New poem: "Just Another Day of Reckoning"

 

Just Another Day of Reckoning

 

Wednesday, July 31, 2024, my birthday,

“just another day of reckoning,” as

that great American writer who should

have won the Nobel Prize for Literature,

John Hoyer Updike, that boy from Berks

County, Pennsylvania, said; the day that I

was born into this blessed world to live

my very same life over again to achieve

a different outcome and fulfill my sacred

promise of wholeness & completeness,

and then return back home to God

where all souls come from.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral Ontario,

Monday, July 29, 2024

New poem: "Cloaked with the Mantle of Grace"

 

Cloaked with the Mantle of Grace

 

Sanctified by the assassin’s bullet, Donald

J. Trump, the 45^th president of the United States,

was cloaked with the mantle of grace that made

him more than just the leader of the Republican

Party, but a leader of the entire nation, like the

hallowed few presidents before him—Lincoln,

Roosevelt, Kennedy, Reagan—who were also

called by Divine Imperative to steer the course

of American history to new heights of glory

and self-fulfillment, because the old pathways

had exhausted their envisioned purpose and

become a dangerous impediment to the nation;

that’s why the much-humbled Donald J. Trump,

with a white patch on his injured right ear, tore

up his old speech after the failed attempt to take

his life, and wrote a new nomination acceptance

speech for the RNC in Milwaukee, Wisconsin

with the theme of unifying the country that had

become so fractiously divided by the wickedly

clever self-serving power elite of the Democratic

Party that employed every nasty trick in the book

to keep the MAGA candidate from being the 47^th

US president, whose only goal, however grandiose

it may have been to everyone but him, ever was

to restore his beloved country to its former

glory and make America great again.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral, Ontario

Sunday, July 20, 2024

 

 

 

New poem: "My Favorite People"

 

My Favorite People

 

Mumbling, stumbling, not remembering,

Joseph Robinette Biden Jr., 46^th president

of the United States of America, refuses

to leave the Office with the dignity the Office  

deserves. But he has no shame, no shame

whatsoever; and the shame of it all is that he’s

not cognizant enough to know that he has

no shame, and he’s being shamed out of the

Office with all the ignominy that he deserves

for the selfish, self-serving Machiavellian

ethics that impelled him to serve my favorite

people in the world who have the will, courage,

and moral integrity to fight and preserve

the freedom we all strive for.

 

Composed in Tiny Beaches,

Georgian Bay, Southcentral Ontario,

Sunday, July 21, 2024

New poem: "The Failed Assassination"

 

The Failed Assassination

 

One or two millimeters closer

and world history would’ve taken

a different course, and one wonders

if it was providentially designed;

or was it dumb luck, chance, or pure

happenstance? Who can say for sure

why the presidential candidate was

spared his life? But if choreographed

from above, might not the nefarious

intention to murder the former president,

whatever the evil motive, be divinely

designed from the thought to execution,

including the sloppy secret service? 

After all, how can you have the one

without the other?

 

Composed in Georgian Bay Ontario,

Wednesday, July 18, 2024

Freshly minted poem: "Oh, Alice"

 

Oh, Alice

 

Oh, Alice; what a writer you were,

but what a mother! Now we all ask,

can the one be without the other?

The family kept it secret to safeguard

your status; but in your grave now,

interred with your shame, the family

secret has lost its power, and is no more.

I loved Hemingway the writer, too; but

the more I got to know the man, the more

I wanted to hate the writer! Oh, Alice,

your daughter has given new meaning

to Papa’s ice-berg theory of writing,

prying wide-open your secret to Shelagh

Rogers that “Memoir is the facts of life;

fiction, the truth of life.” You also won

the Nobel Prize for Literature; but was

the game worth the candle?

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Sunday, July 14, 2024

New poem: "Maybe It's All True?"

 

Maybe It’s All True?

 

Is it true the universe is out to get you,

that what you do will come back to you?

The good, the bad, and everything in-between,

what you think, say, and do will always

come back to you; is this true? Science

tells you that this is all you have, and that

when you die you will cease to be; can this

be true too? The young boy said to his

mother: “When I was bigger, I could ride

my bike,” telling his mother in his innocent

way that he had lived before; but could

this also be true? Life’s a mystery, a paradox

of truths that keeps you thinking; and one

day, when all the dust of your life has settled,

you might just say, maybe it’s all true?

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Friday, July 5, 2024

New poem: "The Labor of Sisyphus"

 

The Labor of Sisyphus

 

How easily we’re blinded by the moment,

especially in today’s consumer climate

when whatever we want is at our disposal,

if we have the means to obtain it; and many  

of us do have the means to live the good life

of our dreams, migrating to warmer climes

for the winter months while the less fortunate

stay home and shovel snow. But after a few

years of winter migration, life gets boring;

and the search begins to find new things

to give our life more meaning, and the good

life repeats itself from year to year, month

to month, week to week, day to day, moment

to desperate moment, very much like

the labor of Sisyphus.

 

Composed in Georgian Bay, Ontario

Tuesday, April 16, 2024