Saturday, March 28, 2020

Poem for the week: "The Tripster"


The Tripster

We were talking about the Trickster
over morning coffee the other day,
how it slips into our life to trip us up,
and without thinking, I called him
Tripster instead of Trickster, and in
my Freudian slip I caught the soul of
this nebulous entity that hangs about
the ethers waiting impatiently to trip
us up and make our life miserable
so it can feed off the negative energy
of our anger and frustration and grow
bigger and stronger just to have more
power over us; and as we sipped our
coffee, we both came to see, with   
surprising simultaneity, that unless
we changed our attitude with the way
we treat the world, less demanding
and more forgiving, the Tripster will
always have permission to trip us up
and keep our day from unfolding
as we would like it to.




Sunday, March 22, 2020

Sunday poem: "The Great Leveler"


The Great Leveler

I awoke this morning with a glimmer
that only poets and mystics are blessed
to experience, an insight that rendered
everyone equal, and no amount of money,
power, talent, or social status can keep
the great leveler from contracting the
world with the coronavirus responsible
for the global pandemic that’s taking
people down like dominos (627 people
died in Italy yesterday) and will not be
neutralized by the appropriate vaccine
until the great leveler has awakened the
world to the existential reality of our
inevitable mortality; then, and only then
will we shift our priorities from our selfish
exploitation of nature and our fellow man
to mindful resourcefulness and equitable
sharing and make the world a better
place to raise our children.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Poem for the week: "Google Knowledge"


Google Knowledge

She caught a virulent stomach flu,
suffering cramps, bloating, diarrhea,
and retching too, and didn’t know
what to do, so her loving husband
brought her to their doctor who
prescribed a blood test, medication,
and told her to drink plenty of fluids
and get lots of rest, and her loving
husband brought her home and nursed
her with tender loving care, the only
medicine that he knew (he made two
pots of chicken broth, the only food
she could keep down), and one night
she got the chills so badly it scared
her, thinking she may have contracted
Covid-19; so, he did a Google search
and got enough information to take
away her fear, and he nursed her all
night long until the chills went away,
and the Google knowledge that he got,
whether true or only partially true,
was better than not knowing what to
do, because with no knowledge his
boundless hope had no faith to nurse
the healing of his loving wife’s
nasty stomach flu.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

Sunday Poem: "The Shopping Carts Were Full"


The Shopping Carts Were Full

The shopping carts were full, some with three
and four packages of toilet tissue, and when I went
to purchase one package, the shelves were empty;
but why toilet tissue? What has the global pandemic
to do with stocking up on toilet tissue? Are we so
fearful of running out of toilet tissue that we cannot
manage to do without? Cannot we improvise?  Have
we become so pampered by personal comforts that
we cannot make do? We know why the contagion
is jumping from person to nation, and we don’t
know how to stop it, yet; but it, too, shall pass like
the Spanish flu, and when the global pandemic
has opened the world’s heart center, there will be
no more need to hoard toilet paper.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

Poem to ponder: "Riding on the Fumes of Her Past Glory"



Riding on the Fumes of Her Past Glory

I listened to a medical intuitive on YouTube
the other day, an innovative thinker who’s New
York Times best-selling books I had read, but
a lot of water has passed under the bridge since
then, and she no longer engaged me as she once
did; and it came to me as I listened to her TED
talk, “Choices that can Change your Life,” her
eyes half-dead with the fatigue of over-speaking
her insightful truth, that she was riding on the
fumes of her past glory, getting all the mileage
she could from the ideas of her passionate youth,
and I wondered as I listened to her speaking: is
she doing this out of genuine concern, or for
past glory and personal gain?

Sunday, March 8, 2020

Sunday poem: "Us Versus Them"


Us Versus Them

What’s life telling us with this refugee crisis,
millions of people crossing the borders
because of one dictator?

Or is there more to this story?

What’s happened to the mind of the world
as our humanity is overburdened
with care and distress?

Are we losing the human race?

The conflict of one dictator’s self-love
and the love of individual freedom
is cause for concern, but who
wants to see the dictator’s
enabler’s ideological
decree?

And it’s come down to this again,
us versus them.

Saturday, March 7, 2020

Poem for the week: "The Absolutist Couturier"


The Absolutist Couturier

He played the role of a couturier, fashion
designer Reynolds Woodcock, in the movie
“Phantom Thread,” the story of a man of
fixed habits who’s attracted to a common
waitress with a foreign accent, designing his
dresses for the rich and famous but taken
by the body and looks of the young waitress
whom he invites for dinner and makes her
his model and muse (he likes her little belly);
but their relationship becomes complicated,
his pattern of habits confronting her natural
way, creating the dynamic tension of the story
as expected, because habits cannot coexist
with the natural and spontaneous which bred
the toxic factor that brought him down when
she made him ill with a poison mushroom
powder in his ritual morning tea to get closer
to him, and in his helplessness the walls of
his pattern of habits broke down and let the
innocent young waitress into his private life;
and the absolutist couturier fell in love with
the beauty of living free, and he asked her to
marry him. But the old pattern of habits came
back to haunt him, and he wanted his wife out
of his life so he could get on with his old habits
of fashion designing, and seeing how threatened
she was by his old habits, his wife poisoned
him once more with a mushroom omelette that
broke down the walls of his habits and let her
back into his private life; and he fell in love
with his muse once more, defining the endless
process of thriving to survive in one’s habits
with the freedom of dying, just as the Spanish
poet and Nobel laureate Juan Ramon Jimenez,
no less a complete perfectionist than the absolutist
couturier, who wrote, “I am not I. I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see.” And
when the movie ended, Daniel Day-Lewis, who
played the role of the absolutist couturier, retired
from acting to live his own life because he
could no longer be anyone but himself.