Boomer’s Rage

Posted: January 19, 2017 in poem, poet, poetry, politics, Sixties
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(I wrote and posted this a year ago, I felt it coming, now we are going to see it coming!)

As I go stumping through the day
full filling dreams of other’s say
I count the months and the day
That I’ll be free on my own highway

I’m not young I have reached the age
that I can crawl from this cage
Take some time to disengage
Be free of toil and daily wage

Write a word, build a craft
Drink my whiskey, have a laugh
Get up late then take a nap
Put on my head a liberal’s hat

Scream the words, that I’ve suppressed
Of oil and air and climate’s mess
Opinions kept, so close to chest
Like a caged bird sings, I will confess

Protest and rage, make a change
March the streets, rearrange
For I sold out for profit’s gains
All along we were all shortchanged

It’s not too late, songs will be sung
Painted signs and banners hung
On granite steps, speeches flung
Our 60’s youth not wasted, on the 60’s young.

E.

 

Boys, you better mind your fishin’ poles
there’s no fish, only turtles in this here tank
Here let me help ya roll that cigarette
I don’t come here to fish
don’t like eatin’ them anyway
Spend half the time pickin’ out bones
Came here first 40 years ago
I brought her with me just 20 years back
we swam all naked together then
She bet me a silver dollar she could get to the other side first
I’ll bet she still has that silver dollar.
It’s never wrong to love a woman like that.

“Probably playin’ with it in her blue jean pocket.”

OC

“That’s the scene I remember in “The Last Picture Show”, as best as I can remember it.  I need to watch it again.  OC ”

 

 

Because I’m lazy, I was going to re-post our Bi-annual standard Friday the 13th story. You know the one,  the WW2 ship yards story of building the HMS Friday. Bla bla bla , bla bla bla. How it was lost at sea on its first shake down cruise. Bla bla bla , bla bla bla. And shortly after the loss, no one could find any record, either military or ship builder records or engineering blue prints of her ever having been built or find anyone that remembers working on its construction. Ya da ya da ya da … well……., I went to our archives to retrieve  John’s last post of the story from a couple of years ago, so I could easily re-post it and the post and all drafts of the story were gone, lost, bleato, vanished.

I’m a little spooked. I don’t think I will ever tell that Friday the 13th disappearing story again.

I know, you are laughing, but until a Friday the 13th event happens to you, you can laugh all you want. But I’m spooked!!

John says he doesn’t remember ever posting it!!!

Vanished, bam!!

OC

(Heh, OC is a little confused. It was posted last in Sept. 2013. But I’m not telling him. Be careful out there!.  John)

The Art

Posted: January 9, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
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Among the slush of a muddled mind
the thoughts of love of hate of crime
the cries the tears of scrambled speech
I must rise and walk the crooked streets
My clothes of wool and empty heart
bring bright the light of my gentle art
of scenes of paint and of words of lust
and carved stone of a woman’s breasts
my calloused hands and carving knife
gently molds and returns to life
the soft smooth and stone veiled face
of a long-lost soul of forgotten grace
of one once lived now froze in time
to be looked upon and claimed as mine.

DSS

( To the sculptures of Raffaelle Monti )

I have been writing for most of my adult life. Adult being , 30 or over. I was of the Timothy Leary era, “Don’t trust anyone over 30”.  I only mention Leary because one of the best ass-kicking songs John Lennon ever wrote was “Come together”, that music was derived from of all things, a campaign song Leary asked Lennon to write when Leary made a run for , I believe, governor. Unfortunately the Feds threw Timothy in jail and the governorship and the unused newly written John Lennon campaign song were left to rot where if you wanted sunshine, it had to be piped to ya. But Lennon had great hope for that music and did not want it to die, so he went ahead and wrote the lyrics, that he said was just “gobbledygook“, to “Come Together”. After the Beatles broke up, Come Together, was the only Beatles group song that John would perform on stage, It must have meant a lot to him.

While my children were growing up in the 80’s, teenagers, I required Come Together as compulsory learning in our household before allowed entrance into high school. They had to know every verse, and in the proper order. Well, I have to say, I’ve always graded on the curve. Isn’t that what Old Flattop would do?

Such is the life of John

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uSM5MpKSnqE”

The ride continues and we are tightly hanging on, our teeth clenched, eyes squinted, with our hair totally messed up. Hopefully we are still having fun.

Happy New Year my friends!

Well, here we go! It’s another year. We with finite number of years, why do we celebrate the passing of one time to another? Are we enthusiastically inviting the start of another year, tenderly coaxing it in so it will be kind to us? Or is life so damn hard and unsure that we are celebrating having survived unscathed or only slightly wounded from the happenings of the past year? Are we anxiously anticipating the coming of the new unknown events or celebrating how we handled the events of the past? Maybe a little of both. Hopefully we are proud of how we conducted our life of the past year. Whether we did or didn’t is only for each of us to decide. If an event can be judged, really there are no good or bad. They are what we make them.

Such is the life of John

roller coaster

The New Year is approaching. Damn, I’m glad I’ve almost made it another 366 days. Some days went quickly, some days dragged by. Time, a very relative thing. I wonder if time would even exist if there was no life in the universe. Time may only be a remnant of life itself. What difference does time make to a rock or gas or liquid? Life is the only thing that has an expiring life span. Whether made intelligent and conscious or only a one-celled microscopic plant or bug. Life is born and soon dies.

What difference does time make to a rock, it doesn’t give a shit how long it takes for it to be first spewed from the center of the earth until it is blown to hell and gone as a speck of sand. A billion, 2 billions years? So what, it’s just a fricking rock. I have, maybe if I’m lucky, 77.6 years. Then I’ll be blown to hell and gone as a speck of the star-dust that I was made from. Time is a very precious thing to me. I have a few short years, then I won’t care what fucking time it is either. And in maybe another billion years some of my atoms may also end up nothing more than a particle in some boulder stuck out in the middle of Utah somewhere. You’ve seen them, a big fucking rock balanced on the edge of a cliff, not giving a shit whether it will fall or not. That will be part me and you, out in the middle of a desert in Numbfrickin, Utah.

And we won’t care if it’s January, February, March or time for supper. Because our life will have gone by just a shade under 300,000,000 meters per second.

Happy New Year!

E.

(Again, I apologize for E’s frankness. He very seldom has an optimistic or even a poetic view of getting another year older.    John)

Dec. 21, winter solstice, first day of winter, the least amount of daylight, is called the shortest day of the year. Winter, the season that gets better from the very moment that it begins. Yes, although the temperatures may be more extreme, we will have more sunshine by a minute or two each day from now until summer begins on June 21 next year. We can start to enjoy winter because the days will now only get better. No wonder this day caught the eye of even the most ancient men. Every afternoon sitting in their cave watching the sun set farther and farther south causing less and less time during the day and more and more time in the darkness of night. More time spent guarding against the predators of the night and less time during the day spent hunting for food and shelter. They seriously wondered if the sun would return.

When did they realize that the sun could be depended on to finally ebb at its furthest reach and slowly begin travel of the reverse bringing with it needed daylight and warmth. I’m sure they celebrated this day as they watched the sun set and rise on the two landmarks they may have physically or mentally erected on the horizon. As should we. They could measure their stored food reserve and know that they would either have enough to last the remaining half of their most sparse days or not enough. They would know that their lean days and confinement would indeed end. Although the remaining days of the season may be hard, they would at least be measurable.

When I notice the sun shining through our south windows and reflecting from the glass doors on our old book-case, without looking at the calendar I know that we are approaching this season. Not as elaborate as Stonehenge but just as effective. And deep down in the core of me, I still feel a sense of relief that the growing darkness is contained and the sunshine will remain just a little longer each day. Although, my food supply is as close as our neighborhood grocery store and the fuel for my fire is delivered to me effortlessly, I have this innate feeling of relief on this day each year. A core feeling that is as surely as much the evidence of the remains of our ancient ancestors as the huge heavy stone pillars of Wiltshire or the small stone circles and charcoal of their ancient fires. The core feelings from the remains of their DNA memory. Their feelings of survival, relief and wonder are in me even though my life is now much easier.

The changing of the seasons are powerful events for man, events that their survival depended on. They mark celebrations, the beginning of tasks and the beginnings and endings of hot and cold climate and the abundance of food. Man is finely tuned to them. We are finely tuned to them because of the feelings and behaviors that were engraved into our DNA from early ancient man as they observed, learned and adapted to those predictable seasonal times.

I wonder what feelings and behaviors we are engraving into the DNA memory of future man from the powerful events of our days. We are not just leaving the ruins of our buildings, pottery, weapons and bones. We are leaving behind either the good knowledge or the ruins of our minds in our inherited DNA. Which of these, the knowledge or the ruins, from today’s events of our civilization will be ingrained and become innate behavior or feelings of our future man? What ingrained seasons will we pass on for them to celebrate from our DNA?

Such is the life of John

Well, the count down begins. A couple of more days and it’s Xmas Eve, then a few more and it’s New Year’s Day. We spend the last couple of weeks of December just counting down. Perhaps wasting the days in-between. Not paying attention to the anniversary of the first powered flight, the first day of winter or the invention of typesetting. John’s wife’s birthday passes and few acknowledge it, she is one of the unlucky ones that many times received birthday and Christmas presents on the same day or worse, combined Merry Xmas and Happy Birthday on the same note on the package. Her birthday is on the 29th.

Christmas!

I used to play the game and give and spend and put up trees and decorate with lights and throw a dollar in the bell ringers pot each time I crowded my way into the discount store to save a couple bucks. Stew with my wife what to get little Billie, Sallie and grown child Mickie this year and worry if we got the right thing or have given enough cash. We gather together the few times a year we all can stand each other, to gorge on a Christmas meal that takes 2 days and 6 hours to prepare and 20 minutes to consume.

Christmas! Phooey!

Let’s drop the facade. The season has totally lost its meaning. But every year the precious few that believe and those billions of others that really believe nothing but merchandising,  try to hand crank some meaning into these few days. Face it! We kids are excited because of Santa Claus and we never grow out of it. Give me, give me, give me and I want I want I want. Makes me sick!

For a few years, during my formative childhood, I watched my folks try to make something of this Holiday. Really! Our stockings were hung up on the backs of chairs, not fire places and they were socks, real everyday socks that we wore the rest of the year. Xmas morning we would have an orange, if it fit, a toothbrush and little sample tube of toothpaste, a little AAA battery flashlight, probably with the drug store name or our gas station’s brand on it, a few un-shelled salted peanuts and a few pieces of hard candy. It was fun, I’d like to say that we were delighted but we all knew it was slim pickings. Our gift was from our Aunt and Uncle (clothes or a book which I really did cherish and appreciate) and maybe something homemade from my brother and sisters that we made in school.

Our mother was not evangelical but she was the most spiritual person I have ever known, we were quietly taught the true meaning of Christmas. So we knew what the Holiday meant. That’s how I think of Christmas today.

The earliest I remember, about 8 years old, it seemed it had nothing to do with what our Mother taught us. I looked forward to Xmas but I was relieved the next day when it was over. Even that young, a child that was glad Xmas was over.  The pressure was off the folks. The only thing left was after New Years, going back to school and the teacher asking each of us to stand up and tell the class the best thing we got for Xmas. I hope teachers today are more sensitive than that. There are a few near adults trapped in children’s bodies in your class. A new shirt and socks was really great to have, and was the best but not something that compares to the others trains, dolls and bicycles. So I lied about getting an imaginary football or ice skates or sled. Probably something I was reading about in the book I were given.

So yes, Baa Humbug!! We can’t fight it anymore than we can fight daylight saving time. We just roll with it, it is that time of year to give what you can, pass on the good thoughts if you have any and  just be kind to others. And mostly remember, don’t disillusion the kids about Santa Claus before they are at least in second or third grade.

E.

Summer in December

What’s that feeling you get
hearing that voice or song or music
remembering
who you were with, the thing you were doing
the time, the song,
the black and white picture in your mind
the favorite shirt, the wild hair.
What is that feeling
The down deep feeling
sort of good but empty, sort of sad,
how many years and how many are gone
Getting what we need,
But so many left behind
Listening under the near full moon
The words, the notes,
with that dusty woman.
The hair scent and the feel of goose bumped skin.
Feeling summer in December

DSS

It is -9 F here this morning, I’m OK, the pipes aren’t frozen, the snow was only a skiff, and I have no place I need to go. We are stocked up on bread, milk and batteries, our survival is assured, now if we only had a couple of boxes of Girl Scout cookies, I’ve heard stories of old couples surviving for 8 or 10 days in their snow-covered cars with only a blanket, a bottle of Aquafina and two boxes of Thin Mints,  An amazing story, somewhere out in northwestern Kansas if I remember right. This kind of weather makes you want to think of more pleasant seasons.

Here’s a poem I wrote in December three years ago, just to get winter off my mind. I’m getting that feeling again.

First Posted: December 15, 2013

DSS