Barking Up the Wrong Tree about Fait Accompli

King David was vain, arrogant, an accomplice to murder
(in fact he ordered it), so he could satisfy
the lust in his eye. He danced naked around the
ark of the covenant as celebration of the fait accompli
of establishing Jerusalem as the capital for
all Israelis.

Know anyone else in a position of power
who is vain, arrogant and always seeks to satisfy
the lust in his eye? He didn’t dance naked when
deciding that the US embassy would move to
Jerusalem, but it is rumored he danced naked
on a bed while celebrating the Golden Stream
and that wasn’t in a dream.

King David was ordained by Yahweh to lead the
people of God into battle after battle till victory
was won and the Holy Land was one.

White evangelicals believe Jesus, Son of David,
is the fulfillment of the promises of God, for
all white people will come to worship in Jerusalem.

Donald is the Wannabe King and his white
evangelical followers see that he is the Son
of David leading the children of God to battle
so that the white kingdom will be won.

King David was the one ordained by God.
King Donald is the one ordained by God.

It’s amazing to what lengths white people will
go in their xenophobic, nationalistic, homophobic,
jingoistic, misogynistic fear — to spuriously
speciously, completely erroneously link faith
history to their lunacy.

At the same time, it is kind of an ingenious
comparison, but then again even Satan quotes
scripture and Jesus, Son of David, stood strong
against that temptation and in Jesus’ all-inclusive
love, justice and mercy, all can shout,
without fear, eternal peace with elation.


Go On, Koan*

Go on, Koan,
give us some Zen
and then we’ll pretend
we have something to go on

to solve the riddle
and become enlightened
before we skedaddle
to take a piddle.

We keep changing
the rhyme scheme —
thinking, perhaps, in rearranging,
enlightenment eternal will spring.

But alas, off to the Johnny
we must run,
but along the way
we certainly had some fun,

even though
Koan always knows
that we certainly don’t know
and enlightenment again
was a no-show.

Except we know the we is one —
duality to nonduality is the koan.
But if the we is one, then I’m
the one having all the fun.

Enlightenment is mine
and I just won
and this little piggie cried we, we, we,
No, me, me, me all the way home
without the koan
But with this silly poem.

Oops, I forgot about Johnny.

*idea for this silly poem came from a serious and excellent poem
at a poet’s blog site

It Would Have Been Poetry to His Ears

The man’s grandfather died
in 1918 of the pandemic
known as the Spanish Flu.
Today, he read a poem
by a French poet
who, also, died of
the very same pandemic.
It was a beautiful poem
with a haunting refrain:
The night is a clock chiming
The days go by not I.

Many, many days have gone
by since the man’s grand-
father died so young — died
long before the man was born.
How much the man would
love to have heard just a word.
It would have been poetry
that he heard — from the lips
of the grandfather he never

That One Last Time*

Oh, lost love, to me come near
and let me feel your presence here;
let me know that you still care;
don’t stand so far away and stare.

I feel your judgment on my life;
it cuts to the quick as with a knife.
Is it you who judges me
or is it from my own I seek to flee?

The door shut for eternity came fast
and all the dreams perished in a flash;
I made apologies time after time,
but I wasn’t granted that one last time.

I regularly said how much I loved you,
but you were gone and my oaths — too few.

*idea from a poem by Christina Rossetti


On Not Paying Attention in High School Biology

The Good Book says that we
were to “name” all the creatures.
He doesn’t know the names
but he knows the features.

He knows a Magpie from a Mayfly
while not knowing which name goes with which.
He knows the things that crawl and those that fly
but couldn’t name them in a pinch.

He knows an oak from a cedar from a pine,
but not by name
and perhaps that is just fine
because he loves it all, just the same,
even without knowing the names.

He walks the woods and fords the streams
while singing praises to the creator
of all those glorious living things,
even though he’s a non-namer.

Though, maybe he should get a good field book
so he could, at least, name a few birds in the air
and fish in the brook.

The Mutual Admiration Society

Before heading to the reception
for the art show in which his

wife had a mixed media sculp-
ture, the couple stopped at the

bookstore and perused the poetry
section. Several thin volumes

by local poets graced the shelves.
“My, my,” the wife said looking at

the covers and reading a few
poems, “these aren’t anything at

all compared to your two books.”
He demurred. Then to the reception.

“Oh, my,” the husband said read-
ing the list of award winners,

“there isn’t anything else here
that can hold a candle to your work.

I don’t agree at all with the judge.”
Shortly thereafter, the two biggest

admirers of each other’s art headed
to the restaurant to continue the

critique as members of a very ex-
clusive, mutual admiration society.

Know Thyself and To Thine Own Self Be True, These the Greeks Knew

She asked, “Is it time to write the novel?”
He said, “I’m an extrovert.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“I had a professor who said he would
put glue on my chair to get me to
sit still and study.”
“And so,  I couldn’t sit still long enough to
write a novel.”
“And…I can write poetry
and then go out
for a cup of coffee.
It’s not a perfect rhyme —
poetry/coffee —
but close enough.”
“Another cup of coffee?”

The Phone Rings

The phone rings;
it’s her son.
She goes into
mother mode.
She brings me
two thick, small
pieces of ham
while she talks.
I think I know her;
but I don’t know
her as mother.
She seems foreign,
distant in spite
of the offering.
I think about my
former life — a
dead wife who
still plays
with my mind
the way she did
in life. Sometimes
it is all very
confusing and still
strange even after
twenty-two years.
My wife just brought
me a glass of wine.