Archive for the ‘poem’ Category

Again we are told Where.
The invisible where.
Searching for the mystic chords of memory
we were told binds us to the graves
of the brave, young and the innocent.
These thin chords made only of the light strings
of loud sounds and trailing smoke.
So easily absorbed, so quickly dispersed among the mist.
Chords so soon broken and forgotten.
Nothing done.
And still not touched
by the better angels of our nature.


  • Italics – Phrases by Abe Lincoln from 150 years ago

E wrote this quite a few years ago, I forget which crazy unimaginable event inspired it then. But this last week brought it to the front again. I love quoted short phrases of Lincoln. He said so many words that need repeating over and over. “Better angels of our nature” is quoted often by historians. “mystic chords of memory” is just too beautiful to let stagnate. The amazing thing is that they both were extracted from Lincoln’s inaugural address. His speeches and letters just hypnotize me and only got better into his presidency. Although this inaugural speech was placating to the South, many of his words were inspirational.

Lincoln’s inaugural address was given as our nation was going into civil war. It would do all of us good to again read more of his other speeches. After what we all have stood by in shock and witnessed January 6th and what may happen in coming days, the inspiration of his words will be needed. His words of placating that day did not stop the civil war but Maybe if his other words were repeated enough, maybe if they are read just one more time, this madness will be stopped.


In my life of being one with the Universe, I have an innate sense of the Earth’s seasons. You may say “What a broad statement!”. But it is true. So grounded into my DNA, I need no calendar. I need no reminding. I have no need for preparations of a holiday. I wake up on the days of Solstice and Equindox and my ancestral brain’s spinning gyroscope is tilted to the seasonal direction. I have but a twing and I just know. I feel I have a small astronomical relationship, perhaps a brotherhood, with our solar star. My gimbals are re-caged on each season to the proper degrees of earth’s tilt and my life continues to spin renewed through our Universe’s marveles of emptiness.

Such is the life of John

How Hard the Life

Posted: December 11, 2020 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , ,

What have I to say?
I can say the sweet things, the accepted things
the heart warming, precious things.
Speak of love and the expected things.

But how hard the life?
The road of bumps and gravel dust,
of roadside weeds and ungated railroad crossings.
And always forgetting to look both ways.

The life of pebbles that break windshields
and jiggling of toilet handles to prevent a flood.
Watching dimly lit gas gauges on E
and quickly mown lawns with untrimmed edges.

Oh, to notice the perched hawk, saying hello to him and following his stare as I pass
Wanting to remember the first days of the new seasons
and to watch the Sun and the Moon
and to know when and where they will rise and how full it will be on my free Sunday.

How hard the life to forget these things?
How good the life?
To want these, to have hope of these.

I am as much as the beetle stranded on his back.
For even he struggles to right himself and live.
If he, then so will I.



This is the first poem that I posted on WordPress in September of 2013. But one that I wrote so many years ago. I think it is time to dust it off and give it a little light once again.

Life is a whim of several billion cells to be you for a while.  ~Author Unknown

To that quote I add this.

Several Billion Cells

As my cells group to make me who I am each day
I feed them, give them air, water, shelter and transportation
I am the vehicle for the DNA to satisfy their sexual urge to survive
I think I am in control
but really I am cursed to be at the whim of billions of cells.
And I think I am only as one, an island
As I care for my army of cells each day
I ignore their multitude and only think of me not we
I think I am coordinating my efforts
but I am only the result of their needs
Is it for my sanity or the need of the whole
that they allow me to think I have a soul?
Is that the false hope, the vapor that holds me together?



Posted: October 17, 2020 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , , , ,

The town has a well-groomed courthouse square
surrounded by uneven red brick streets.
Like most towns, 24 times a day,
the bell tower clock strikes the hour and old men check their watches,
As if they have places to go and appointments to keep.
But they sit on the green donated park benches
that have names engraved in brass.
They watch the fall leaves fall
and sit to feel the fall breeze against their faces.
Some whittle, some stuff their tobacco pipes
and some spit into throwaway cups.
And everyone knows the name of the town dog
that runs free, unchained but friendly,
that searches with wildly wagging tail,
sniffing at pant legs, pockets and shopping bags,
As the fall leaves burn and the smoke rises
And the old men only sit and whittle,
smoking their pipes and spitting into throwaway cups.
Nervously checking on appointments
that they have never made but they all will surely keep.


DSS wrote this in September 2013, there may be a couple of people who haven’t read it yet.


15 Billion Pieces

Posted: August 17, 2020 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing

Just a note “For those who don’t remember” that between the Christmas Rush, Thanksgiving November 23rd, 2017 and Christmas December 25, 2017, the U.S. Postal Service delivered 15 Billion,(that is Billion), pieces of mail. 850 million of which were packages not only in the States but many overseas. That’s billions in a one month period.
The U.S.P.S knows how and can easily handle 300 Million ballots in a two month period between September 1 and November 1. Don’t be distracted.
Enough said.


Riding the Comet

Posted: July 18, 2020 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , ,

Riding on hot fires and flares of exploding stardirt
Melting into the ice of comets
orbiting through dark and deep.
brewed in sunheat,
Organized by chaos
Tempered by flame and cold
Lightly touched by an amino……I wiggled.


I’ve had it. I’m moving ahead. I am done with talking about the problems this country has. I am moving on. There are too many things I want to do the next few years that I have on this earth. I have never seen any bad color in this country. I’m not wasting anymore of my time trying to convince you of everyone’s civil rights and equality for everyone. You can stay stuck in the mud unable to see but I’m moving on. Just get out of my way, you are slowing me down. I have many things to do and I don’t have time to waste, listening to your racist ideas. I’m casting away the weight that you add to my load. I’m moving on without you. I have always believed in equality and I don’t need you trying to drag me down into the mud you are stuck in. Stay where you are but there Are millions like me that are throwing off the load You add and are satisfied in The world we will be without your hindrance and We are moving on. You won’t be missed. We all have great new lives to live so Just get out of our way. We will have no more of your 20th century Jim Crow BS. Look in the mirror, you are old, wrinkled and sagging dying flesh. Our faces are fresh and of many colors.


(E , this week of the 4th of July, has been surrounded by What he is too polite to call many white privileged (and I will just say it) racist bigots. He is very tired of it. He believes that it is time for all races, white, black, Latino, Asian and LGBTQ to join together and just keep moving ahead. Just leave those that think they are privileged and superior behind. He knows that they are unable to move. If they don’t move but we keep moving ahead, we will be leaving them behind. The laws of physics and the laws of gravity will be on our side. Keep moving, keep ignoring them, for the Universal laws of our galaxy will abide. DSS)

What if we remember the moon wrong
And toast to it before it’s full.
Does it mean the same?
Is it as real or of value?
Proclaiming the nearly full moon.
Reaching out to the hope of the moon.
But you must first know it.
Is what you give as real?
What is it that’s given back?
Is it no more real than
the full moon a day early?
Is it no more than an early moon
With your hopes and promises as full?



Within the words of let it be
I am waiting for an answer,
Not knowing where
I’ll wait for her
From her darkness or her lighted whisper

I set at home while here alone
Waiting my lost Mary mother
If she comes to me
will I but see
her silent wisdom as my only answer