
          hardly any clean water. 

(Vacations, romance, wine! Arriba!
Arriba! Arriba! they shout.)

Has anyone seen compassion coming out 
of Washington?

Whhaatt? With vacations, romance and wine 
on an exotic Caribbean island, who 
needs compassion?

Why? Is it just Washington incompetence? 

(Maybe) 

Are they being punished? 

(Hard to believe and, if so, for what?)

Because they have a large debt 
they owe the federal government? 

(Hard to believe.) 

(It’s so hard to believe.) 

(Everything is so hard to believe 
about any of why this is happening 
to US citizens who need the help 
of the US federal government.) 

Maybe, it’s actually quite simple. 

Maybe, it’s because the vast majority 
of the US citizens living in Puerto 
Rico are brown or black, 

and even though they hold citizenship 
maybe we should only consider, for 
counting purposes, blacks and browns
who would then count as three-fifths
of the white population (like in 
the original US Constitution) for 
purposes of voting on the island
for purposes of not letting the 
islanders have influence they don't
deserve in Washington,

Or half
or one-quarter
or one-eighth
or one-tenth
or one-hundredth
or zero 

which is actually what all US
citizens in Puerto have -- 
whites, browns, blacks have --
no federal votes, so why should 
the federal government care?
 
Besides, the Puerto Ricans seem to be on 
some kind of a perpetual “Sandals” -- like
vacation in paradise.

(Oh, those childlike browns and blacks --
so happy without US white interference
except to wait rightfully on whites 
who vacation in paradise, they say.)

Those in Washington are probably
just jealous at the thought of those 
sweaty natives who drink great 
Caribbean drinks like pina colada 
and rum and coke and smoke dope -- 
sexy blacks and browns who 
on the hot, humid, nights 
dance the night away in hip-
hugging pants and cleavage 
down to their belly buttons 
to the erotic beat of steel drums.

(Federal aid?  Are you kidding? they ask.)  

It's called murder in paradise.

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.