Everyday, seemingly, there is another
sordid story about filthy rich guys,
mostly in the entertainment industry,
acting filthy and being led around by

“little Elvis,” and thinking every
harassed woman would be thrilled
to set her gaze on “the hound dog,”
while fires raged in California and

hurricanes beat up on Texas, Florida,
Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands
and white cops continued to kill unarmed
black guys in cities around the country

and football players knelt in reverence
during the playing of the national anthem
in protest of those killings and crazy,
lunatic white guys with torches marched

once again through Charlottesville while
giving straight-arm salutes, the (p)resident
of the United States dreams about the
good old days when he could just reach

out and grab the privates that weren’t
private to him or any of his lecherous,
old, white guy buddies and that is the
state of the nation.

A man read a meditation
Where the author stated
That if God withdrew
And stopped creating
You on the count of three,
Where would you be? Gone,
And if God withdrew from
Creating the universe on
The count of three, the
Universe would cease to be.
The man would hate to see
The universe cease to be,
But sometimes, he thought,
The thought of being gone —
One, two, three — sounds
Pretty good to me.

He glanced up from staring at
the computer screen to see a

burst of bronze and gold shining
through the giant maples across

the street. The sun was just com-
ing up in the East. He knew that

because the burst of glory gave
it away.

During a barbecue picnic
Indoor around a formal
Dining room table with
Embroidered, cloth

Napkins, the host let it
Slip that almost a quarter
Of a century ago, in the
Immediate aftermath of

The death of the guest’s
Wife, the guest’s daughter
Told a friend of the host
That the guest wasn’t nice

At all to his late wife.
Instantly, a quarter of a
Century collapsed and the
Guest was transported back

To his life’s great misery.
In that upsetting moment,
The guest thought that
His daughter, at that time

Nearly a quarter century
Ago, was distraught at the
Sudden, tragic death of
Her mother and needed

Someone to blame, but
The guest, being someone
Who wore shame like a
Purple Heart, thought to

Himself, guilty as charged
And it seemed as though
All the therapy he had
Had in the aftermath of

The tragedy flew out the
Window and was carried
Away by a warm, fall breeze.
After he said his goodbyes

To the host and as he walked
Outside, he wished that the
Picnic had been outside in
The beautiful fall weather

With a gentle breeze causing
The paper napkins to flutter
But not blow away. Maybe,
Under those circumstances,

The guest thought, the host
Might not have let it slip
And the guest wouldn’t be
Thinking dreadful thoughts

On an otherwise beautiful,
Fall day with a breeze
Blowing gently in his face
As he walked to his car.

He marveled at the trees
In the breeze,
Swaying with such apparent ease.

Away from dark thoughts,
His heart began to utter
sounds of joy and grace.

I read three meditations and three poems
First thing each day
Before reading the warnings and dreaded omens
Of social and political life gone so far astray.
Otherwise, I’m afraid the white-coated men
Would come to take me away.

Clouds gather; winds whip;
sleet slices early fall
frightening those who
wait patiently for
brilliant colors
before leaves fall;
A golf cart whips
up leaves on
fancy fairways before
descending to hell.
Thousands and thousands
in tropical heat
try to survive
and pray for cold,
clean, comforting sleet.
It doesn’t come.

With the death of our
dog Buddy Baloo,
a part of my heart
went along, too.

Little did I know
his presence kept
me from the flu.

We don’t live on a farm
as those who do
know and knew
that animal germs
keep us healthy, too.

Or maybe they didn’t know;
they just benefitted from
the bacteria all over their
animal crew.

But now, thanks to science,
we do.

So, when we adopt a dog,
which, again, we probably
will do,

we’re bringing the farm
into our newly acquired,
enlightened, healthy
purview.

So, dear old Buddy Baloo
wasn’t just good for our
emotions and spirits, too.

His germs were good
for our lungs,
circulatory system and,
in point of fact, our lives
through and through.

Excuse me, I feel a cold
coming on.

‘S Wonderful, ‘S Marvelous —
The Donald’s musical (stealing lyrics
by George Gershwin and music by Ira Gershwin)
based on his visit to Las Vegas, Nevada to
comfort the survivors of the horrendous,
domestic, terrorist attack in America
(killing 58 and counting and injuring
400 plus).

Hello, Las Vegas!!!!
Hello, victims, living ones, that is!!!
So happy to be with you.
I love this town. It’s been
so good to me. And I’ve
been so good to you. And now…

‘S wonderful, ‘s marvelous,
You victims could survive to see me.
Well, ‘s awful nice, ‘s paradise
‘S everything I love about being me.

‘S wonderful, ‘s marvelous
It’s just great being me.
Well, ‘s awful nice, ‘s paradise
‘S everything you could hope to see.

And that person you hoped to see is none other than me —
Botta bing, Botta bang, Botta boom!!

Love you, Las Vegas!!! Gotta go.
Sorry Melania couldn’t make it. Oh, yeah.
Here she is. Don’t you just love the spikes!

‘S wonderful, ‘s marvelous
You got to see marvelous me.

Good bye, Las Vegas!!! Love, ya, baby.

He was born in about the middle of the
Twentieth Century into Middle American,

White life; he thought Ozzie and Harriet
Were great; he wanted to be Ricky. The

Books he read in school showed cute,
White kids prancing around after school

In their Levi jeans. He wanted to be one
Of those kids, so he used to climb trees.

He loved the Mickey Mouse Club but
Never had a desire to wear the mouse

Ears. He was happy in the late nineteen-
Forty’s and all fifty’s into sixty’s life.

He lived and died and lived again
Playing Audie Murphy and never died

Playing Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rodgers
And the Lone Ranger. He wanted to be Pat

Boone, crooning “April Love,” and could
Jump from couch to chair to floor

Playing Superman, until George Reeves
Committed suicide, the Civil Rights

Movement came along, along with Viet
Nam protests and a hundred million dead

In the 20th Century and suddenly Jesus
Said, “Boy, you have been living in a

White, privilege cocoon, and it is time
For you to wake up to why I arrived on

This earth in the first place.” And he
Did and now his life is filled with an

Upper case Jesus the way Jesus had only
Been in the lower case and, by that grace,

He knows why he feels grateful and glad
And, at the same time, so very, very sad.